Hi I'm Xamiah (she/her) a 20 year old writer from the UK. I write for multiple fandoms, you'll find me here and on Wattpad. I've been writing for most of my life, and l've currently got a lot of drafts in the works that I'm slowly trying to perfect before sharing with you all.
I also love getting feedback, so if you ever feel like leaving a comment, please do - it means a lot!
Right now, I'm mostly focused on 'Stranger Things' but I'm open to exploring other fandoms too!
I'm also a Taurus... I figured that's important.
Iโm always happy to take any requests without judgment, so feel free to send any and all ideas my way!
I will not, under any circumstances, write NSFW content involving minors. Any character I depict engaging in sexual activity is always aged 18 or older.
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There is a particular kind of light that only exists for about twenty minutes each evening, when the sun drops low enough to turn everything it touches into something warmer and softer than it actually is. โGolden hourโ, people call it. Your favourite time of day.
It bleeds through the gaps in the fence now, falling in long amber strips across the garden making the whole yard look like something out of a painting that nobody would believe was real life. But it is. Itโs yours. Every ordinary, extraordinary inch of it.
The porch swing moves in a gentle, rhythmic drift beneath you, the old chain giving its familiar low creak with every push of your foot. Itโs a sound youโve come to love, this houseโs quiet language. The creak of the third stair. The way the kitchen window sticks in the heat. The particular way Billyโs key sounds in the lock when heโs arriving home from work, the slight jangle before the click that always makes Leoโs head snap up like a puppy hearing its favourite person come home.
Your hand moves in slow circles over your prominent bump. The baby shifts sometimes now, an elbow or a heel pressing briefly against the inside of your palm like a small, curious hello. Youโve started talking to her at night, when the house goes quiet. You donโt know why youโre so certain sheโs a girl. You just are.
Out in the garden, thereโs a war being waged.
โYouโre gonna pay for that!โ Billy shouts, and Leoโs shriek of laughter tears across the yard in response, high and bright and completely unafraid. Heโs seven now - oh, how the time flew by. You watch him bolt behind the willow tree like it might actually save him, clutching his water gun to his chest with the dead serious tactical face of a child who has absolutely no strategy whatsoever.
Billy rounds the corner at a jog, his shirt already soaked through and clinging, curls dark with water, a grin carved wide across his face. Heโs got no shoes on. Neither does Leo. The grass is wet enough that Leo slips on his next pivot and goes down hard on one knee. Your breath catches for half a second before his laughter erupts louder than before, face pressed gleefully into grass.
โI slipped!โ he howls, delighted by his own disaster, rolling over to look at the sky like heโs won something.
Billy stops above him, hands on his knees, breathing heavy from the chase. โYou okay, bud?โ
โIโm fine-uh!โ Leo announces, dramatically exaggerating his words and already scrambling back up with absolutely no regard for the grass staining his knees. He turns around, points his water gun at Billyโs chest from approximately two feet away, and pulls the trigger with a war cry.
Billy takes it full in the face.
He stands there, dripping, one eye still shut from the blast, mouth twitching.
Leo looks at him.
The garden holds its breath.
And thenโฆ Billy lunges.
โDad!โ Leo screams, all joy, no fear, he tears off across the lawn in hysterics as Billy chases him with long, easy strides, letting him think, for just a moment, that he might actually get away.
Dad.
The word moves through you the way it always does, warm and weighty and quietly miraculous. Leo had started saying it so naturally, so early on. Not because anyone told him to, not because it had been explained and negotiated and assigned. Just because Billy showed up. Every single day, he showed up. And one afternoon Leo had simply looked at him and the word was already there, as if it had always been true.
Maybe it had.
You watch them chase around the tree again, dodging long flowing branches, water guns abandoned somewhere in the grass. The whole fight develops into Billy hoisting Leo upside down by his ankles while Leo screams himself breathless with laughter, little hands flailing, face gone red. Your heart physically aches with how much room they take up in it.
You think - as often as you do in moments like these - about the girl you used to be.
Sheโd sit at the edge of a pool with her feet in the water, a toddler splashing in the shallows, and feel the weight of a hundred sideways glances. Sheโd walked down school hallways with her bump showing and learned to carry her shame like luggage she couldnโt put down. Sheโd been made to feel like a cautionary tale. A punchline. A lesson in what happened to girls who werenโt careful enough, good enough, smart enough to avoid their own undoing.
Sheโd been so tired.
Not the tired that sleep fixes. The kind that settles into your bones and makes you wonder if anyone will ever see past what happened to you.
Youโd never wished on that lake again after the coins ran out.
Billy was the one who took you back.
It was a Friday evening in late October, three months after that first dinner at Enzoโs. The air had been cooling and the water had been flat and silver, the whole world gone quiet in that particular way autumn has. Heโd produced a coin from his jacket pocket, pressing it into your palm without a word. Youโd closed your eyes and thrown it, refusing to tell him what youโd wished for.
A year after that, in that exact same place, Billy got down on one knee.
You said yes before heโd even finished asking.
The wedding was everything you had ever dreamed of as a little girl. Your Mother wept from the moment you appeared at the top of the aisle and didnโt really stop until the reception, dabbing her eyes with a napkin sheโd ruined entirely by the first dance. Leo walked ahead of you in a little suit. Heโd been so damn proud of his job as ring bearer, taking it serious for all of thirty seconds before breaking into a grin when he spotted his best friend Billy waiting at the altar.
Billyโs stepsister, Max, was one of your few bridesmaids. She had arrived in your life all sharp edges and guards, then, slowly but surely, she became one of your favourite people in it. Sheโd taken to Leo immediately, the two of them gravitating toward each other with the easy, instinctive energy of kindred spirits. Now, Max makes the perfect auntie. She adores your son and the feeling is entirely mutual.
That same ring sits paired now with a second gold band to match Billyโs, and every time the light catches it youโre reminded of that perfect day.
It was, without question, the beginning of your happily ever after.
In regard to Leoโs biological father, if you could even call him that, he was arrested two summers ago now. It turned out, with a weariness that had hit you somewhere between rage and grief, that you were far from the only one. Several women had come forward. Several names youโd never know. The case had even been in the local paper, your Mom rang you the morning it was printed, but you hadnโt needed to read it. Youโd already known exactly what kind of man he was.
Justice, when it finally arrived, had felt less like triumph and more like exhaling for the first time in years. A long, slow release of something you hadnโt realized youโd been holding. Not for you, because youโd moved so far beyond him that his existence barely registered most days. But for those other women. For the girls whoโd had no one to believe them. Youโd thought about them for a long time after. Still do sometimes.
Leo would never know. You and Billy agreed on that the way you agree on most things that mattered. He had a father. He had Billy. That was the beginning and end of it.
Out in the garden, Billy has set Leo back on his feet, and your son is now attempting to stuff a fistful of grass down the back of Billyโs collar while he stands there pretending he canโt feel it, delivering a very serious monologue to the sky. Leo is giggling so hard he can barely keep his grip. His wild curls bounce with every shake of his shoulders.
He looks so much like you.
Though, heโs got Billyโs laugh. Youโd noticed it as time passed. It has that particular brightness in it, the way it tips open without apology.
The two of them are as thick as thieves and you wouldnโt want it any other way.
Billy catches you starring. He always does.
He holds your son upright by the back of his shirt like a suitcase, Leoโs feet still kicking helplessly mid-air, and points at you across the garden with a grin thatโs spent years becoming your favourite sight.
โSheโs laughing at us,โ he calls to Leo, accusatory, delighted.
Leo twists to look at you, indignant. โMom! Whose side are you on?!โ
โMy own!โ you call back teasingly, knowing how itโd wind him up.
Leo makes a noise of profound betrayal. Billy sets him down and ruffles his hair, then makes his way toward the porch with that unhurried, easy gait. His shirt is soaked. His feet are bare and grass stained. Thereโs a smear of something muddy along his jaw that he either doesnโt know about nor care to address.
He kneels down beside you, his hand finding your bump immediately, palm flat and gentle. He doesnโt say anything at first. He just watches Leo in the garden, dragging his water gun back across the lawn with renewed purpose, already plotting his next offensive.
โHow are you feeling?โ Billy asks, voice gentle and content, still slightly out of breath.
โGood.โ You smile placing your hand on top of his. โTired.โ
โYou want to go in?โ
โNo, not yet.โ
He nods in understanding, his thumb tracing a slow arc. Leo shouts something at the fence post - youโre fairly certain heโs declared war on the garden hose now - and Billy exhales through his nose letting out a quiet laugh of amusement.
โHeโs feral,โ he says, with the unmistakable tone of a man who is completely, helplessly proud of this.
โHeโs only got you to thank for that.โ
โPsshhtโ He makes a noise of protest, laughing despite himself.
Then he shifts, leaning forward, and presses a soft kiss on your tummy. He lingers there for a moment before tilting his face up to look at you, chin resting ever so gently against the curve of your stomach, eyes warm.
โI wonder if sheโll be the same.โ
You look down at him and pull a face. โGod, no.โ Your voice is as sarcastic as anything. โI donโt know how much more I can take.โ
He laughs and you melt into each other the way you always do. Easy. Inevitable. Like exhaling.
The laughter settles into something quieter, softer. Your fingers find their way into his damp curls and you think, not for the first time, about how different heโll be with her. He already is, in some small ways.
โSheโs going to have you wrapped around her little finger,โ you chuckle.
He hums, low and unbothered, like heโs already accepted this fate and made peace with it.
You smile to yourself, turning it over in your mind - this big, protective, devoted man rendered entirely powerless by a baby girl who isnโt even here yet - and then a sudden thought rises up and tips into laughter before you can stop it.
โAnd then sheโll grow up,โ you say, grinning, โand kick your ass.โ
Billy lets out a bark of laughter, head dropping forward.
โYeah,โ he admits, after a moment, still smiling at the ground. โYeah, she will.โ
The garden fills in the rest for you. Leoโs distant victory narration, the soft rush of the hose, a bird singing somewhere in the willow tree. Billy tilts his head back against the swing, eyes closed, the last of the golden light settling across his face like itโs right where it wants to be.
You watch him for a moment. This man. Your man. Peaceful in a way you never expected before all this.
You think itโs the most beautiful thing youโve ever seen.
You canโt wait for the coming years, to watch your little family grow. Two became three, became four and with it, a life you never thought youโd get to have.
A/N: Thank you so much for the support given on this mini series! Iโve finally got round to (hopefully) giving it the ending it deserves. Hope you enjoyed it and as always my requests are open and encouraged!
There have been plenty of times in my nineteen fucked up years on this planet when I've realised - too late - that I was completely, hopelessly screwed.
One of those 'Oh Shit!' moments when it hits you that nothing you do or say will change what's coming next. When all you can do is stand there, frozen, wishing the ground would just swallow you whole.
But this? This is not one of those moments.
For once in my life, I know exactly whatโs coming next, and Iโm not afraid of it. Iโm not bracing for impact. Iโm not waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the moment the universe remembers who I am and corrects itself accordingly. The ground beneath me feels solid for the first time in as long as I can remember, and I have no desire whatsoever for it to swallow me whole.
Just like the possibilities, the road ahead is endless.
Not in the way roads used to feel endless, with all dead ends, wrong turns and the creeping certainty that nothing good was waiting on the other side. This is different. This road stretches out like a promise. Flat and golden and wide open in every direction, the kind of road that doesnโt apologize for going on forever because forever is exactly the point.
Billyโs Camaro cuts through it like it owns every inch of asphalt. Iโd never actually been in this car before, at least, not that I remember anyway. Now Iโm here, bare feet up on the dash, the window rolled all the way down, and I think it might be the coolest Iโve ever felt in my entire life. The leather is warm from the sun. The whole car smells of cigarettes and our mixed perfume, a scent of which I could bottle up and keep forever.
The music is loud. Not background noise loud. The kind of loud that takes up space on purpose, that drowns out everything you werenโt planning to think about anyway.
Outside, the landscape has been escaping from the dullness of grey, green and brown all morning. The trees thinned away days ago, somewhere around the second state line, and what replaced them was flat scrubland.
The sun is getting low. Itโs coming in sideways now, pouring itself across everything at that particular angle that makes the whole world look like itโs been dipped in gold. Everything the light touches looks absolutely ethereal.
I hang my arm out the window and let the air catch it. My fingers spread wide, and the warm wind pushes back, rushing up my palm, threading between my knuckles like itโs trying to hold on. I tip my wrist and feel the drag of it, the lift, and for a moment Iโm not doing anything at all except feeling the speed of the car, the heat of the afternoon and the precise, impossible weight of being exactly where I am.
I have a cigarette going, held loosely between two fingers, I bring it to my mouth and take a long drag. The smoke curls back into the car and I watch it dissolve against the headliner before it gets snatched out the window by the rushing air. Billy has one too, Iโve learned now that he always smokes when he drives. Heโs got one hand on the wheel and one elbow out his window, tapping out ash as he races onward.
Itโs been a few days since we left. Three maybe? I think this is our fourth. Time has flown by the same way it always does when youโre enjoying yourself. I should complain how unfair that is, but weโve got a whole lifetime ahead of us and that works out pretty well.
Weโd left before sunrise.
Not dramatically, nor with any particular ceremony. Just the two of us moving through the pre-dawn quiet with the specific efficiency of people who have learned not to attach to the places they leave behind. Camp wanted rid of us, and we wanted rid of camp.
I packed light, I always pack light, itโs a reflex worn smooth from years of not having enough to make weight worth worrying about.
Hopper had been there in our final moments. He was waiting in the gravel outside when we carried the last of the bags out. As always, his arms were crossed tight across his chest but his expression showed cracks of emotions heโd rather not be caught having.
He helped load the trunk with Billy. They worked in that particular comfortable silence of two people who understand each other better than either would easily admit. I stood to one side and watched them, feeling something I didnโt yet have the words for.
Hopper hugged me before we left. That was the part that nearly ruined me. It wasnโt a stiff obligatory thing either, far from the kind of hug thatโs mostly shoulders and apology. He pulled me in like he meant it, one large hand at the back of my head, I felt the exhale move through him like heโd been holding it for months. I pressed my face into the fabric of his beige shirt and it dawned on meโฆ he is the closest thing Iโve ever had to a Father. To someone who went to bat for me not because it was their job or their requirement, but because they simply couldnโt watch me disappear into the system and pretend it hadnโt happened.
I didnโt realise that at the start, maybe I didnโt want to, but now I do.
Heโd looked at me afterward, hands on my shoulders, somewhere between proud and pained. โStay in touch kid.โ Heโd said. Not a request and not quite an order. Something in between. A hope dressed up as an instruction.
I promised him Iโd write. And I meant it. Iโll find a post office in whatever town we stop by on the journey and Iโll sit down and find the words. Iโm not sure I ever had someone worth writing to before. Now, leaving Nightwing, I have four.
I watched Hop in the side mirror until the road curved and took him from view.
Iโll stay in touch, Dad. I promise.
The camp disappeared in pieces after that. The sign first, then the tree line, thenโฆ nothing. No landmark. No trace. Just road.
Iโd spent so long planning my escape, so long fighting for my freedom, so long knowing damn well that the moment I got out Iโd never look back.
And then it was simply behind us, getting smaller, becoming nothing.
Like every other place that had ever held me.
Gone.
Itโs funny how things change. Hell, I think if someone had told me back then that the person Iโd have been leaving with was โMr Hargroveโ Iโd have said they were mad.
I didnโt like him to begin with - I want to be clear about that, because it matters. Itโs the part that makes the rest of it make any kind of sense.
From the moment I laid eyes on Billy, Iโd seen the enemy in the most convenient, least complicated sense of the word. Authority figure. Obstacle. Someone to resist on principle because resisting was the only thing Iโd ever been reliably good at. The arrogance, the clipboard, the way he moved through that camp like he owned it.
Iโd hated him before I had any real reason to.
Heโd been a bastard sometimes. That was true. Uncompromising in the specific way of someone whoโs been soft before and got burned badly enough to stop. Cold in a way that only makes sense once youโve read his file, once you understand what that coldness was protecting. And Iโd matched him, because that was all I knew how to do.
Sometimes I wonder if I ever really despised him at all, or if I just despised how quickly he got under my skin.
I take another drag and decide it doesnโt matter.
What does matter is this - I fell completely, devastatingly in love with him. And he with me, in a way that still catches me off guard sometimes, the way he looks at me like Iโm something worth looking at. Itโs too large and too real and it arrived in a form I never would have recognised if someone had tried to describe it to me in advance. I thought love was something that happened to other people. I thought it was a con. I thought, if Iโm being honest, that I was probably not the sort of person it would ever stop long enough to want.
I was wrong.
Billy doesnโt seem troubled by the weight of having been the person to prove me wrong. He seems, if anything, quietly certain about it. Like he knew before I did. Andโฆ knowing Billy, he probably did.
My cigarette is almost done now, burning low between my fingers. I reach into my jacket pocket for a stick of gum to get that aftertaste out of my mouth once itโs done with. Instead, my fingers close around something else.
A folded up piece of paper.
I know what it is before Iโve even opened my hand fully.
Itโs the one the camp director had handed me across the desk like it was some parting gift. Like, โHere, take your damage with you on the way out, donโt bother us anymoreโ.
A single ripped out page covering a neat, clinical summary of everything that has supposedly gone wrong with Lydia Westbrook. A peephole version of my life that bares almost no resemblance to the one Iโve actually lived.
I hadnโt read it. Iโd shoved it in my pocket that day without giving it a second glance, and Iโve been carrying it around ever since without quite being able to throw it away.
I stare down at it for a long moment. The symbolic weight of it so much more than paper.
The wind comes in through the window and lifts the corner of it slightly, like a question unanswered.
โYou finally gonna read that?โ
Billyโs voice finds me underneath the music as I see him out the corner of my eye reach forward to turn the volume down.
I pull the cigarette from my mouth.
โNope.โ
Itโs already decided.
I tilt the burning end toward the paper, touching it gently to the corner. It catches immediately. A small bright point that blooms fast along the fold line, turning the edge into a deep brown and igniting into a small flame. I watch it go. The paper curling as it burns.
โNone of that matters anymore.โ
I hold it just long enough to appreciate the act, then I lean past the window and finally let go. I watch it through the mirror tumbling away behind us, a bright fire spinning in our wake before the road swallows it up entirely.
โThatโs my girl.โ
Thereโs that laugh that I love hearing from him. It catches on to me, spreading into something I canโt hold back even if I tried. I laugh too, not so much because anything is funny. Itโs because I am finally free.
Billy flips the music back up, louder than before, and the engine opens up beneath us, the blue Camaro surging forward at high speed. The force of it pushing me back into the seat.
Suddenly, I see a small dot in the otherwise empty road, standing out like a lighthouse through fog.
We approach.
Closerโฆ
Closerโฆ
And there it is.
Itโs a sign at the side of the road, green and white and perfectly ordinary, the kind that exists at the border of every state in the country and means nothing to most people passing it.
It means everything to me.
I canโt take my eyes off of it as we pass by. I feel something settle in my chest that has not been settled in as long as I can remember. Not the relief of escape - I know what that feels like, and it always comes with the aftertaste of whatever you were running from. This is something else. Something that sits differently. Something that feels like the beginning of an answer to a question I stopped letting myself ask a long time ago.
I close my eyes and tip my face toward the window and let the sun have me - all of it, the warmth and the gold and the particular kindness of light that doesnโt discriminate. That falls on everything equally without asking whether or not it deserves it. For the first time in my nineteen long years on this planet, I think maybe I do.
I feel a gentle hand place on top of mine.
Billy.
I open my eyes and we turn to each other while the rest of the world blurs into motion and background noise, thereโs something in his face that I know is mirrored in mine. A quiet, certain knowledge thatโฆ
This isnโt the end of our story.
Itโs only just the beginning.โโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโ
The atmosphere inside the camp directorโs office is absolutely suffocating. It presses against the walls, fills every corner, soaks into the carpet and the faded certificates hanging crooked in their frames. Outside is now at complete darkness, the rest of the camp most likely asleep and completely oblivious with no idea what is happening inside this very room.
The director sits behind his desk like a magistrate preparing a verdict, one hand resting on his forehead, the other holding a cigarette thatโs burning itself down to nothing between his fingers. Heโs a man in his late fifties who clearly once believed in what this program was supposed to be, and the disappointment radiating off him now is the specific kind that comes from having that belief tested in the worst possible way. Thick rimmed glasses. Heavy sideburns gone silver at the edges. Ash falling unnoticed onto a stack of scattered papers.
Beside him, Dr Leslie stands clutching her clipboard to her chest like it might protect her from whatever this is. Her expression has moved through shock and arrived somewhere in the vicinity of bewildered. Itโs the look of someone who thought she understood a situation, who thought she was tracking progress, and has now discovered she knew nothing of the sort.
Hopper is against the back wall with his arms folded, heโs yet to say a thing, just lets Dr Leslie recount her events of this scandal that theyโve been bestowed upon. He doesnโt need to take up space. He does it anyway, simply by existing in a room. His eyes move between them all with the slow, measured patience of someone who has learned that the most information comes when you wait.
And then, thereโs the two of them.
Lydia and Billy stand side by side in front of the desk, close enough that their arms almost touch but not quite. Their hair is still damp. Their clothes cling slightly at the shoulders and the collar, the evidence of the lake still written on their bodies in ways they canโt undo.
The director draws a long, slow breath through his cigarette and lets the smoke out through his nose. He looks at Billy the way a man looks at something he thought he understood.
โI donโt even know where to begin with this.โ
His voice is controlled, but only barely. The hand on his forehead tightens. He sets the cigarette against the edge of an overloaded ashtray and looks up.
โYouโre a member of staff, Hargrove. A position of authority.โ Thereโs a pause, weighted with everything that word implies: responsibility, professionalism, duty. โAnd this-โ he gestures between them, nose wrinkling like the concept itself has an odour โ-is how you choose to conduct yourself?โ
He picks the cigarette back up. Takes another drag. Doesnโt look away.
Billy doesnโt flinch. He stands with his hands at his sides and his jaw set tight. He says nothing, because anything he says right now will be used against him and he knows it.
Dr Leslie turns to Lydia, and there is genuine grief in her eyes.
โLydia, I- I thought you were making real progress.โ Her voice wavers at the edges. โWhat happened?โ
โI am.โ The words come out of Lydia quick and defensive, arms folding across her chest like a shield snapping into place. Not a full sentence. Not an explanation. Just the flat refusal to be put in the category theyโre building for her.
The director exaggerates a scoff. โOh, donโt insult me.โ
โThis isnโt what you think.โ Billy finally speaks up.
โItโs exactly what I think, Hargrove.โ The camp director leans forward. The desk creaking under the shift of his weight. He points a fat finger at him while glaring through the rim of his glasses. โYouโve crossed a line that should never have even been approached.โ
Dr Leslie steps in then, her voice softening into something thatโs clearly meant to be kind but lands wrong regardless. โLydia, sweetheart, youโre vulnerable right now. This kind of attachment, especially in a place like this, it can feel-โ
โNo.โ The word lands like a fist on a table. Lydiaโs arm shoots out, hands gesturing, something scorching hot and frustrated breaking the surface of her expression. โDonโt. Donโt you dare.โ Her voice cracks on the edges but doesnโt collapse. โYou always do this with me. Pick apart my brain as if you even know me at all. You have no fucking clue wh-โ
โThatโs enough!โ
The directorโs voice cuts through the room sharp enough to stop everything. Lydiaโs jaw snaps shut. Her chest is heaving.
He turns to Billy.
โYouโve compromised this entire program.โ The quiet in his voice now is more unnerving than the volume. โDo you have any idea what would happen if word of this got out?โ
Billy grits his teeth.
The director waits. โDo you?โ
โYesโฆ sir.โ Billyโs words come out flat and measured.
From his position against the wall, Hopper finally moves. Itโs barely anything, a shifting of weight at most, but in a room this still it registers like sound. His eyes track over Lydiaโs face. Assessing her, looking for something specific.
โAlright.โ His voice is gruff but unhurried. Heโs not speaking to diffuse anything. Heโs speaking because heโs decided something. โLet me talk to the kid. Alone.โ
The director looks at him like heโs misheard. โJim, this isnโt-โ
โAlone.โ
Not a request. Not a suggestion. The silence that follows it is the silence of someone who has learned exactly when to stop talking.
The director exhales sharply. Nodding begrudgingly like it costs him something. He takes a long, slow drag of his cigarette and looks Lydia up and down judgementally.
Hopper tilts his head toward the door but Lydia hesitates. She turns to look at Billy only for a second, mixture of apology and concern plastered across her face.
Finally, she follows him out.
The door shuts behind them. And through it, muffled but audible, she hears the mumble of Billyโs voice followed by the directorโs outburst.
โLove her? Love her?! Donโt be stupid boy, what would you know about love? You seem to forget where you came from.โ
Lydia stops dead in her tracks.
Her head snaps back toward the door, and the thing that happens to her face in that moment isnโt something she couldnโt describe if asked. Itโs fury and protectiveness and something else underneath both of those. Itโs something raw and old in her that the director has just accidentally put his hand directly onto.
Sheโs already turning. Her feet have already made the decision. She takes one step back toward the door-
Hopperโs hand lands on her shoulder and waits there until she finally turns around.
He walks a few steps ahead first, hands in his pockets, like he needs the distance to figure out how to start. Then he stops and when he looks at her, something in his expression is different from how he looked in there. Stripped of the hardened authority. Like a loving father looking at his daughter.
โWhatโs going on, kid?โ
The question is simple. It shouldnโt be able to do anything to her and yet something in Lydiaโs shoulders drops, a tension bleeding out that she didnโt realise sheโd been carrying. She doesnโt answer. She keeps her face still and her arms crossed and she looks at the ground like itโs safer than looking at him.
โItโll be a lot worse for him if you donโt speak... you know that.โ
The implication lands like a gut punch, immediate. Lydiaโs mind moves fast through the logic of it, through the risk, through the scandal. Butโฆ why is this scandalous? Theyโre both adults after all.
She exhales heavily.
โYou okay?โ
โIโm fine.โ
โLydia, If he pushed you into anything-โ
โNo.โ The word is final. absolute. The kind that comes from knowing your own truth so completely that the suggestion of anything else feels like a language you donโt speak. โNo. God. Itโs not like that at all.โ
Hopper studies her. His eyes do the thing theyโve always done all these years of knowing her through difficult circumstances, moving over her face like heโs reading something beneath the surface, checking for fractures. Looking for fear. For uncertainty.
Yetโฆ he doesnโt find it. At all, in fact.
โโฆYou sure?โ
She steps forward. Just slightly. And when she speaks, the defensiveness is gone. Whatโs underneath it is something she never lets anyone other than Billy see, something unguarded and real and fragile in its honesty.
โIโm happy.โ
The words fall into the space between them and stay there. Lydia watches the moment as it lands.
Hopperโs known this girl for years. Heโs pulled her out of bars and off the streets and even the worst of situations that could have, should have ended her. Heโs sat across from her in his office while she refused to look at him, while she answered questions with silences and shrugs and the particular contained fury of someone who expects, over and over again, to be failed. Heโs watched her fight everyone who tried to help her simply because helping had always come with a price she couldnโt pay.
He has never heard her say that before.
โIโm happyโ
Not once.
He clears his throat, looking away for a second. Then, he resets, decides to not dwell on the achievement because thatโs just not how Lydia works. So? He changes subject.
โDo you know that Dr Leslieโs been keeping in touch with me?โ
Lydia shrugs. โI sortaโ guessed so.โ
โWell.โ He shifts his weight, hands still in his pockets. โI came here today to see for myself how you were doingโฆ We were even discussing discharging you.โ
The word catches her off guard. Itโs the thing she has wanted since the moment the bus pulled through those gates. The thing she ran toward, literally, more than once. Freedom. The word sheโs been carrying for as long as she can remember. It settles in front of her now, offered cleanly, with no conditions attached.
But now she doesnโt want it. Not without him at least.
The realisation moves through her quietly, the way the most important things always do. No fanfare. Just the sudden, clear knowledge that something has changed within her so completely that she canโt locate the person who would have grabbed that offer with both hands and run.
โMhm,โ she manages.
Hopper watches her face carefully. Heโs not a man who misses much, and he doesnโt miss this.
โIs he the reason?โ
The answer comes without hesitation, without armour, without any of the careful distance she has maintained between herself and every person who has ever asked her anything.
โHeโs my every reason.โ
Her voice then shifts, becomes something urgent, something almost frantic, like the words are running ahead of her caution. โAnd I know what this looks like, I know itโs messy, but-โ She stops. Swallows. Tries again, quieter. โPlease. Please donโt take this away from me.โ
Hopper opens his mouth.
โLydia.โ
โPlease.โ
She has never asked him for anything, let alone pleaded. She has never asked anyone for anything. The asking itself is its own kind of surrender and she does it anyway, standing in this fluorescent-lit corridor in damp clothes, looking at the one adult who has seemingly never given up on her.
He looks into her eyes for a long moment. In all the times heโs sat across from Lydia Westbrook he has seen anger and defiance and the particular blankness of someone who has learned that feeling things openly costs too much. He has never seen this. He has never seen her close enough to tears with wanting something to stay.
She is, he thinks, entirely unaware of how different she looks from the girl he had to hunt down to return to her foster home all those years ago.
โAnd youโre sure youโre safe?โ His voice is very careful. โYou want this?โ
She holds his gaze and doesnโt waver.
โMore than I want my freedom.โ
A long, well needed pause settles over the corridor. Hopper exhales through his nose, a slow, controlled sound, and runs one large hand over his mouth and jaw. He looks at the ceiling for a second. Then back at her.
โAlrightโฆ Alright.โ He nods toward the office. โLetโs go back in.โ
Billyโs eyes find Lydia the moment the door opens. They always do. The scan is automatic, as though watching over her has become as instinctive as breathing. His expression doesnโt change, but something in it softens at the sight of her.
Hopper steps forward, planting himself between the two of them and the desk.
โSo.โ
He lets the word sit. Looks at the director without any particular urgency.
โLetโs sayโฆ hypothetically, they did want to pursue something here.โ A beat, perfectly timed. โI mean. They are both adults.โ
The director stares at him like heโs just gone mad. He reaches for yet another cigarette with the resignation of someone who has given up on the idea of a โsmoke freeโ afternoon.
โAbsolutely not.โ He mumbles as he flicks his lighter.
โIโm just asking the question.โ
โAnd Iโm giving you an answer.โ The cigarette catches. He exhales. โThis camp has a reputation to uphold. We are not running some kind of-โ He gestures, a comprehensive sweep that seems to encompass every possible objection. โfree for all.โ
โIt would completely undermine the structure weโve worked hard to build here and-โ Dr Leslie buts in.
โExactly.โ The director agrees before she can finish. He takes a long, slow drag, and turns his head toward her like heโs sharing a joke that isnโt funny. โUnless, of courseโฆ.โ something almost like amusement enters his voice, the dismissive laugh of a man who considers the possibility so remote it barely deserves a sentence โMr Hargrove is willing to step down from his position.โ
โDone.โ He isnโt finished speaking when Billy says it. Theres absolutely no hesitation whatsoever.
The directorโs laugh dies in his throat. He turns back to Billy very slowly, and peers at him through the thick glass of his lenses as though he might have misheard.
โโฆExcuse me?โ
โI quit.โ
Dr Leslie practically squeaks in shock. โBilly, thatโs- thatโs not something you just decide in the heat of the moment-โ
โYeah, well I just did.โ
He says it without raising his voice. Without performing anything. He turns his head and he looks at Lydia, and the look is not dramatic or showy or constructed for an audience. It is simply the look of a person who has made a decision so clear to him that nothing else compares.
โIf thatโs what it takes to be with herโ.
He doesnโt say it out loud. He doesnโt have to. Itโs written bold on his face.
โThen so be itโ.
The director looks like a machine that has been given an instruction it cannot process.
Hopper says nothing. His eyes are on Lydia, watching the way she receives this. There is something in his expression that belongs to a man who has carried a worry about this particular girl for a very long time, and is watching, slowly, that weight begin to lift.
โThis is ridiculous.โ The director finds his voice again. โYouโre throwing away your entire position for-โ
Billyโs voice cuts in sharper this time, thereโs no fucks given, no holding on left, heโs already quit.
โFor something that actually matters.โ
His words are followed by a long, pondering silence. Lydia feels as though her heart could explode at any minute. Hearing the sheer, unfiltered passion Billy has for her practically makes her knees weak.
The director sets down his cigarette. Folds his hands. Looks at Lydia, and when he speaks the bluster is mostly gone, replaced by something more direct.
โโฆAnd you? Youโre okay with this?โ
Every eye in the room lands on her at once.
โBecause youโll be out of our hair when this is done. Itโll be out of our control. So itโs not something you can take lightly, girl.โ
He holds her gaze.
โSo Iโll ask you again.โ His voice is firm now. The last firmness he has left. โAre you okay with this?โ
Lydia doesnโt answer straight away.
She doesnโt look at the director. Doesnโt look at Dr Leslie. Doesnโt even look at Hopper, though she can feel the particular quality of his attention like warmth on the side of her face.
She looks at Billy.
And there it is. Small, barely there, but entirely real.
A smile.
The kind thatโs just slightly breathless, like sheโs arrived somewhere after a long walk and canโt quite believe sheโs finally standing here. Defiant in the way that only things earned the hard way get to be defiant.
Billy sees it. And something happens to him. The tension leaves his shoulders first, then his jaw unclenches. That constant readiness, that strong, โbraced for impactโ posture he has carried in this room simply goes. Like it was only ever waiting for this.
His eyes soften. Really soften. In a way that has nothing to do with the room or the people in it or the enormity of what just happened and everything to do with the specific fact that she is looking at him like that, and he is the reason for it, and he still cannot entirely believe that is true.
He looks almost stunned. A quiet huff of breath escapes him. Involuntary. Not quite a laugh but carrying the same quality as one, the kind that only happens when relief hits too fast and too hard and the body doesnโt know what else to do with it.
Lydia turns back to the director. Her voice is steady.
โYeah.โ
A beat.
โYeah, I am.โ
She gives off a small shrug like sheโs thought about this for a long time and eventually arrived at this answer, and isnโt about to apologise for it either.
โI know what Iโm doing. And Iโm not gonna stand here and pretend I donโt just because it makes this dump look better.โ
Billyโs head dips. His hand comes up over his mouth and he looks away, snickering to himself for just a second.
The director looks at them both. Something in his expression settles into a resignation that isnโt without its own complications. He has run this program for decades. He has seen a great many things. He clears his throat.
โWell then.โ His voice has lost the edge. Whatโs left is tired and surrendering. โThat settles it.โ
Dr Leslie opens her mouth. โLydia, you have to understand what this-โ
โShe understands.โ
Hopper answers for her.
โSheโs smart enough to make her own decisions. Ainโt that right, kid?โ
Lydiaโs smile this time is different, it reaches her bright eyes and stays there.
The director pulls a thick folder from somewhere under a stack on his desk, flips through it with practiced efficiency and finally tears out a single page. He reaches across the desk and holds it toward Lydia without ceremony.
She takes it.
Her own face looks back up at her from the top of the page, the intake photograph, taken the day she arrived, still half-furious and braced for the worst. Below it, her name. Her history. The condensed, clinical version of everything that has brought her here.
She doesnโt look at it for more than a second. She doesnโt need to.
โThis cannot reflect back on the camp.โ The directorโs voice has found its authority again, applied now to logistics. He looks at Billy. โIf youโre serious about stepping down, youโre off duty, effective immediately. Youโll hand in your badge, your keys. Everything.โ
Billy nods. โObviously.โ
Dr Leslie turns to Lydia, and her voice is careful in the way of someone picking their way across uncertain ground. โAnd Lydiaโฆ youโre being excluded from the program.โ
โGood.โ Lydia responds without thinking.
The director draws breath like heโs about to clap back but is stopped by Hopper who glares him down. Instead, he closes his mouth and exhales through his nose. He Clenches one fist against the desk for a moment, then releases it.
โYouโre both dismissed.โ
Back at the cabin, the door swings shut behind them and for a while they simply stand there, looking at each other in disbelief.
Billy is the first to speak, โFuck, Lydiaโฆโ He shakes his head shock. โYou just-โ He stops to grin. โYou actually said all that in there.โ
Lydia rolls her eyes sarcastically. The warmth underneath it is impossible to hide.
โDonโt make it a big deal or anything.โ She teases.
โToo late.โ
Billy suddenly crosses the space between them, both hands cupping her face. The kiss is electric, charged by the fact that they donโt have to hide anymore, from knowing there is no one to walk in, no pretence to maintain, no careful distance to keep.
When he pulls back, he doesnโt go far. His hands stay where they are. He looks her deep in the eye.
โAre you sure about this?โ
โOf course.โ She smiles. โAre you?โ
He doesnโt hesitate. Not even for a fraction of a second. โAbsolutely.โ
His hands tighten gently against her cheeks, and theyโre kissing again, their entire history folded into one long, real, unhurried kiss that belongs to nobody but the two of them.
When they finally pull apart their lips are swollen and theyโre left smiling like two idiots.
Itโs the first thought that runs through my mind as I follow Billy outside through the tree line, past any possible view point from the main camp. I clutch a soft towel towards my chest, it giving me a secondary source of comfort. The woods on this side of the camp are a lot thicker, quieter, privater. Itโs peaceful, but I canโt quite settle.
My heart races as my eyes dart around the unfamiliar surroundings. Billy, on the other hand, looks like he doesnโt have a single worry or doubt in his body.
Me? I have several.
โWe could be seen,โ I say to the back of his head.
โWe wonโt be seen.โ He claps back, never halting.
โI donโt have anything to swim in.โ
โDonโt worry about that.โ
โBilly-โ
โLydia.โ
The way he says my name is infuriating. Like he knows exactly what it does to me. I open my mouth, but stumble on my words, instead letting out a long sigh. Guess the cat caught my tongueโฆ this time.
We continue walking, my mind flicking through every hazard of the water - some I know, others Iโve probably invented. I pull the towel a little tighter to my chest as a sudden thought intrudes.
โFuck! There could be leeches!โ
Billy slows just enough to glance back at me over his shoulder, and thereโs that look. His brows furrow but a wicked smile is planted on his face. He manages to look so judgmental yet so amused and absolutely perfect at the same time. โDonโt be silly.โ He laughs. โIf there were any, the fish wouldโve ate โem.โ
โFish?!โ
โBabe.โ He says it like heโs being patient with someone he finds very endearing. โRelax. Theyโre more scared of you than you are of them.โ
That doesnโt help at all.
Iโm still trying to decide how I feel about that when he adds, โBesides, itโs the urchins youโve gottaโ watch out for.โ
I stop walking entirely. โThe what!?โ
He laughs, teasing and not remotely sorry. โIโm just messing with you. Weโre not in California yet. Donโt worry.โ
Cool. Yep. No worries at all. Absolutely zero worries.
I resume walking and immediately start to fucking worry.
The whole โurchin thingโ is still sitting in the back of my mind, which is ridiculous, because weโre in Indiana. Land locked Indiana. Urchins are a coastal issueโฆ right? A California issue. Not a Camp Nightwing, middle of the woods, issue. I know that. Iโm aware of that.
Well, on the bright side, at least there are no sharks.
โฆare there sharks in Indiana?
Fuck, this is ridiculous! I shouldโve never watched that stupid movie.
The trees thin slightly ahead causing the light to morph into that particular amber glow that only exists in the short window before the sun sets and hands the day over to darkness. I follow as Billy pushes past the last thick cluster of pines and justโฆ stops. And so do I.
We look upon a lake that sits in a hollow of the woods. Itโs beautiful, like Iโve just stepped into a Claude Monet painting. Itโs not the one the main campโs uses, nothing like it. This one is smaller and entirely hidden, surrounded on every side by trees that lean inward like a canopy. The water is perfectly still in places and alive in others, catching the last of the golden light in long rippling ribbons that gently break apart and reform over and over. Thereโs no dock, no rope swing, and not a single plastic kayak in sight. Thereโs no sign that anyone has ever stood here and had the privilege of taking in its beauty.
A breath I didnโt know I was holding sighs out of me before I can stop it as Billyโs hand finds mine. He doesnโt say a word, just takes it gently, fingers lacing through each others. He carefully leads me forward toward the edge. I hesitate for a second, but trust him enough to follow with caution.
Thereโs a fallen log that conveniently rests nearby the bank. He takes the towel from my hands without asking and drapes it over the log alongside his own.
Then, he turns to face me.
โWell?โ
His voice is almost sheepish as he searches my eyes for approval. I let out another sigh and look out at the water and the way it glistens.
โItโsโฆ beautiful.โ I smile.
Something moves in his expression. Pride, maybe. Or even just the satisfaction of someone showing another person a thing they love.
โI told you I knew a place.โ
โYou did.โ I look back at him. Inevitably, the nerves find their way back in. โBut Billy, I canโt-โ
โListen,โ His tone is calm and reassuring. โI promise Iโll keep you safe.โ
He holds my gaze for just a beat longer than necessary, long enough to make it stick. Then, the corner of his mouth tips up, followed by a wink and before Iโve even had the chance to blush, his hands find the hem of his shirt. I watch in awe as he pulls it up and off in one easy motion. The muscles across his stomach shift, catching the sunlight like something that was designed specifically to be admired. Broad and tan and effortless in that way that makes me feel all sorts of fluttery.
My eyes follow as he tosses the shirt onto the log and suddenly my attentions back to the water, then to the tree line. It dawns on me how bad this would look if we were ever seen. My head darts around, checking all directions.
โThis is a bad ideaโฆโ
โRelax.โ He says it quietly. โNo one ever comes to this area. Itโs just me and you babe.โ
Billy moves to unbuckle his belt and does it with all the confidence of a man whoโs used to stripping out in the open like this - hell, maybe he is. I attempt to look away, to find something to distract me fromโฆ well... it doesnโt matter, I fail anyway. My eyes come back the same way they keep doing. Helplessly. Involuntarily. He steps out of the denim and I find myself tracking the heavy, defined press of him against the black fabric of his boxers. Itโs an outline I recognize with the specific awareness of someone who has very recent, very detailed information of Every. Single. Inch.-
โEnjoying the view?โ
My eyes snap up.
Billy looks so pleased with himself as he stares down at me with that know-all expression. My mouth opens. A word starts and doesnโt finish. Iโm blushing and we both know it and thereโs not a single thing I can do about it.
He closes the distance between us without any particular urgency, like he has all the time in the world. Both hands find the outer edges of my arms and he grips them softly, stoking down. Bending down slightly, his lips find my neck, just beneath my jaw. He leaves a trail of small, deliberate kisses that arenโt exactly hungry, just attentive.
My body goes very still, the way it does when something is too good and the instinct is to hold it in place, keep it from passing. But my eyes keep moving over his shoulder to the tree line. Scanning the edges and the shadows between trees. I can practically feel my pulse under his mouth.
โHey.โ His lips brush the words into my skin. โIโve got you.โ
I donโt know how he knows. He just does.
His hands find the hem of my shirt next, and he pulls it up slowly, watching my face for the full duration with an expression that asks without asking. I lift my arms and the fabric comes off and the warm evening air hits my skin and he takes a step back.
Billyโs eyes move over me slowly, no performance in it, just attention. Pure, unhurried, devastating attention.
โGod, youโre beautiful.โ
I feel the heat spread up to my cheekbones. I look down bashfully and then I immediately wish I hadnโt, because I can see quite clearly through his boxers that he is not at all unaffected by this.
Billy clears his throat and straights up, totally aware of his new โproblemโ. โCome on. Iโll meet you in there.โ
He turns and walks to the waterโs edge and steps in like itโs nothing. I watch the water rise. First around his ankles, calves, then knees and thighs. Suddenly, he steps down and lets himself float back, arms spreading wide on the surface, head tipped up toward the sky. His eyes find mine and he justโฆ waits. Patient. Steady. Like time isnโt an issue and never was.
My heart races inside my chest.
Okayโฆ okay, breathe.
I look at the water. I look at the towels on the log. I look back toward where the cabin sits behind its partial screen of trees.
Come on, come on.
No turning back now. I reach for my jean shorts with hands so shaky it makes it difficult. I push them down and step out, choosing to leave them folded over the log with a precision that is completely unnecessary given the circumstances.
Iโm stood in my underwear with two choices, stand here like a total idiot and embarrass myself for being scared, or, get in.
โYou can do it baby.โ
Billy says from the water, itโs completely unhelpful in terms of the actual fear but doing something entirely different to the part of me that isnโt afraid. I edge my toe to the surface and hiss through my teeth at the cold.
โItโs fine.โ he says.
โItโs freezing.โ
โItโs not~โ he lies through his teeth, the last word trailing off into a teasing drawl. โCome on, donโt be scared.โ
Thatโs all he had to say. Billy knows exactly which buttons to push, and my stubbornness is the biggest one. I square my shoulders, grit my teeth, and finally take the first step.
The water climbs my ankles. My shins. I keep going, slowly, arms lifting slightly out at my sides as though sheer spatial awareness might compensate for the depth. Billy stands up ahead of me as I get closer, water sliding off him in long sheets. On him the water sits at his navel. On me, as I step down to meet him, it climbs higher, just a few inches below the fabric of my bra.
I breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth, focused entirely on not thinking about whatโs beneath the surface.
โThere,โ he says, when I finally stop moving.โSee?โ
โDonโt celebrate yet,โ I manage. โA few more steps and Iโll drown.โ
โYouโre not going to drown,โ Billy watches me with that infuriatingly calm expression, totally relaxed as if we were standing in a living room rather than a dangerous body of water.
โYou donโt know that,โ I counter, looking down at the dark, murky depth where my feet should be, feeling the silt shift beneath my toes.
โIโm standing right here.โ
We stare each other off for what seems like forever. His features look absolutely perfect in the golden lighting, especially his ocean eyes that have brightened into a lighter blue.
โTry floating,โ he says, after a moment. โLike this.โ He leans back to show me, the water takes him effortlessly, his feet rising, his body flat, eyes still on me.
Easy. Right?
I steadily attempt to replicate it. I lean back, feeling the water rise against my ears. My feet try to follow the instruction my brain is giving them, lifting just slightly off the bottom, and for approximately one beautiful half-second I feel weightlessโฆ and then the very reasonable part of my brain that has always known I am going to die drowning sends up a flare, and I tip sideways. The world goes under.
Cold. Dark. The rush of bubbles and panic and-
Billyโs arms wrap around me. Solid and instant, hauling me upright before Iโve had time to properly sink. Iโm standing, sputtering, blinking water out of my eyes with what I can only assume is a manic expression on my face.
I stand there for a second and realise that Iโm in approximately three feet of waterโฆ I nearly drowned in three feet of water.
โI feel ridiculous,โ I say.
โYouโre doing great.โ
โEasy for you to say.โ I wipe my face with one hand. โMr California.โ I mock, before bringing my hand down across the surface and splash a wall of water directly into his face.
The silence that follows is immediate. Absolute.
He blinks. Water drips from his nose, from his chin, from the ends of his hair. Then, his eyes flash with something amused. โIs that right?โ
Suddenly, he brings both hands up and sends a wave back at me that is catastrophically larger than what I sent at him. I let out a gasp at the sudden shock.
โBilly!โ
He bursts out laughing and I genuinely try to be annoyed about it. I put on my best stern face and hold it for approximately three seconds before breaking.
So I splash him again.
He retaliates immediately, his entire arm back-handing the surface in a wave that hits me full in the face. I get it in my mouth, up my nose, in my ear. I surface spluttering and shrieking his name followed by a string of curses. He fires something back that gets swallowed by the noise and I donโt catch it but itโs clearly very funny to him.
For a few minutes weโre wrapped up in the chaos and laughter. No one watching. Nothing pressing in from the outside. Just me and him having fun.
When it finally settles, weโre both breathing hard.
โYou need to face your fear,โ he says.
โIโm not scared.โ
โYou are.โ
โFuck off, Iโm not.โ I insist, thought itโs clear itโs a lie.
โLydia.โ Billy tilts his head, something between a smile and a challenge sitting on his mouth. โYouโre such a bad liar.โ
โYouโre such an asshole-โ
He grabs me.
Before Iโve finished the sentence, before Iโve registered the intention behind the movement, his arms are already around me and heโs walking backward and the water is climbing fast.
Suddenly, my body makes its own decisions without consulting me, arms locking around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist on pure reflexive instinct, pulling myself up and against him.
โNo! Donโt you dare!โ The panic has stripped my voice down to something small and tight and not remotely joking. โBilly. Take us back. Right now.โ
โJust teasing, sweetheart.โ His hands find my hips beneath the surface, hoisting me higher. โWanted to prove a point.โ
โOkay! Okay! Point proven, take us back-โ
I feel my grip around his waist slip and I squeeze my thighs to find get a more stable hold. Then, I feel him go still. Not the careful stillness of someone concentrating. Something else. His hands tighten on my hips and I become suddenly, acutely aware of exactly where my body is positioned against his. The way the water has settled us together. The way every small movement I make to keep myself above the surface translates directly into-
Oh.
He makes a sound. Low, involuntary, barely there. The kind of sound that isnโt meant to escape and does anyway.
A beat of silence.
He clears his throat. โUh... babeโฆโ His voice has dropped into a register I recognize. โJust stop moving for a secโ.โ Another beat, strained at the edges. โYouโreโฆ kindaโ distracting me.โ
Heat blooms up my neck and into my face and I press my lips together hard, saying absolutely nothing because I know Iโll only make it worse. He turns without further commentary and walks us steadily back toward shallower ground, I unwind my legs with whatever dignity I have left and we find our footing once again.
We stay in the lake until the light dims, playing in the water. We donโt call it that, but thatโs what it is. Splashing and bad attempts at technique and me gripping his arm every time a piece of lake grass grazes my calf. His hand on my back when I try the float again, eventually letting the water take my weight while he holds the space around me.
Soon, weโre stood in the stillness, the water a mirror of fading gold and soft pink. In the quiet, my heart feels anchored for the first time. I look at him and realize Iโm not just safe, Iโm home.
โWhat are you afraid of?โ I ask.
I donโt know exactly what made me ask it. Only that the question rises naturally out of the quiet, the way things do when youโre still enough for long enough. Iโve stripped away my fear, now I want to know his.
โLosing you,โ he whispers.
My heart sinks at the weight of his words, a bittersweet ache forming in my chest. Tears prick at my eyes, though not from sadness but from the overwhelming realization that someone finally sees me as something worth losing. I reach up, resting my wet hand against the warmth of his cheek.
โYou donโt have to worry about that,โ I tell him, my voice steady with a trust I've never felt before. โIโm yours. Youโll never lose me.โ
The air between us vanishes. He pulls me closer, his hand sliding into my hair as his lips meet mine. Itโs not urgent nor frantic. Nothing like the archery shed or the wall or any of the other times weโve lost our grip on the careful distance we were supposed to keep. This is slow, meaningful, the long kind.
Weโre standing in a lake at golden hour kissing like we have nowhere in the world to be and nothing in the world to fear and I thinkโฆ I think this is what love feels like.
I could stay in this moment forever. I would choose to. I am choosing to, right now, with both hands, with everything I have-
โAh-hem.โ
Someone clears their throat.
Loudly.
Deliberately.
The sound cracks through the quiet like a stone through glass, and we break apart so fast the water sloshes between us. We release each other frantically and turn toward the sound.
Shit!
Standing at the bank is a silhouette I know all to well. A large one. A very familiar, deeply inconvenient one, arms crossed over his chest with the patience of a man who has been standing there long enough to have formed a clear opinion about what he witnessed.
Hopper, Chief Jim Hopper.
Beside him, one step back, is Dr Leslie. She looks, without any ambiguity, absolutely fucking mortified.
My heart plummets and I can only imagine how Billy is feeling in this moment.
I want to sink to the bottom of the lake and hide, hoping this will all just go away. But no. Weโve been caught. Weโre absolutely, utterly fucked.
Hopper unfolds his arms slowly and tucks his thumbs into his belt loops. He surveys the scene. The lake. The towels on the log. The two of us standing chest-deep in the water in our underwear with all the evidence of the last thirty seconds still written plainly across our faces.
Thereโs no denying this. No way out.
He takes a breath. Then, in the voice of a man who has seen many things and has chosen, on this particular evening, to be mostly calm about it, โWell then. You pair best get outโฆ now.โ
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The pasta plates have been sitting on the coffee table for two hours.
Billy and I had lazily set them down after dinner with full intentions of eventually getting up and washing them. โJust give it a sec,โ weโd both agreed, โletโs just let our food go downโ though, that was just an excuse. We remain how we have been since finishing our food, tangled up in each other on the couch where we belong.
The dirty forks are crossed over the sauce stained ceramic in a way that I find stupidly beautiful. Itโs evidence of a meal he made me from scratch, standing in that narrow kitchen with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder, posing as a proper chef. He kept asking me, checking and checking, whether or not I wanted garlic bread and then made it anyway when I assured him I didnโt mind. When he plated it up and brought it out to me, he looked so pleased with himself I could melt.
It was honestly the best tasting meal Iโve had here. The slop they serve in the cafeteria is quite literally pale in comparison.
Iโm snuggled up against him, my back to his chest, his legs stretched out along the length of the couch with mine slotted between them. Billyโs hand moves through my hair in this slow, unconscious way that I donโt think he even knows the impact of heโs doing.
The cabin is quiet. Outside, the last of the evening activities are winding down somewhere beyond the tree line, luckily today I only had three to muddle through before I could come back here and spend time with a completely unfiltered Billy. Is honestly been bliss. With him, itโs a different world to what it is out there. I genuinely think I could stay in this exact position in his arms for the rest of my life and not feel cheated out of a single thing.
โI love you.โ he says into my hair, and itโs the fourth time in the last hour. Maybe the fifth.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
We keep saying it. I donโt even know when it started or who said it first after the major confession yesterday, but itโs become this thing we do now, slipping it into the gaps between sentences as naturally as blinking.
โI love you,โ I say back, and I feel him press his lips to the top of my head.
Heโs been giddy. Thatโs the only word for it. Billy Hargrove, who I have watched maintain an almost supernatural composure for the better part of the summer, has been soft and stupidly giddy since last night, and thereโs something so privately wonderful about being the only person in the world who knows that about him. He keeps smiling at nothing. The first time he said those three words to me, he did it with his whole chest, and then he laughed a little, surprised at himself, and I laughed too, and something cracked open between us that I donโt think will ever fully close again.
The thought of Rachel, Lauren and Jackson flashes my mind the way it did last night before bed. I looked outside the bedroom window and saw the pitch black sky and how dark it was out there. I worry for them. Are they safe? Are they sheltered? Are they warm? Did they make it out of Indiana? God I hope they made itโฆ I hope they came out the other side, far far away from Hawkins. I hope Rachel will keep that confident charm and use it to make new friends wherever she goes. I hope Lauren is keeping them safe, staying as alert and observant as she always is. And Jacksonโฆ I hope he finds his family. I hope he doesnโt hold a grudge with me for loving another. I hope he goes as far as I know he willโฆ they all will.
I chose to stay and I would choose it again if I were ever standing at the same crossroads. Iโd choose Billy in a heartbeat.
โYouโd love it there.โ
Billyโs voice pulls me back into the room. I blink a few times and immediately wonder โwhereโ? But I donโt say it out loud. I donโt want him to worry or think Iโm not interested in what he has to say - I am, of course I am, my thoughts just tend to trail off. So I just let the question sit unanswered inside me and wait.
โCali isโฆโ He pauses, like heโs reaching for the right word, which isnโt something Billy does often. He usually knows exactly what he means and says it with complete authority, no hesitation, no fumbling. But this is different. This is something he actually cares about. โItโs something else.โ
California. Of course. I feel a small smile pull at my mouth as the pieces settle.
I think of the last time I snuck into the Hawkins cinema, how Iโd slipped into the back row just as the opening reel was rolling. โAmerican Graffitiโ. I hadnโt chose the film, anything wouldโve suited me at the time. I didnโt expect much, but I loved every second. Two hours of California summers and swish cars and youth and music. I sat there in the dark with my knees pulled up to my chest thinking, thatโs where I should be. Thatโs the world I was supposed to get.
โI bet,โ I say. โWhen I saw American Graffiti at the movies, it was my total dream to run away there someday.โ
The short, reminiscent laugh that moves through him is low and easy, I feel it in his chest against my back. โYeah,โ he says, โitโs exactly like that. But with way more beach.โ
I smile, sitting up because I want to see his face when he talks about this. I shift and turn, folding my legs beneath me, settling back to see him properly. He looks good. He always looks good, but right now heโs at his best. I tilt my head, watching him with that warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest. โYou really do love that west coast, huh?โ
โGod,โ he exhales, โI canโt even tell you how much.โ
Billy goes quiet after that, but not the uncomfortable kind of quiet. I can tell heโs somewhere else for a moment, standing on that sandy beach, lapping up that Californian sunshine. I watch his eyes go slightly distant, watch the particular cast that memory puts on a personโs face.
Then he comes back.
โI learned to surf when I was around four,โ he adds. His voice is slower now and a lot more gentle. โMom got me my very own board. I remember it was thisโฆ tiny, little thing, but perfect for me.โ
A pause. And in the pause I can almost see it, the small surf board, the two of them together by the sea.
โShe used to take me out on weekends when it was just me and her. Sheโd hold the back of the board until I caught my balance and then let go without telling me. Iโd be going for like ten seconds before I even realised she wasnโt there anymore.โ His mouth curves at the memory. โI fell off every time. Every single time, just completely wiped out. I used to get so frustrated.โ
I think about that. Standing on something small and moving while the dangerous waters shift beneath you, no warning, the ground justโฆ gone. My stomach flips at the image. โWere you not scared?โ
Billy lets out a laugh at my concern. โNo. I think I scared her more, honestly.โ Thereโs a warmth to it that he probably doesnโt notice heโs letting out. โOnce I got the hang of it, youโd never get me out of the sea.โ
โSounds like you were a right water baby,โ I say, and Iโm grinning, because the image of a tinier version of Billy falling off over and over and refusing to stop is one of the best things Iโve ever been given.
โOh, definitely.โ He says it like a fact, like a badge of honour. โAt one point I even considered becoming a lifeguard at the community pool, just to get that feeling back, yโknow? Any excuse to stay in the water.โ
Yeah, I think, and I mean to say it lightly, the way you agree to something without thinking. But something in me catches on the word before it gets out properly. That feelingโฆ waterโฆ floatingโฆ swimmingโฆ I donโt have a version of that. Iโve never had a version of that. I donโt know what water feels like to be completely relaxed at even the mere thought of it.
โYeah,โ I say anyway, and it comes out slightly flat, and I look down at my hands, messing with the hem of my shirt.
I feel his eyes on me before he says anything.
โYouโve gone quiet.โ
I look up. Heโs got his head tilted just slightly, watching me with that particular focus that still, even now, catches me off guard. The way he actually pays attention, the way nothing gets past him. I feel warmth crawl up the back of my neck.
โHuh? Oh-โฆ itโsโฆ nothing.โ
He reaches out and puts his hand on my knee, warm and steady, and just leaves it there. โLydia.โ His thumb moves back and forth in the smallest possible motion. โCome onโฆ Tell me.โ
I shake my head, half a smile already on my face because I know what Iโm not telling him is super embarrassing. I open my mouth without knowing yet what shape the words are going to take, and then I look down at his hand on my knee. The way it sits there without any pressure, without any agenda, just present, just easy.
โFine.โ I exhale through my nose. โI, uh- I canโt exactlyโฆโ
I pause.
He waits.
โSwim.โ
His hand lifts off my knee.
โWhat?โ
I bury my face in both hands. โMhm.โ
โLike-โ I can hear him recalibrating in real time, the brief silence of a person rearranging information. โLike at all?โ
โLike at all.โ Muffled, from inside my hands.
Does he seriously believe that I was in a place long enough to learn anything extracurricular?
โLydia.โ He says my name with this weight that is somehow both concerned and utterly bewildered, like Iโve just told him Iโve never seen the sun. โHow-โ
I drop my hands and look at him with the most patient, even expression I can manage. โHow many beaches are in Indiana, Billy?โ
The silence that follows is extremely satisfying.
โโฆFair enough,โ he says. And then, almost immediately, โBut still. Most people in Cali were swimming before they could even walk.โ
โThereโs no way thatโs true.โ
โNo, really-โ he says it with the confidence of a man who has never once been wrong about anything, โbabies have a natural reflex to. Itโs a real thing.โ
I shrug, because I genuinely have no response to that. โBeats me.โ
Quiet settles between us, and then I watch something happen in his expression. A thought arriving, some idea clicking into place behind his eyes, lighting them up from the inside in a way that I know already, I know immediately, is going to result in something Iโm not prepared for. He looks at me with this slow, tilted edge to his mouth, and something in my stomach drops pleasantly.
โWhat?โ I question flatly.
The smirk widens, and his eyes sweep over me with that particular brand of unhurried, deliberate attention that he deploys when he already knows exactly what he wants and is simply enjoying the approach. โI could teach you,โ he says, voice dropping just enough to make the words feel like theyโre for me specifically and no one else on earth. โI know all the styles.โ He pauses, lets that sit. โFreestyle. Butterfly.โ Another long, flirtatious pause. โBreaststroke.โ
I stare at him, judging his astonishing way of turning one of my biggest fears into a way to somehow flirt. โNo, thank you, I really donโt-โ
Both palms come down flat on his knees with a decisive slap and heโs on his feet before the sentence is out of my mouth. โWeโll do it now.โ
โWhat-โ
He holds his hand out toward me, open, waiting. I look at it, then up at him, and I keep my own hands exactly where they are in my lap, fingers laced, going absolutely nowhere. He tips his chin toward the door. โCome on. Itโll be funโฆ besides, I know a place.โ
โAbsolutely not.โ
โLydia~.โ
โI said-โ
And then both of my hands are in his, because he simply reached down and took them, no further argument, just his hands closing around mine and the gentle and completely unfair upward pull of someone who has decided this is happening. I donโt stand. I make him work for it, just a little. But I donโt pull away either.
โBilly.โ I warn.
โDonโt make me carry you.โ
I look up at him, my brows pulled together in protest. He looks down at me, simply watching, patiently waiting.
With Camp Nightwing so sooo close to being finished, I just wanted to make a little post to say thank you to everyone whoโs supported this fic while Iโve been writing it.
Iโve been reading / writing fanfiction since I was like 10 years old and I have literally never finished a full fic before - they usually just ended up abandoned somewhere in my notes app and rarely ever posted. So the fact that this one is actually reaching the end is so surreal (Only 4 more chapters to go!)
Genuinely, I couldnโt have done it without you guys. I know itโs a little controversial to admit this but the likes, reposts and comments is what has kept me motivated to keep going.
I also wanna give a special mention / shoutout to @hbkchokeme and @aliendustpee who have both quite literally been here since the start. I always look out for your interactions with new chapters, like it literally makes me smile every single time :)
BUT!!! Donโt worry Iโm not disappearing after this finishes! I actually have another Billy Hargrove longfic thatโs been sitting in my drafts since likeโฆ 2021??? So I canโt wait to finally dust that one off and rework it to eventually share with you all. Plus, Iโve also got a few one shots up my sleeve too!
Anyway, thank you again for all the love on this fic, it genuinely means the world to me.
Though not for any finishing title at the end of the cross country course. Nor because thereโs a leader with a clipboard waiting on the other end of the trail to record her time and tick her name off a list. Itโs got nothing to do with this mundane activity that was forced upon her. Lydia runs because standing at that gate any longer would have absolutely destroyed her, and running away is the only thing sheโs ever known.
Which is what makes this all the more real.
The door was wide open, the freedom, the fresh start, everything sheโd ever dreamed of within her grasp. And yetโฆ all she could think of was him. For once in her life, there was someone worth staying for.
The trail blurs into streaks of green as she pushes harder than ever. Tears streaming down her cheeks, her legs aching, breath ragged, heart drumming in her chest and a metallic taste of the blood in her lungs. Sheโs faster than sheโs ever been, fuelled by a raw, complex mix of emotion: sadness, relief, fear, confusion, clarity. All of it driving her forward.
The camp grounds come into view as the tree line drops away, but Lydia doesnโt slow. She carries on, cutting away from the direction of the cross country group without a second thought, without a backwards glance. Let them mark her absent. Let someone come looking. She genuinely, honestly cannot bring herself to care about any of that right now.
Sheโs looking for him.
Her eyes scan the grounds as she runs, scanning the paths, the open fields, the gaps between cabins. Sheโs not even entirely sure what sheโs going to say when she finds him. The words have not yet formed. There is no plan. She is all impulse and adrenaline and weeks of accumulated feeling crashing through her chest. She stopped caring about caution approximately the same moment she stood at that gate and chose to stay.
Lydia rounds the eastern path, past the equipment shed, past the notice board with its colour coded schedule sheโs memorised without meaning to and thenโฆ finallyโฆ she spots Billy.
โHeโs alone, thank god.โ
Thatโs the first thing she registers and relief washes over her, she wouldnโt have known what to do nor say if he had company.
Heโs on the path ahead, moving at an unhurried pace, one hand is holding a walkie-talkie to his jaw, the other is placed at his side as he hooks his thumb around a loop in his jeans. His head is tilted slightly, listening to whoeverโs on the other end. Heโs in the zone, professional, contained, perfectly in order and completely unaware.
Lydia quickly approaches, then stops dead. Her chest heaving, the raw scrape of her throat where crying and cold air have done their damage makes it almost impossible to breathe right. Sheโs standing directly in his path, not even six feet between them, tears still tracking down her face and not a single coherent plan for what she does next.
She just stands there.
Billy glances up with the automatic awareness of someone whose job requires knowing whatโs going on around him. The second their eyes meet, whatever expression heโd been wearing drops clean off his face. Gone completely between one breath and the next. His brows immediately pull together and his gaze moves over her in one fast sweep. She looks like sheโs just run straight through a storm.
Her hair clings damply to her temples, strands plastered to flushed skin. Her chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, breaths shaking their way out of her lungs like they hurt.
And her face-
Tears.
Actual tears are rolling down her cheeks.
She stands there in the middle of the path with no group, no explanation, not a trace of the usual armour she wears so well. In all the months heโs known her, heโs never seen her in a state like this.
The radio crackles in his hand before either of them can say a word.
โ-need confirmation on cone placement, east perimeter field B, twenty metres from boundary. Over.โ
Billy doesnโt even glance down, his eyes stay locked on Lydia.
โCopy that,โ he says quickly into the radio, voice suddenly distracted. โOver and out.โ
He drops it. Doesnโt think about it, doesnโt clip it away, just lets go. It hits the dirt path with a hollow plastic sound and heโs already moving, crossing the space between them in a few long strides. Both hands wrap around the sides of her arms in a carful, steady grip.
He bends. Lowers himself to her level, puts his face right there in front of hers, close enough to read every single thing sheโs not saying.
โHeyโฆ hey,โ He soothes her gently, his voice softening. Itโs nothing of like the professional drawl he used moments ago. Nothing for anyone elseโs ears. โBaby wh-โ His eyes search her face frantically, scanning every inch like heโs trying to locate the source of the damage.
Lydia tries to answer. Her mouth opens. Nothing comes out. All that escapes her is a small, broken breath. She shakes her head helplessly.
โListen to me.โ His hands shift slightly, grip adjusting, thumbs pressing with the smallest, deliberate pressure against the outside of her arms. โWhatโs wrong?โ
Her chin does the thing. The terrible, involuntary, humiliating thing her chin does when she is trying very hard not to cry any more than she already has, this tiny tremble she canโt control no matter how much sheโd like to.
โOkay,โ he says, quietly trying to understand. And then without making a production of it, without drawing it out, he does a fast scan of the path in both directions and tilts his head once, a small, certain gesture toward the near side of the storage cabin thatโs just off the path, just out of open view, the kind of privacy they need right now.
โCome onโฆ over here.โ
Billy gently guides her toward the narrow space between two cabins tucked just out of sight from the main path.
The moment they step behind it, the world narrows down to something more manageable.
Billy turns to face her, close, both of them tucked into this pocket of almost privacy, and his hands return to her arms and he dips his head again to find her eyes.
โBreathe,โ he says.
She does. One breath, uneven at the edges. Then another.
โSlow,โ Billy continues, voice steady now, grounding. โThatโs it. Just breathe.โ
Soon, she calms herself down enough to tell him whatโs happened.
It comes out rough at first, fighting through the tightness in her throat, the words arriving in pieces that donโt quite connect. The cross country run. The way their little group steered off trail. And then, most importantlyโฆ
โThere was a gate,โ she says.
Billyโs brow furrows. โA gate?โ
โYeah...โ She swallows hard, closing her eyes and lets the tears stream down as she shakes her head. โI didnโt understand what we were doing there. And then Jackson-.โ
Thatโs as far as she gets.
โJackson did this?โ Heโs looking at the sheer state that sheโs in, at the fact that the last name out of her mouth belongs to a boy, and heโs connected those dots with the swift, certain logic of someone who is not going to wait around for the full picture before deciding he doesnโt like it. โLydia, if he hurt you-โ
โNo- Billy-โ She shakes her head, a wet, slightly breathless sound escaping her. โLet me finish.โ
He stops. Just like that. The tension in his jaw doesnโt fully disappear but his hands loosen on her arms, and she watches him make the conscious effort to pull himself back.
She takes a breath.
โHe was prying the gate open. Thatโs all.โ
Billy closes his mouth. His expression shifts, the sharp edge of it blunting as she holds his gaze, and after a beat he gives a short nod for her to continue.
โIt was likeโฆ they all knew something, and I didnโt.โ
Lydia pauses. Billy watches her face, waiting with that focused, unhurried patience he reserves for things that actually matter to him.
โSo I asked them.โ Another pause, smaller this time. Her eyes drop for just a second before coming back up to his. โAndโฆ they told me.โ
Heโs very still. Reading her. Preparing himself for whateverโs coming.
โWeโre going to New York.โ
Something passes across Billyโs face. A short breath escapes him, half a laugh, the involuntary kind, arriving before his brain has fully processed what his ears just heard. The corner of his mouth lifts subtly, the automatic response to what heโs clearly assumed is a joke.
And then he looks at the dried tear tracks and the red rimmed eyes and the expression on her face that has not a trace of humour in it.
His face drops.
โโฆYouโre serious.โ
โI had no idea,โ Lydia continues, her voice steadier now, the telling of it doing something to organise the chaos in her chest. โBut it turns out theyโd been planning it this whole time.โ She pauses, and an absentminded smile forms at her lips, soft and involuntary, the kind that arrives when youโre still surprised by how much someone cared. โThey even waited for the right time to take me with them.โ
Billyโs brows draw together, just slightly, his head tilting a fraction to one side. Heโs not quite understanding the full picture yet, still piecing it together. But her smile has somewhat returned, and it catches him off guard enough that the corner of his own mouth moves in response.
โThere was a train,โ she says, the smile fading back into something more serious as the weight of it returns. โJust past the gate. Rachel had figured out the schedule. Jackson got it open wide enough. Lauren had all this cash-โ She shakes her head, a small disbelieving breath escaping her as she raises both hands and gestures at how big the stack was. โBilly, I have never seen so much money in my life. She just pulled it out of her jacket like it was nothing.โ
Something in Lydiaโs teary expression shifts into one of pride. Even now, even through all of this, itโs there. Quiet, certain and completely genuine.
โThey really had it all figured out.โ
A beat.
She exhales slowly, her eyes dropping to the space between them.
โBut Iโฆ I couldnโt go.โ
Silence.
Not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that has weight to it, that means something, that both of them sit inside without rushing to fill it. The distant sound of camp life carries on around the corner, indifferent and unaware. Neither of them move.
โI couldnโt move a single step.โ Her voice has dropped to barely above a murmur. โIn fact, I didnโt even contemplate it.โ
She looks up at him through her lashes, aware of how she must look. Red-eyed and earnest, stripped of every clever thing sheโd normally reach for right about now. The girl who always has a line ready, always has an exit, always makes sure the moment doesnโt get heavier than she can carry alone. Itโs gone.
โYou didnโt?โ Billy says, though it comes out quieter than he intends. The truth is heโs thought about it more than once, the very real possibility that one day Lydia would run again. That the right exit would appear and sheโd take it. After all, he couldnโt blame her, thatโs what he wouldโve done too if things were different.
Heโd tried so desperately to make peace with it.
But now sheโs standing here telling him she had the door wide open.
And she walked away from it.
โI stayed because of you.โ
The words land and stay, not leaving room for misinterpretation. Six words, clean and irreversible, and Lydiaโs given them to him without flinching.
For a long moment Billy doesnโt speak. His eyes light up and mouth opens but nothing comes out. The words, whatever they were going to be, dissolve into a smile. Speechless in a way that Billy Hargrove, in her experience, simply never is.
He closes his mouth. His tongue runs briefly over his lower lip.
โSay that again.โ
Lydia lets out a short, shaky breath.
โIโll do you one better,โ she says. โBut I need you to understand something first.โ
Billy waits. He would wait all day. She can tell.
โI have never said this to anyone.โ She holds his gaze as she says it, making sure it lands properly, making sure he understands the full weight of what that means coming from her specifically. From a girl who has kept everything at armโs length for so long that armโs length started to feel like home. โNot once. Not even close. So thatโs how you know I mean it.โ
She shifts her weight, and thereโs something almost nervous in it, something young and unpolished that she doesnโt bother to hide. โAnd Iโm not good at these things, okay? So bear with me.โ
Lydia takes deep breath.
โWhen I first met you, I hated you.โ She says it plainly, no apology in it. โLike, genuinely couldnโt stand you. I thought you were this mean, pretentious asshole who got under my skin from the second I walked through those gates.โ The corner of her mouth twitches. โAnd then that night at the bar happened. And I learned something about you.โ
She pauses. If she were being honest - and apparently today sheโs being devastatingly, catastrophically honest - she couldnโt even tell you exactly when it happened. Only that one day she looked at him and the hatred had somewhere along the way quietly packed its bags and left, and moved something else in without asking her permission.
โAnd I guess after that youโฆ grew on me.โ Her smile is brighter now, self-aware and a little helpless. โWhich, for the record, is your fault entirely.โ
Her eyes stay on his.
โSo what Iโm trying to say isโฆโ She stops. Steadies herself. Looks at him like sheโs making a decision sheโs already made. โYouโre a fucking jerk.โ
โฆ
โBut I love you.โ
She barely gets the last word out before he moves.
Thereโs no hesitation, no careful measured response, he simply closes the space between them. One hand finds her jaw and the other catches her waist. Billy kisses her. Hard and warm and completely certain, the kind of kiss that doesnโt ask anything because it already knows, the kind that has weeks and months of carefully managed restraint folded into it and doesnโt bother pretending otherwise.
Lydia makes a sound against his mouth, itโs relief. Her hands grasp at the front of his shirt. He walks her back without breaking the kiss, then her back hits the outside wall of the cabin with a soft thud. She pulls him desperately closer, and he complies without hesitation.
For a while they stay like that. Pressed together in this narrow gap between cabins with the whole of camp carrying on right around the corner.
Suddenly, a sound.
A flapping of wings.
A large bird drops out of nowhere and lands on the ground just feet away from them.
They both jump. Pull apart. Lydiaโs hand flies to her chest.
They look at the bird and it looks back with the profound disinterest of a creature that has no concept of what it just interrupted and would not care even if it did.
And then they laugh.
Billy drops his forehead against hers, his hand coming up to stroke her cheek, and they stand there like that, foreheads pressed together, laughing quietly at a bird. Itโs ridiculous and perfect and nothing like anything Lydia ever imagined this would feel like.
Soon, Billy pulls back just enough to look at her properly. His hand is still at her cheek, his thumb moving in one slow, absent pass across her skin. He searches her face for a moment, unhurried.
His next words change their relationship for the greater good.
โWhy is it that weekends canโt last forever?โ
Itโs a question I imagine most people ask themselves every Monday morning, that universal dread of returning to routine, to responsibility, to the grinding monotony of obligations. But for me. Today. It feels extra cruel.
Two days. Thatโs all I get with him. Two days where he isnโt married to the responsibilities of camp. Two days where I donโt have to pretend I donโt notice him. Where I donโt have to swallow my feelings down and pretend everythingโs A-OK. Two days where he can be entirely mine. Not sir. Not โMr Hargroveโ. Just Billyโฆ though, calling him โsirโ in our spare time isnโt exactly off the table.
And now, itโs fucking Monday again.
Iโve never been someone who clings. Thatโs not who I am, not who Iโve ever been. You donโt grow up the way I did and come out the other side with healthy attachment habits. You come out knowing how to leave. Knowing how to pack light and move fast and not look back. I perfected the art of not needing anyone before most kids had figured out how to ride a bike. So what the hell is happening to me? Why does every second away from him feel like a lifetime?
Heโs gotten under my skin. Thatโs the only explanation. Billy Hargrove has somehow burrowed under all that careful armour I spent nineteen years constructing, and now every time we separate it feelsโฆ wrong.
And to make it worse, heโs not hosting my activity today.
Cross country. Of course it is.
I love runningโฆ but Camp Nightwing has this special talent for sucking the life out of everything you actually enjoy.
My legs have been burning for the last twelve minutes, and the twelve before that, the fire spreading up from my calves through the backs of my thighs in that deep, particular way that tells you your body has officially stopped finding this fun. Sweatโs plastered to the back of my neck, dripping down my spine, and every breath I suck in feels cold and sharp in my lungs, but it does nothing to cool me down. The trail is narrow, trees crowding in so close that the air stinks of old pine and damp bark.
Iโm following Rachel.
Or, more accurately, Iโm following Rachel, who is following Jackson, who is following a direction that stopped matching the marked trail signs about five minutes ago.
I noticed from the moment our little group weโve formed took a sharp turn along a faded pathway. I didnโt stop nor question anything. If a little detour means Iโm not doing this lame activity, that suits me just fine. And hey, the old me would be proud. I need a little rebellion every know and then to remind myself of who I am.
Lauren glances back at me over her shoulder, checking Iโm still there, and I give her a nod. She grins then turns back around.
The four of us make our way deeper in, off the beaten path now, ducking for the low hanging branches and stepping over the fat, exposed roots that ridge up from the earth like knuckles. The light changes under the denser canopy. Itโs greener, dimmer, filtered through the overhead layers in shifting patches that move with the breeze. My breathing slows from the punishing pace of the run, evening out into something more manageable. My legs still ache. I ignore them.
Suddenly Jackson stops.
Heโs standing in a small clearing and there, half swallowed by bramble and the creeping tangle of ivy, sits a row of railings with a gate. A barrier designed to keep outโฆ or, more likely, to keep in.
Itโs old. Silvery grey. The metal gone dull with rust at the joins. A chain that should keep it sealed wrapped loosely around the post and the latch but clearly not doing its job. It sags open only by a few inches, the links pulled apart just enough to suggest someone has been here before and tried very hard to do so. Past it, through the gap and the undergrowth beyond, I can see nothing definitive. Seemingly, itโs just more forest.
โHere it is,โ Jackson says, and thereโs a satisfaction in his voice that tells me this is exactly what he expected. โTold you.โ
He bends to the gate before the words have finished landing, getting his hands around the metal, shifting his weight. His shoulders bunch. The chain rasps. Rachel and Lauren exchange a look beside me, bright and conspiratorial, the look of people who are very much in on whatever this is.
I am not in on whatever this is.
I watch Jackson work at the gate with renewed purpose. I watch Rachel press her hand to her mouth to contain a smile. And I feel itโฆ that dawning, that particular shift in understanding that hasnโt finished forming yet but is almost thereโฆ almost-
โUh. Whatโs going on?โ My voice comes out cautiously.
Rachel spins on me with a grin she cannot contain. She looks proud of herself. The sheer joy taking over her whole face. โSurprise!โ she announces, arms spread wide like sheโs unveiling something magnificent. โI knew youโd love it!โ
I look between them. Between Rachel, fizzing with barely contained glee; Lauren, trying to look casual and mostly failing; Jackson, still crouched at the gate, leveraging his weight against it with the focused intensity of a man who has decided this will happen if it kills him. I look at all three of them as they talk amongst themselves, feeling like this is some inside joke Iโm not in on.
โIs anyone gonna tell me whatโs going on here?โ
They all turn to face me at once. Even Jackson stops what heโs doing. He lets out a long, heavy sigh and straightens up, brushing his palms against his shortsโฆ rudely but Iโll choose to ignore it for now.
โWeโre going to New York, baby!โ Rachel announces.
The words hit me directly in the chest.
Surely not-
Thatโs impossible.
โNew York?! Wh-โ
โI heard a rumour,โ Rachel cuts in, stepping forward, her energy barely contained, vibrating through every syllable. โThereโs a train nearby. Takes you out of state. Supposedly comes every Monday.โ She pauses, just long enough for effect, and her smile stretches. โWellโฆ turns out I was right! Itโs just past this gate.โ She gestures, one arm sweeping toward Jackson and his metalwork. โWeโre getting out of here, Lydia!โ
The words land. And then they keep landing, the way certain things do, you hear them and understand them and they sound exactly like everything you would have wantedโฆ once. Not so long ago. A version of you that is not quite as far away as youโd like, turning to look at the exit with her whole body, already running before the thought has finished forming.
I go quiet.
My heart plummets. I feel it - actually feel it, that slow, sickening drop, like something heavy cut loose from a great height. And then, before Iโve even decided to think about him, heโs just there. Billy. Not as a reason. Not as an argument Iโm constructing in my own defence. Just him. The specific warmth of the past few weeks bleeding through every other thought. His cabin, his voice, the way the nights have rearranged themselves around him without my permission. The way he looks at me when he thinks Iโm not watching. The way I somehow went from swearing I hated him to lying awake cataloguing all the ways that was never really true. From sworn enemies from the very start to something so much more terrifying. Iโve never felt it before. Not once. Not for anyone. I donโt even want to name it. But itโs his, whatever it is. It has only ever been his.
Some time ago. Some version of me that felt like a different life. I would have been the first through that gate.
Now..?
Rachel is still talking. The plan unfolds in pieces. Talk of hitchhiking, New York City, a โfresh startโ somewhere loud and anonymous and vast enough to swallow a person whole. No record. No file. No one who knows you as someone elseโs problem. Start from nothing and build something real, amazing. The kind of plan that sounds like freedom when you say it fast and donโt think about risk.
I look at her. The words she wants are right there, obvious, the ones that fit. I should be nodding. Should be feeling it light up inside me like it clearly has for her.
โThatโsโฆโ I hear myself. โThatโs genius.โ
Rachel makes a sound that is less human being and more small animal discovering joy for the first time, and throws herself at me. Her arms wrap tight, the force of it slightly off-balance, and I absorb it, all whilst unintentionally going stiff in the embrace.
Lauren notices. Of course she does. Lauren notices everything with the quiet, careful attention of someone who collects details like currency.
โYou okay, Lydia?โ
I pull back. Forcing a smile. โYeah. Uh-โ I push a hand through my sweat dampened hair. โItโs just a lot to take in, thatโs all.โ
Jackson makes a short, dismissive sound, a soft โpssshhtโ accompanied by a head shake. He returns back to the gate. Thereโs something in the movement that makes me feel uncomfortable, uneasy.
My mind is already scrambling. Racing the realisation that has settled fully in my chest now, the one I canโt pretend is anything other than what it is. Iโm not going. I know it the same way I know when Iโve made any of my other decisions, absolutely certain. Iโm not going, no. I need time, I need a reason that isnโt the real reason-
โWhat about your bags?โ The words come out in a rush. โYou havenโt got anything-โ
โThatโs okay, look what we found.โ Lauren says easily, and before I can follow it up, she reaches into her jacket and pulls out a wad of bills, fanning them out in her hand with practiced, deliberate pleasure. The notes catch the fractured light between the trees and I stare at them in awe.
Never in my lifetime have I set my eyes on so much money.
Rachel claps her hands and literally bounces on her toes.
โWhere did you get all that?!โ
โWeโve been saving up since youโve been gone,โ Lauren says, a warm smile threading through the quiet pride in her voice. โTurns out the rich kidsโ parents give them quite the bit of pocket money.โ
โAnd when we get to the big city-โ Rachel, of course, can barely contain herself, โ-weโre going shopping!โ
My mouth is hung open, Iโm left dumbfounded. These three have always seemed a little reckless, a little impulsive - hell, maybe they are - but underneath that thereโs something else entirely, something I keep underestimating. In my world, you fend for yourself. Full stop. You donโt save for someone else. You donโt build a plan and hold it quietly until the right person arrives. You take what you need and you move on, and nobody calls it anything other than survival. But thisโฆ this is different. They did this with me in mind. They cared enough to wait.
Fuck.
โYouโve really got this all figured out, havenโt you?โ
โMhm.โ Rachel tilts her chin, satisfied. โWhat else did you think we were doing since youโve been in isolation?โ
Before I can respond, a loud metallic groan splits the air between us.
Jackson straightens. The gate hangs open wider now, enough to squeeze through. He looks at it for a moment and then to us.
โItโs time.โ
Rachel and Lauren look at each other, and the look they share in that half-second is everything. Weeks of planning and saving all comes down to this very moment. Escape.
โCome on.โ Rachel is already moving. โWeโve not got long until that train comes.โ
They line up at the gate. Jackson goes first, ducking his frame through the gap. Lauren is soon to follow, one hand on the old metal as she begins lowering herself. Rachel turns back, reaching for my hand, already pulling-
I freeze.
My feet stay on the ground. The space between me and the gate is about six feet of dry earth and dead leaves, and it might as well be a continent. My eyes lock with Rachels, pricking with tears that threaten to fall. I open my mouth to speak but fail to find the words. The paralysis is complete, total, honest in a way I almost never let myself be.
They stop.
Jackson doesnโt turn around immediately. He stands with his back to me, weight on one leg, and there is something in the set of his shoulders that tells me he already knows Iโm not comingโฆ and has known for a while.
โAre you coming or what?โ
โIโฆโ
Lauren turns. Her expression is soft, careful, readable. โLyd, come on before someone sees.โ A beat. The softness doesnโt shift but thereโs an urgency underneath it. โLydia?โ
Jackson straightens. Still doesnโt turn. His back is a wall.
โItโs him, isnโt it?โ
The silence that follows is absolute. Even the birds have stopped. I can hear my own heartbeat, feel it in my throat.
โItโsโฆ who?โ
โHargrove.โ
No. No, no, no, no. Fuck! How does he-
โI donโt know what youโre-โ
He turns.
And he walks back toward me, slow and deliberate, and his expression is not angry, itโs worse. Itโs the look of someone who has been holding something in for a long time and has just decided heโs done holding it. He stops close. Close enough that I have to hold my ground on instinct.
โDonโt act stupid with me.โ His voice is low. Controlled. โYouโre fucking him, arenโt you?โ
Behind him, I hear Rachelโs breath catch. Lauren goes still.
โI-โ My throat closes. The denial forms and dies before it reaches my lips. โIโฆ no. Itโs not like that!โ
โThen what is it, Lydia?โ He spreads his hands, a short frustrated gesture. โWhat could possibly be the reason youโre staying in his cabin?โ
Laurenโs voice comes over his shoulder, quiet and careful. โLydiaโฆ is that true?โ
โHow-โ
โI saw you both.โ Jacksonโs eyes donโt move from mine. โKissing.โ
Rachel makes a sound ,sharp and involuntary and almost comically surprised.
My mind races through โwhensโ, โhowsโ and โwhysโ. We were always so careful, itโs impossible that he couldโve known unless he was there-โฆ he was there. But, when?!
Nothing can hide the wave of embarrassment as heat crashes on my cheeks. Iโm guilty. So fucking guilty, thereโs no way out of this but through.
He takes another step. I donโt move. My heart is hammering so hard I feel it in my fingernails, behind my eyes, everywhere at once, but I keep my chin up and my eyes level and I do not flinch.
โIs that what got you sent here in the first place? Are you just some-โ The word that comes out of his mouth lands like a physical thing, low and vicious, โ-slut who likes to sleep around with older-โ
โJackson.โ Lauren is between us in an instant, her hand firm against his chest. Her voice doesnโt rise but it has an edge in it Iโve never heard before. โThatโs enough.โ
The silence that follows is awful and ringing.
I hold very, very still. The word is still sitting in the air between us. I let it sit there. I let it settle. And then, quietly, with every controlled thing I have,
โYou donโt know anything about me.โ
He meets my eyes. His jaw works. โThen what is it, huh? What- do you love him?โ
The question is intended as an accusation. I hear how he means it as something ridiculous, something damning, something that will make me flinch back and correct him. He fires it like a shot.
Lauren and Rachel both turn. Their faces are angled toward me, though theirs are much softer and more bewildered, brows slightly furrowed, heads tilted. Waiting for my next word.
โLydia?โ One of them presses softy, though Iโm too overwhelmed to register who.
โI- Iโฆโ
I open my mouth.
Just lie, come on itโs right there. Itโs the obvious move, the clean exit, a one syllable word and a dismissive laugh and we move on. I am very good at lying. I have been lying since before I could even write my own name. It is one of the most reliable tools I own. So, just say no. Say heโs got the wrong end of the stick and we can get over thisโฆ but then what? Whatโs next?
My mouth stays open.
Nothing comes out.
I look to the girls and watch their expressions change. Rachelโs hand clasps over her mouth, looking at me with a set of large, widening eyes. โOh my god,โ she breathes. โYou love him.โ
All three of them are looking at me.
And I shake my head lightly, the smallest possible denial. The words that should come are not there. The machinery that has always produced the right deflection at the right moment is silent, stalled, gone offline entirely. Because you can lie about nearly anything. But you cannot lie about something that is this undeniably, irrevocably true and have the lie mean anything at all. Not when itโs in your face like this. Not when theyโre all looking at you and waiting.
Jacksonโs nose crinkles, a sharp, involuntary expression of what I can only assume is disgust, or pain, or both tangled together. He turns away. Walks to a tree a few metres off and leans there with his back to the group, arms crossed, shoulders closed.
โJackson-โ
โLeave him.โ Laurenโs voice is quiet. โHeโll come around. Heโll have to. Weโve only got a few minutes left.โ She steps toward me, and thereโs nothing in her face except a kind of steady, honest concern. The anger isnโt there. It never was, for either girls.
Rachel has gone still for the first time since this started. Her eyes on me are soft. Searching.
โSo youโreโฆ staying?โ
The word is barely a question by the time she finishes it. She already knows. They all do.
โYes.โ
It comes out clean and simple and Iโm surprised, briefly, by how unambiguous it is. Just yes. No hedging. No apology built into it.
I look over at Jackson who is still not facing me, that familiar defensive posture of his, the one Iโve seen before when he doesnโt want to be seen feeling something. He mutters to himself, I know he heard me.
โYou guys have been the only friends Iโve ever had.โ The words come out before Iโve decided to say them, and I donโt stop them. Some things are too true to edit. โWhen I first came here I thought Iโd be on my own. And then Rachel, you justโฆโ I look at her, words cannot describe how grateful I am that she saw me. โYou just took me in. Right from the start. Like it was nothing.โ I swallow. โAnd then I met you, Lauren. And Jack-โฆโ
I turn back towards him. He doesnโt move.
โI genuinely, honestly wish you all the best.โ My voice holds. Barely. โBut Iโm sorry... Iโm not coming with you.โ
Laurenโs eyebrows furrowed, the light of hope fading from her eyes. โIs thereโฆ no way youโll change your mind?โ
I look down at the ground between us. Shake my head. โIโm sorry.โ
Rachel moves. She crosses the space between us with that particular intensity she applies to everything she cares about, and she throws herself over me. Arms wrapping, face pressing into my shoulder, and I feel her shaking slightly. Just slightly. I wrap my arms around her and hold on.
โUgh.โ She whines, though itโs muffled against me. โI hate goodbyes.โ
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are bright and wet at the corners, and she makes a face at herself for it, the kind of face you make when you refuse to fully cry but your body is not cooperating. She reaches out and takes both of my hands. Her grip is warm and firm and real.
โWhen you get out of here.โ She says it like itโs not a question, like itโs a scheduled thing, a matter of dates and logistics. โYou promise youโll visit?โ
โOf course.โ
โAnd youโll bring Billy too?โ
I blink. The name in her mouth is so unexpected and yet so ordinary, just a name, just a person, that for a second I donโt know what to do with the surprise on my face. โYouโฆ you mean that?โ
Rachel tips her head to one side with an expression that is almost affectionate in its exasperation. โOh come on. Heโs a total dick. But I see the attraction.โ A beat. The ghost of a grin. โThe man is built like a-โ
โRachel.โ
โIโm just saying.โ She releases my hands, steps back, and something in her expression settles into something more honest, more unguarded than usual. She looks, for a moment, like she loves me. Straightforwardly and without ceremony.
We both look to Lauren as she lets out a breath and crosses to me. Her hug is different from Rachels, itโs quieter, tighter, more contained. The kind of hug that says everything without the dramatics. When we pull apart, she holds me at armโs length for a moment and looks at me with that clear, particular gaze of hers that sees more than she usually says.
โI have absolutely no idea how you two came to be,โ she says. โBut I am going to need every single detail over drinks one day.โ The corner of her mouth lifts. โAgreed?โ
โCount me in.โ Rachelโs voice from behind her, prompt as a reflex.
Something loosens in my chest, warm and helpless. โAgreed.โ
Lauren squeezes my arms gently. โI hate to cut this short, butโฆโ she glances toward the gate, โwe really do have to go.โ
The three of us close the distance, and for a moment itโs just that, three people who found each other in the least likely of places, arms around arms, heads together. Someone is holding their breath. Maybe all of us are.
Then theyโre moving. Rachel first, then Lauren, ducking through the gate, straightening on the other side. The chain rattles softly as they clear it.
Jackson is last.
He starts to follow them, refusing to look at me, his stride carrying that deliberate blankness he uses when he wants to seem unbothered, and I reach out and catch his hand and catch his arm. He stops, and thankfully doesnโt pull away.
โLook...โ My voice is a low sigh, just for him. โI know about your feelings. Toward me.โ
He turns his head, not quite all the way and on comes the defence. โNo I- how?โ
โRachel.โ
He exhales through his nose. One short, helpless sound. โOf course.โ He spits out.
โPlease.โ I tighten my hand around his arm, just briefly, just enough to mean it. โDonโt hate me for this.โ
โLydia-โ
โJack.โ I wait until he finally, fully turns to look at me. His eyes are difficult to read. โIโm happy. So fucking happy. Iโve never felt this good before. Please, please try to understand.โ
He looks at me for a long, loaded moment. The birds have come back, somewhere above us. The wind moves through the upper canopy with a soft, continuous sound like breathing.
Then, slowly, the tightness in his face shifts.
โI do.โ He says it like it costs him something. โIโm justโฆ protective of you.โ
โI know. And, youโve done so much for me along the way. I donโt even know how to thank you for what youโve done-โ I stop. Take a breath. Then start again. โLook. I promise Iโll find a way to see you - all of you - again. One day.โ
โI hope so.โ
A thought surfaces. A concern that has been sitting with me quietly for longer than Iโve given it direct attention. โAre you sure about this? Leaving your Dad and all?โ
Something complicated morphs across his face, the kind of expression that belongs to a longer story than we have time for right now. โHe knows.โ
โAndโฆ?โ
โWeโve got family in Manhattan.โ A pause. โIโll be fine.โ
The knot in my chest loosens a fraction. โThatโs good. I feel better knowing that.โ
โLydia.โ Jacksonโs voice drops, loses its defensive armour, goes down to something unguarded and honest and young in a way he almost never allows. โI want you there. Iโmโฆ Iโm crazy about you.โ
โJackson...โ
โI know. Donโt tell me. I know.โ
We stand in that for a moment, and itโs tender and sad and honest, which is more than most endings get to be. Then, I remember something, itโs only a theory but a likely one at that.
โHave you ever noticed,โ I say carefully, โanyone elseโs feelings? For you?โ
He frowns. โWhat do you mean?โ
I donโt answer with words. I just move my eyes past the gate, to where the girls are waiting. Laurens standing slightly apart, her hand raised to shield her eyes from a shaft of light coming through the trees, her head turned slightly away from us, completely oblivious.
Jackson follows my gaze. Looks for a moment. Then his brow creases. โWhat, Rachel? No. Not my type.โ
โLauren.โ I say it flatly, resisting to let out a huge โduh!โ sound. โYou absolute idiot.โ Thatโll do.
He looks again, and I watch it happen, the penny drops. โLauren..?โ He says her name like heโs testing it on his tongue. โReally, you think?โ
โJackson. I know. Cโmon have you seen the way she looks at you?โ
He is quiet for a moment, the gears visibly turning, recalibrating. A new configuration of something that was always there, just unexamined. And then, softly, almost despite himself, โWell. Youโve really given me something to think about.โ
I step forward and wrap my arms around him. Heโs stiff, only for a second, then returns it, one arm around my back, genuine and brief and solid.
โBe careful Lydia,โ He says into my hair, planting a friendly kiss against the top of my head. โI mean it.โ
โYou too. Look after the girls for me. I know you will.โ
He pulls back. His eyes on mine are complicated and real and the things in them that will never be said have already been said.
Then, cutting clean through the trees, the sound of a train. Low at first, building, unmistakeable.
โGo.โ I say.
He goes. Ducks through the gate with one long stride, straightens on the other side, and then all three of them are moving fast, pulling away, the sound of their footsteps crackling through undergrowth before the trees swallow them.
Iโll never forget that final look he gave me, the look they all gave me. Those werenโt just my friends, in them Iโve found a family.
The gate hangs loose.
I stand there.
The train sound swells and then begins to fade, moving away through the distance, taking them with it. And I stay completely still in the gap in the trees, in the thin green light, in the morning that has gone very quiet now that there is no one left in it but me.
It hits without warning. The way these things always do. The moment the noise stops and thereโs nothing left to focus on and your body catches up with what just happened. My throat tightens. My eyes sting. I press my lips together and stand there with the chain gate swaying gently in the breeze and something in my chest coming apart in the quiet, honest, unavoidable way that things come apart when youโve been holding yourself together through something difficult and now thereโs no longer any reason to hold on.
Iโm not crying about not leaving. I know that. I know exactly what this is.
Iโm crying because theyโre gone. Because the three of them walked through a gate and onto a train, and wherever they end up, they will be moving forward. They will be living a story Iโm not in.
I turn away from the gate before I can dwell on it anymore and I start running. Knowing exactly who Iโm running towards.
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Hello Ann I donโt know if this would be appropriate to send under requests or if I shouldโve just sent a regular comment or message.. but to frame it in a request lol.. I would love to request a couple more chapters of Water Boy for Billy Hargrove!!
Hiii thank you so much for your support, it genuinely means so much!!! ๐ฅน
Iโve had loads of requests for more parts/chapters, and they havenโt gone unnoticed. It was originally written as a one shot, and at the time I didnโt have anything else planned for it. But considering the ammount of love and attention itโs gotten, Iโve been thinking about revisiting it soon.
Right now Iโm focusing on finishing one of my bigger projects (hopefully by the end of March), but once I have the time Iโll definitely continue โWater Babyโ. Whether thatโs expanding it or giving it a final ending, Iโm not too sure yet but I have some ideas.
Billyโs entire body goes still beneath me, his hand freezes in my hair, fingers caught mid-stroke between one strand and the next, and the silence stretches long enough that I become acutely aware of every point of contact between us. The solid warmth of his chest under my cheek. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat, slightly faster than it should be for someone supposedly at rest. The particular weight of his arm where it rests across my back, heavy and unhurried, like he belongs there. Like I belong there.
When he speaks, his voice carries a note of disbelief thatโs almost endearing in how genuine it is. Like he canโt quite locate the correct response and has defaulted, helplessly, to the obvious question.
โWait-โ He blinks down at me with this boyish look about him, like a kid thatโs just found out theyโve missed Christmas. โYesterday was your birthday?โ
I canโt help it. I smile. It starts small, just a twitch at the corner of my mouth, but it spreads before I can stop it. โUh huh,โ I confirm, letting my voice carry all the sarcasm I can muster at this hour. โSame as every year.โ
โFuck. Baby.โ
He says it like a wound. His hand comes up to cover his face, dragging across his forehead and into his hair, and I can see the exact moment the guilt hits him. Genuine, unperformed guilt, the kind that doesnโt have anywhere comfortable to land. It moves across his features in layers. Shock first, then something like dismay, then a helpless kind of frustration thatโs directed entirely at himself.
โWhy didnโt you tell me?โ he asks, and the distress in his voice is so real it almost makes me want to laugh. โI wouldโve- we couldโve-โ He fumbles over his words. โJesus, we spent your birthday fucking in a storage shed.โ
โAnd against a wall,โ I add helpfully, watching his expression do something complicated. โAnd on the couch. And the kitchen counter. And-โ
โLydia.โ
He groans my name in a way that does things to me it absolutely shouldnโt, given that Iโve been awake for less than twenty minutes and I am genuinely, physically exhausted in ways I will not be detailing to anyone. But thereโs a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth despite everything itโs reluctant, fighting itself and losing badly.
โIโm being serious.โ He drops his hand, and his eyes find mine, and there it is, that thing he does where he looks at me like I require his full attention. Like Iโm actually worth it. โI would have done something special. Made it more than just-โ
โWould you relax?โ
I push myself up before I think better of it, rising until I can look at him properly, until thereโs nothing in the way. My hand finds his jaw on instinct and I feel the drag of weekend stubble against my palm.
โListen to me,โ I say, and my voice comes out soft and honest. The smile is still there but itโs quieter now, carrying something underneath it that I havenโt quite named. โIt was special. All of it.โ I pause. Let myself feel how true that is for a second before I continue. โEvery single second of it.โ
He opens his mouth.
โI mean it,โ I cut him off, because I can see the argument forming and I need to get there first. I need him to understand this - really understand it, not just hear the words. โBesidesโฆโ My thumb traces an absent path along his cheekbone, a gesture I donโt fully sanction but canโt seem to stop. โIโve never had a proper birthday before. Or celebrated it with anyone.โ I take a breath that comes out steadier than I feel. โAnd yesterday, without even knowing thatโs what you were doing, you gave me the best one Iโve ever had. You gave me the only one Iโve ever actually had.โ I let my hand drop before the tenderness of the moment swallows me whole. โSo would you please stop looking at me like you owe me an apology.โ
Thereโs a silence. I watch something shift in his expression, something behind his eyes, behind the practiced ease he wears like a second skin. His shoulders drop, and the guilt on his face softens into something I donโt have a name for. Something that looks, if Iโm being honest, dangerously close to the thing Iโve been trying not to name for weeks now.
Heโs studying my face like heโs memorising it. Like heโs hoping itโs not true and heโs checking for the lies but not finding any.
Before I can fill the silence with something stupid, he pulls me in, and his mouth finds mine, and every coherent thought I had evaporates on contact.
Itโs nothing like the kisses from last night. Last night was hunger, urgent and consuming and lit through with desperation. This is something else entirely. This is slow. This is deliberate. Both his hands come up to cup my face warm, certain and achingly careful, drawing me closer like I might startle, like heโs got nowhere else to be and no intention of rushing. I feel the gentle pressure of his thumbs against my cheeks, his fingers threading back into my hair, and I stop being able to think about anything except the specific texture of this, the unhurried way he kisses me like itโs the whole point, not a means to an end.
The rest of me melts completely.
โHappy birthday, baby,โ he murmurs against my lips when we finally, slowly surface. His forehead tips forward to rest against mine, something Iโve grown used to now, and I can feel the warmth of his breath and the slight curve of his smile. โEven if Iโm a day late.โ
โThank you,โ I whisper back. Meaning it. Meaning it more than the two words are anywhere near capable of carrying.
His thumb passes across my cheekbone one more time and then that familiar look settles over his face. The decisive one. The one that means the wheels have been turning quietly and everythingโs now clicked into place.
โIโve figured out what weโre gonna do today.โ
I raise an eyebrow. โOh yeah?โ Wariness and curiosity are currently splitting my attention roughly fifty-fifty. โWhatโs that?โ
He says it like itโs settled. Like itโs already done. One single word, dropped into the morning air with the unassailable confidence of someone who has never once in his life been told no and retained any real belief in the concept.
โCelebrate.โ
I laugh before I can stop myself. It bubbles out of me, genuine and a little helpless. โBilly-โ
โNo.โ Heโs already moving. Untangling himself from the sheets, from my limbs, from the warm gravity of the bed thatโs been holding us both hostage all night long. โWeโre gonna celebrate. Starting now.โ He swings his legs over the side of the mattress and stands in one fluid motion. โIโm gonna make you pancakes. Meet me in the kitchen.โ
Pancakes. The word lands and I experience, in rapid succession, the memory of the last time he attempted to cook me anything and a very acute awareness that I am naked and warm and the bed is soft and his absence from it has already made it noticeably less appealing.
โAfter last time?โ I reach out and wrap my fingers around his wrist, gripping with little means or strength. โYeah, no thanks. Come on.โ I tug, gently, uselessly. โLetโs just stay here. We can stay here all day and-โ
โDonโt make me drag you, Westbrook.โ
He looks back at me over his shoulder. Thereโs a smile at the corner of his mouth that I feel in places that have no nerve endings. His eyes are lit up in a way that still catches me off guard no matter how many times I see it, because Billy Hargroveโs eyes when heโs genuinely amused at something are a weapon of extraordinary effectiveness and Iโm not entirely sure he knows that. Or maybe he does. Maybe thatโs worse.
โIโm naked!โ I protest, and Iโm smiling back at him despite myself. Despite every better instinct I possess.
He doesnโt hesitate. Doesnโt deliberate. He reaches down, grabs the hem of his white tank and, in one smooth motion, pulls off it off and chucks it at me. It hits my face with a soft impact - gentle enough to be a joke, deliberate enough to be a statement - and drops into my lap. I sit there with it for a moment, looking down at the fabric, then up at him: shirtless, unhurried, the early morning light doing absolutely unconscionable things to the lines of his torso.
This is not fair. None of this is fair. He shouldnโt be allowed to look like that in regular lighting, let alone in the particular gold of an early morning, let alone standing there with that half-smile and those eyes and-
โPut it on,โ he says. Somewhere between a request and a command, in the specific tone he deploys when heโs certain heโs already won.
I pull the tank over my head with as much dignity as I can manage. It falls over me like a dress, the armholes gaping wide, the fabric hanging off one shoulder, the hem somewhere around my mid-thigh. I am probably look absolutely ridiculous, in fact I know I doโฆ but it smells so much like him and itโs warm from his body and I am immediately, helplessly, embarrassed by how much I like it.
The way he looks at me also suggests the shirt was never really about solving the nakedness problem.
I donโt have time to say anything.
His hands are on me before Iโve registered the movement, one under my knees, one firm against my back and then Iโm effortlessly airborne. The world tilts sharply, and I feel as I land across his shoulder like I weigh absolutely nothing. I feel the blood rush to my head and the cool air on my exposed thighs and the shirt riding catastrophically upward.
โBilly!โ I shriek.
It comes out half-laughing, half-genuine terror, my hands scrambling for purchase on his back so that I donโt fall. His skin is warm under my palms. I am very aware, in a way that is deeply undignified, that my bare ass is now exposed to the open air with nothing but a prayer and the hem of a too-large tank top standing between me and full visibility.
โPut me down now!โ
โNope.โ His voice is steady and entirely too pleased with itself. โYou had your chance to come willingly.โ
โI swear to God, Hargrove-โ
Heโs already moving, carrying me out of the bedroom with long, easy strides, his hand resting possessively on the back of my thigh in a way thatโs so dangerously close to the curve of my ass it makes me shiver. I can feel every step he takes reverberating through my whole body, and Iโm laughing now despite my best efforts. Real laughter, the helpless kind, the kind that comes from somewhere that hasnโt had quite enough practice. I hate how easy he makes this feel. I hate how much I donโt actually hate any of it at all.
He sets me down on the kitchen counter with a care that is entirely inconsistent with the barbarism of the transportation method, and I immediately swat at his chest with my palm. Open-handed, zero actual force, maximum theatrical outrage.
โIdiot.โ
Billy shakes his head, laughing at my pathetic comment. He crosses over to the stove and pulls out a large frying pan. He sets it on the burner with a metallic clang, then starts opening cabinets, rummaging through them for ingredients.
The granite is cold against my bare thighs, making me suck in a sharp breath, and suddenly Iโm hyperaware of where Iโm sitting, the exact spot where just hours ago heโd spread me open and buried his face between my legs until I was screaming. The memory hits me like something physical, heat blooming low in my belly despite my exhaustion.
Ohโฆ okay thatโs not helpful at all.
I press my knees together and stare at the back of his head, trying to be a functional human with normal blood pressure and a brain that operates on logic instead of vivid, high definition sense memory.. But oh, how amazing it was. I remember how his hands spread my thighs so wide I almost slipped off this counter, the cold of the granite under my palms as Iโd braced myself. That beautiful heat of his mouth against my inner thigh like a promise before heโd made good on it. The sounds heโd pulled out of me that Iโd been absolutely, mortifyingly certain half the camp could hear from all the way over the lake. The way Iโd gripped a fistful of hair when heโd finally, finally put his mouth exactly where I needed it.
โFocusโ.
I tell myself.
โHe is making pancakes. You are watching a man open a bag of flour. This is a normal morning. Nothing about this should be even remotely sexy-โ
โSo,โ Billy says, glancing back at me as he sets a mixing bowl on the counter with a satisfying clunk. โYouโve really never celebrated your birthday? Not even once?โ
The question shouldnโt sting. Itโs just curiosity. Heโs just trying to understand, and thereโs nothing in his tone except genuine interest, but the subject itself has edges Iโve stopped expecting to feel until I feel them. I wrap my arms around my knees, pulling them to my chest.
โNope.โ
The word comes out with more bite than I intend. I soften it, or, at least try to.
โIf Iโm honest, I wasnโt even sure I had one until I got old enough to pretty much figure it out myself.โ I watch him go still for a second with his back still to me, the way people go still when theyโre absorbing something. โFoster homes donโt really do birthdays. Not the ones I was in, anyway. And even after I knew, it just felt-โ I search for the right word and land on honesty instead. โPointless. Iโm just a bit older than I was yesterday. Thatโs all.โ
Years of buried resentment seep into my voice despite my best efforts, something sour and old that Iโve gotten very good at pretending doesnโt exist until someone asks the right question and it surfaces before I can catch it.
Billy turns from the cabinets and looks at me fully, and his face is doing something that Iโm not quite prepared for. Not pity, orโฆ not only pity. Something more layered than that.
โBaby, thatโs-โ
โSad?โ I cut him off before he can finish, forcing a smile that I know doesnโt reach my eyes but deploy anyway because itโs the closest thing I have to armour at this particular moment. โI know. I get that a lot.โ
He looks at me for a long moment. Long enough that I want to fidget, look away, make a joke. I do none of these things. I hold his gaze and let him look, because Iโve had enough practice at being looked at like this, like a problem without a clean solution, that I know the only way through it is directly.
He shakes his head, just slightly, and thereโs something in his expression thatโs past pity. More personal than that. Like the information has landed somewhere specific in him, like itโs found something to sit next to.
โSoโฆ what do you usually do for yours?โ I ask, because I need the conversation to move and because Iโm genuinely curious and because Iโd rather hear about his life than excavate more of mine.
Deflection as a survival mechanism. Extremely functional, would recommend.
Billy turns back to the cabinet and starts moving things around with renewed purpose, like having his hands occupied makes talking easier. I understand that instinct deeply.
โDrink. Party.โ he says. โThoughโฆ not so much anymore, but Iโll grab a few beers if I can.โ
Thereโs a long pause. Until finally, โWhen I was younger, my Mom would throw me the best parties.โ His voice shifts when he says it. Itโs a tonal change so subtle that someone not paying close attention would miss it entirely. But Iโm paying close attention. Iโve been paying close attention to Billy Hargrove for longer than Iโve been comfortable admitting. The wistfulness is there, and underneath it, threaded through like something structural, the pain. Not fresh pain. Old pain. The kind thatโs been carried so long you stop noticing the weight except in unguarded moments when someone says the right word and the breath catches.
He finds a mixing bowl and sets it on the counter with more force than strictly necessary.
Then he laughs.
It comes out of nowhere. Real and genuine. A bright and sudden thing that breaks the surface of whatever he was sinking toward and it makes me smile before Iโve decided to. The automatic, helpless kind of smile that happens when you hear someone else laugh like they mean it.
โI remember one year,โ Billy says, and his expression shows the past excitement that comes with nostalgia. โShe stayed up all night making me this cake. It was supposed to look like a race car.โ He grins, and the grin is a younger thing than his usual smile. Less performed, less aware of itself. โShe didnโt have red food colouring, so she used crushed raspberries instead. The whole thing came out pink.โ He shakes his head. โMy dad said it was too girly. Said โWhat kind of six year old boy wants a pink cake?!โ.โ The grin flickers, something complicated moving through it that he doesnโt acknowledge, just lets pass. โBut I thought it was the coolest thing Iโd ever seen. I cried when it was time to cut it because I didnโt want to ruin it.โ
The image of a smaller version of Billy, six years old, crying over a pink race car cake because he loved it too much to eat it hits me somewhere in the chest with the force and specificity of something entirely too real. Something I wasnโt prepared for. I want to sit inside it for a moment, the bittersweet sweetness of it, the gulf between that small boy and the one standing in this kitchen, the things that got lost in between.
โOh my god.โ I say all whilst smiling so hard it hurts. โBilly, that is the most adorable thing I have ever heard.โ
He cuts me a look over his shoulder thatโs caught somewhere between embarrassed and pleased. โYeah, well. I was six and dramatic as hell, even then.โ He clears his throat. โStill am, apparently.โ
I watch him cross to the refrigerator, still half-smiling at the mental image heโs painted me. He pulls the fridge open and starts scanning the shelves with the focused energy of someone on a mission. Moves a few containers. Checks behind something. Checks again. The smile slowly dissolves into focus, which dissolves into a small frown.
Then, โShit!โ
The word detonates. I jump, slightly, despite myself.
โWhatโs wrong?โ
Billy straightens up and turns to look at me, and he is genuinely frustrated in a way that is, objectively, far more endearing than it should be given the mild nature of the disaster. โWeโre out of milkโฆโ he takes another look in the fridge, โand eggs!โ He shuts the fridge door harder than necessary and places one hand in his forehead, stressing himself out for no reason at all. โCan you even make pancakes without milk and eggs?โ He turns to ask me, then groans as I shake my head โnoโ with a small amused smile.
Dramatic as hell alright.
Billy crosses back to me in a few long strides and both his hands come to rest on my thighs. His thumbs move in slow, absent circles against my skin, soothing in that specific way only physical touch can be.
โIโm sorry, baby.โ He says with actual disappointment in his eyes. โLooks like weโre going to have to celebrate another way.โ
My mind does what my mind has been doing on a fairly regular basis whenever Iโm this close to him, which is to evacuate the premises of the present moment and furnish me with a high-definition replay of the recent past. His hands in this exact position, but with very, very different intentions.
Even now, I imagine the lengths of his fingers deep inside me, hitting every spot, curling in just the right way. Or maybe even those same hands cracking down hard on my ass, sharp and stinging, painting fresh red marks over the fading ones. Or wrapping tight around my throat while he-
โ-does that sound good?โ
Fuck yes it does, Wait-
I blink. The present moment reassembles itself around me with the faint indignity of someone returning to a room they left without fully leaving.
โDoes what sound good?โ I ask, and my voice comes out slightly breathless, and I just know from the way Billyโs lips curve into that particular slow, knowing smile that he knows exactly where I just was. That he is in possession of complete information regarding the detour my brain just took.
โPizza.โ He lets the smile sit for a moment before he says it. Lets me understand that he knows, and that he enjoys knowing, and that heโs going to be insufferable about it exactly as much as is charming and no more.
Pizza... Right. โThe cafeteria does pizza now?โ I grab onto the mundane topic like a lifeline and hold on.
โNo, but thereโs a place that delivers to the main gate.โ His hands do not leave my thighs. โOne of the perks of being staff.โ
I nod absently, still lost in the slow, maddening circles his thumbs keep tracing on my inner thighs, each pass sending little sparks straight between my legs. My fingers twist nervously in the hem of his tank top, tugging it down like that might somehow help me focus, but itโs useless.
I give him my usual order, the words tumbling out under my breath, soft and distracted, barely above a whisper. Billy watches me the entire time, eyes dark and amused, like he knows exactly how much effort itโs taking me to string coherent words together. When I finally finish, he gives my thighs one last gentle, possessive squeeze then steps back.
The sudden absence of his hands feels like a physical thing. I almost chase the warmth.
I watch as he dials the number before taking the phone off of the wall and holding it to his ear. The call connects quickly, and he launches into the order with the ease of someone whoโs done this many times before. When he hangs up and sets the handset back he turns to catch me staring and raises an eyebrow.
โWhat?โ
โSeriously? A Margherita?โ The disbelief in my voice is genuine. I canโt help it.
He looks puzzled in the specific way of someone who doesnโt understand what theyโve done wrong. โWhatโs wrong with that?โ
โThatโs like the vanilla ice cream of pizzas.โ Iโm grinning now. I can feel it all over my face.
He crosses his arms over his bare chest in a gesture of mild defensive affront, and I try not to be entirely derailed by the way the movement shifts the lines of his torso. I give myself a passing grade on the attempt. Barely.
โSo?โ he says.
โAfter last night?โ I let my eyes drag deliberately down his body and back up, making my point obvious. โI didnโt take you for a vanilla type of guy.โ
Understanding dawns in Billyโs eyes, followed immediately by amusement. He uncrosses his arms. Takes a step toward me. Then another. Comes to stand with his hands braced on either side of my hips on the counterโs edge, close enough that I have to tilt my head back slightly to hold his gaze, and when he speaks his voice has dropped into something that does what itโs doing to me entirely on purpose.
โI think weโve got some time before the food arrives.โ His mouth curves into a smirk. โHow about I prove to you exactly what kind of guy I really am?โ
Sunlight streams through the gaps in the curtains, painting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets and the two bodies tangled within them.
Lydia is in a deep sleep, her face pressed into the pillow, dark hair messily spilled across white cotton. Sheโs positioned on her stomach, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other stretched out across the mattress toward where Billy should be. The sheet has slipped down to her waist during the night, exposing the pale expanse of her back, and even in the forgiving morning light, the souvenirs from last night are impossible to miss.
Faint red scratches run in thin, angry lines down her spine, evidence of the sheer desperation through the heat of it all. Between her thighs, where the sheet has ridden up, the skin is marked in the same way. Small claw marks and bruised imprints trail along every inch, commanding to the world that sheโs his. Used, wrecked, and still dripping with the proof.
Lydia shifts slightly in her sleep, a small sound escapes her lips and her brow furrows as some dream or sensation pulls at her consciousness. But she doesnโt wake. Not yet. Sheโs too exhausted, too wrung out from the previous nightโs activities to surface easily from the deep, well needed sleep sheโs fallen into.
Billy stands in the doorway of the bedroom, freshly showered and dressed in comfortable weekend clothes. Soft grey joggers hang low on his hips paired with a classic white drop armhole tank. His hair is still dripping wet and clinging to his temples, messed from his poor attempt at drying it with a towel. In his one hand he holds a glass of water and a small white pill in the other. Heโs been awake for a few hours, unable to sleep past his internal alarm clock despite having every reason to stay in bed.
Heโd spent that time watching her sleep, studying the rise and fall of her breathing, cataloging every mark heโd left on her skin with a mixture of pride and concern. Then heโd forced himself to get up, to shower, to take care of the practical necessities that come with what theyโd done.
The morning after pill had been tucked away in his bathroom cabinet since heโd moved in, not that heโd ever plan on using it. Itโs a โjust-in-caseโ purchase heโs made every year after his first pregnancy scare when he was a lot younger. The thought of his Dadโs reaction and how heโd literally kill him has forced him into the necessary habit ever since. Call it paranoia but after a night like that, itโs necessary.
Theyโd been reckless. So completely, utterly reckless in ways that went beyond just the shed.
Billyโs mind flashes back to the moment theyโd stumbled through his cabin door, barely managing to close it before they were on each other again. The walk back from the archery range had been a blissful torture. He relished in every step Lydia took, seeing the concentration on her face as she fought to keep his cum inside her exactly as heโd commanded, knowing that beneath that innocent looking skirt she was bare and dripping and completely his.
They didnโt even make it to the bedroom.
The memory plays behind his eyes, Lydiaโs back hitting the wall just inside the door with enough force to rattle the picture frames, his hands already under her skirt, finding her slick and swollen and still full of him from earlier on. The desperate, hungry kiss. The way sheโd wrapped her legs around his waist and heโd fucked her right there against the wall, adding more of himself to what was already inside her, mixing and claiming and marking her as thoroughly as ever before.
Theyโd left a trail of destruction from the front door to the couch. Her skirt discarded on the floor. His shirt torn in her haste to get it off him. Throw pillows scattered when heโd bent her over the armrest and taken her again from behind, slower this time but no less intense.
The bedroom had eventually became the setting to their passion, but only after theyโd christened nearly every surface in the apartment. Including the kitchen counter where heโd lifted her up and buried his face between her thighs until she screamed. Finally, finally, the bed, where theyโd collapsed into something that was equal parts fucking and making love. Slower, deeper, face to face with their eyes locked and their fingers interlaced.
Billy shifts his weight in the doorway, his body responding to the memories despite the thorough workout it received last night. Heโs sore too, though nothing compared to what Lydia must be feeling. His back stings where her nails had raked down it, his shoulders ache from the positions heโd held her in, and thereโs a bite mark on his collarbone that heโd discovered in the shower - evidence that he hadnโt been the only one doing the claiming.
He watches as Lydia stirs again, this time more substantially. Her hand moves across the sheets, clearly searching for him in her sleep, and when she finds only empty space her eyes flutter open slowly, confusion crossing her features.
โBilly?โ Her voice is quiet with sleep and thoroughly wrecked from last night. โRight here, baby,โ he says softly from the doorway, not wanting to startle her. She turns her head on the pillow to find him, wincing slightly at the movement, and a slow smile spreads across her face despite the obvious discomfort. โWhat time is it?โ
โAlmost one.โ
Her eyes widen slightly. โFuck, seriously?โ
โMhm.โ Billy hums, pushing off from the doorframe and crossing over to the bed then setting the water glass on the nightstand before sitting carefully on the edge of the mattress.
โYou mustโve really needed it afterโฆโ he trails off, voice rough around the edges, unfinished thought hanging in the air like smoke.
His gaze drops to where the sheet has slipped, exposing her breasts in the soft morning light. Her nipples hardened, skin soft and flushed. His eyes darken, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he takes it in.
Heat rushes to her face. She makes a small, flustered sound and scrambles to sit up, one arm crossing her chest while the other yanks uselessly at the sheet. Her face contorts with discomfort as various muscles protest the sudden movement.
โHey, easy,โ Billy says quickly, his hand coming to her shoulder to gently press her back down. โDonโt try to move too fast. Youโre gonna be sore.โ
โNo shit,โ Lydia mutters, but sheโs smiling despite the grimace. She settles back against the pillows more carefully this time, pulling the sheet up to cover herself with a sudden flash of modesty that Billy finds endearing considering what they spent the entire night doing.
He reaches for the small white pill and the half-full water glass on the nightstand, holding both out to her. โHere. You should take this, Itโs a Plan B.โ
Lydiaโs gaze drops to the tiny tablet resting in the center of his palm. Her brows lift slightly as understanding clicks into place. A slow, mischievous smile curls the corner of her mouth.
โUnlessโฆโ she drawls, โโฆI want your little โmullet babiesโ. Right?โ
Billyโs brows furrow but the smile tugging at his lips gives him away. โYep.โ He nods, โIf you want โmullet babiesโ, then thatโs your call.โ
Lydia lets out a soft laugh with half parts amusement and half parts disbelief, the question โHow on earth did we get here?โ playing on her mind. She takes the pill from his hand with two fingers. โHmmโฆโ She scrunches her nose in that way he finds absolutely adorable. โNot today.โ
Lydia pops the pill onto her tongue then takes the glass from him. She takes a heavy gulp to force it down, draining half of the water out of the glass before coming up for air.
โThank you,โ she says, handing the glass back. Her voice is quieter now, more sincere, the playfulness giving way to genuine gratitude.
Billy sets the glass aside and studies her face for a moment, the flush still lingering in her cheeks, the way her hair falls messy and wild around her shoulders, the vulnerability in her eyes that she only ever shows him. โItโs alright,โ he says gently, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. โDo you want me to find you some painkillers too orโฆ?โ
Lydia shakes her head, leaning slightly into his touch. โNo, I think Iโll be alright.โ
Billy smiles, something soft and warm spreading through his chest at the simple domesticity of the moment. His hand cups her cheek, thumb stroking across her cheekbone with tender precision, and he leans in to place a small kiss on her lips. Itโs chaste compared to the bruising kisses from last night.
They stay like that for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, neither wanting to be the first to pull away.
Finally though, Billy shifts, carefully maneuvering himself back onto the bed beside her. Lydia immediately adjusts, the sheet slipping down slightly as she turns to curl into his side. Sheโs completely naked beneath the thin cotton, and Billy is acutely aware of every point where her bare skin makes contact with his clothed body. The press of her breast against his ribs, the way her leg hooks over his, the warmth of her radiating through the fabric of his tank top.
He slides one arm behind her head, providing a pillow of flesh and firm muscle for her to rest on, while his other hand comes to rest on her back, fingers splaying possessively across her spine. Lydia settles her head against his chest with a content sigh, and almost immediately her fingers begin tracing idle patterns on his torso through the thin material of his shirt, circles and swirls and shapes that have no meaning beyond the simple pleasure of touching him.
The silence that falls between them is comfortable, weighted with the intimacy of everything theyโve shared. Outside, the camp continues its Saturday routine, though the sounds of laughter and activity are too far away to be audible, leaving the two in peace. In this cabin, right here, time feels sacred.
โI really, really enjoyed last night,โ Lydia admits quietly, her voice slightly muffled against his chest. โI want you to know that.โ
Billyโs hand stills on her back for just a moment before resuming its gentle stroking. โYou did?โ His voice carries genuine relief mixed with gratitude and wonder. โGod, me tooโฆ although I was worried I went a bit too far.โ
Lydia lifts her head slightly to look at him, her eyes serious despite the smile playing at her lips. โNo, honestly. It was perfect. All of it.โ
The sincerity in her voice pulls at Billyโs heartstrings. He hugs her tighter to his chest, burying his face in her hair as he places a long, lingering kiss on her forehead. The gesture is tender in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the dangerous thing growing between them that neither of them wants to name yet.
When he pulls back, Lydia is looking up at him, her chin resting on his chest now, and theyโre both smiling that stupid, giddy kind of smile that makes you feel like a teenager experiencing their first real crush.
Billyโs hand comes up to cup her face, thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone with devastating gentleness. โYou look so beautiful when you smile,โ he says, voice gone soft and honest. โYou know that right?โ
The words hit Lydia harder than any dirty talk from last night. Her smile turns shy, almost vulnerable, and she drops her gaze, moving her head back down to press her face against his chest. But Billy can feel that beloved smile against him, can sense the way his words have affected her in the slight tremor that runs through her body.
They fall back into comfortable silence, Billyโs fingers resuming their gentle path through her hair while Lydiaโs continue their aimless patterns on his chest. The moment feels fragile somehow, like speaking too loudly might shatter whatever this is theyโre building together.
But then Billy breaks the silence, his voice carrying a weight that makes Lydiaโs hand still against him. โYou promise you were okay with yesterday? Likeโฆ all of it?โ
The question hangs in the air between them, and Lydia can hear what heโs really asking. โWas I too rough?โ, โDid I go too far?โ, โDid I hurt you in ways I shouldnโt have?โ
Her mind flashes back to the shed. The way heโd bent her over, the sharp crack of his palm against her ass, the filthy words heโd growled in her ear. โFilthy slutโ. โSo desperateโ. โLook at you begging meโ. Words that should have made her feel degraded, diminished, but instead had made her feel powerful in her surrender, wanted in a way sheโd never experienced before.
She thinks about how heโd held her wrists pinned above her head, how heโd pulled her hair, how heโd made her choose where he would finish and then praised her for picking what he wanted.
The dominance, the control, the way heโd completely owned her body for those stolen moments.
And then after, the long walk back through the camp with no panties to shelter her. The wrongness of it, the risk, the absolute filth of it all should have made her feel like every other cheap slut in Hawkins.
But it hadnโt.
Because underneath all the dirty talk and degradation and roughness, underneath the spanking and the claiming and the possessive words, Lydia had felt something else entirely. Something that made her chest ache in the best way. Sheโd felt seen. Desired. Wanted with an intensity that matched her own hunger.
Every mark heโd left on her skin, every bruise and bite and scratch, wasnโt just evidence of being used, it was proof that heโd been just as desperate for her as sheโd been for him. That heโd lost control because of her, because she drove him that wild, because what was between them was too powerful to contain in neat, acceptable boundaries.
And this morning? The tenderness in his touch, the concern in his eyes, the way heโd thought ahead to give her the pill, the soft kisses and gentle words - it all proved what sheโd sensed last night in the moments between.
That underneath the primal claiming, something truly special was brewing between them.
Something real and rare and worth whatever risks they were taking.
Lydia lifts her head to meet his eyes, and Billy can see something shift in her expression. โMore than okay,โ she says firmly, her voice steady and sure. Then she pauses, her smile turning soft and genuine, eyes bright with emotion.
โIt was the best birthday ever.โโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโ
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The kiss doesnโt start soft. It never was going to.
Billyโs mouth crashes against mine like heโs been barely holding himself together all morning, like the second our lips touch the carefully maintained facade finally shatters, crumbling away in the dim, dusty air of this shed thatโs too small, too forgotten, too dangerously close to the world continuing on just outside these weathered wooden walls.
Itโs messy and desperate, all teeth and tongue and unfiltered heat. I can practically taste adrenaline on his breath, itโs mixed with that faint smokiness that always clings to him, the ghost of every cigarette heโs ever snuck on his break now transferred to me through this kiss. It feels less like affection and more like claiming, sheer unfiltered, relentless claiming.
His hands are everywhere all at once, one knotting roughly into my ponytail with a sharp tug that sends sparks rushing through my body, the other bracing hard against the rickety workbench behind me, fingers digging into scarred wood like heโs trying to anchor himself before we both get swept away completely.
The space is suffocatingly cramped, so claustrophobic that every breath feels stolen from air thatโs already been claimed. Every shift of our bodies brushing against something is a constant reminder of how exposed we are, how one wrong sound, one moment of carelessness could shatter this fragile bubble of secrecy and bring the entire camp crashing down on us.
Weโd be ruined.
He breaks away from my mouth only to drag his lips down the line of my jaw with bruising intensity, then lower. Not to the front of my throat where anyone could see, but to the side, and further still, until heโs working just beneath my ear and along the hidden curve behind it. His mouth travels slowly, deliberately, teeth grazing into skin that will be concealed by my hair and turned shoulders. He sucks there, firm and possessive, but careful, always careful, as if heโs mapping out the places no one else will ever notice. His breath burns against the column of my neck, but he keeps to the shadows of me, marking only the territory that wonโt betray us in daylight.
The desperation thatโs been building since the archery range, since that whispered โgood girlโ that still echoes in my mind, comes flooding back with devastating force. I remember the way heโd spread my legs with his boot in front of everyone, the way heโd pressed against me like a promise of exactly this. The memory alone makes my thighs clench with want.
The worst part? Weโd done all of that in front of twenty people and not a single one of them suspected a thing.
And here, trapped in this reckless predicament weโve gotten ourselves into, I canโt think straight, canโt catch my breath without feeling the crushing weight of risk pressing in from all sides. The distant chatter of campers heading to lunch filters through the gaps in the walls, the rustle of leaves outside could be wind or footsteps approaching. The door isnโt even locked, just latched, a flimsy barrier between us and exposal.
My hands scramble desperately for purchase on his shoulders, trying to steady myself against the sensation. My nails dig into the navy polo that clings to his sweat-dampened skin, pulling him impossibly closer as if I can somehow fuse us together, hide us both in the press of our bodies from the world that exists so near.
โI want you,โ Billy growls, โRight here. Right now.โ
Before I can even respond, Iโm being lifted. He hoists me up and sets me down on the hard edge of the workbench. The wood is cold and unforgiving under my bare legs, edge digging sharply into the backs of my thighs. I part them, instinctively wrapping around his waist and pulling him in, our bodies perfectly slotting together. His concealed bulge presses insistently against me through the layers of fabric separating us, grinding with deliberate pressure that makes arousal pool hot and slick in my panties.
The shed amplifies every sound to excruciating levels. The protesting creak of the bench under my weight, the clatter of arrows scattering from the impact of our collision, the way my breath comes in short, ragged bursts that echo off the close walls. It all makes me hyper-aware of how loud we could be, how one moan pitched too high could carry through the cracks in the wood and betray us to anyone passing by.
Billy doesnโt waste precious time. His hands slide under my skirt with purpose, fingers brushing up the bare skin of my inner thigh, the fabric bunching at my hips as he traces higher and higher toward the place I need him most. He hooks his fingers under the elastic of my panties and tugs them down roughly - not all the way off, just enough to bunch them around my calves.
Billyโs gaze drops between my legs, his eyes darkening with a hunger that looks almost feral in its intensity. Before I can draw breath to speak, to warn him again about the monumental risk weโre taking, he drops to one knee with a heavy thud against the dirty floor. His large hands spread my thighs even wider, holding me completely open and exposed as his mouth descends.
He places one quick, devastating kiss directly against my center, lips pressing firmly against my slick wetness for a breathless moment before his tongue darts out for a single, long lick that sends lightning arcing through every nerve ending in my body.
Itโs criminally brief, almost cruel in its short duration, just enough to make me absolutely desperate and trembling for more.
His tongue dips barely inside before flicking upward over my clit with practiced precision. My hips buck violently off the bench, a sharp gasp tearing from my throat and echoing off the walls like a confession I canโt take back.
I find my hands automatically gravitate to his thick mullet, tangling desperately in the soft strands as I try to pull him back, but heโs already rising to his feet, hands fumbling at his belt with urgency. His mouth is glistening with evidence of me, and a smirk curves his lips, cocky with that annoying charm thatโs authentic to only him.
โYou know I couldnโt resist,โ he says wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a gesture thatโs deliberately casual, unhurried, like we have all the time in the world when we both know with absolute certainty that we donโt. Lunch could end any second. Activities could resume. Someone could come looking for the missing equipment weโre currently scattered across the floor.
Despite the ticking clock of risk, Billyโs hands move to his jeans with methodical focus, unbuttoning them with fingers that shake slightly from restraint, shoving the denim down along with his boxers just far enough to free himself. The fabric bunches at his thighs, mirroring my own state of hurried undress. Heโs impressively hard, cock thick and flushed and visibly throbbing. Just the sight of him in the dim, dusty light makes saliva pool in my mouth, makes my inner walls clench with fierce anticipation. The tip is already leaking, precum glistening, prominent veins standing out in stark relief against flushed skin.
He positions himself at my entrance, the blunt force of him teasing through my folds, sliding through the mess he created with agonizing deliberation that has me whimpering desperately, my hips bucking forward in silent, desperate plea. The workbench creaks ominously under the shift of our combined weight.
Our eyes lock in the dimness, his gaze so intensely feral, time seems to momentarily slow, like the quiet before the storm. Then he thrusts forward, filling me completely in one powerful stroke that punches the air from my lungs. The stretch borders on painful, that exquisite burn that blooms almost immediately into pleasure so intense it whites out my vision. I cry out sharply, the sound raw and desperate and far too loud, quickly muffling it by biting down hard on his shoulder. The fabric of his polo bunches between my teeth as I taste salt and cotton, his body seated so deeply inside me it feels like heโs fundamentally reshaping me from the inside out
โFuck, Lydia,โ Billy groans against my temple, his voice absolutely wrecked. His forehead drops to press against mine as he holds perfectly still for one agonizing heartbeat, letting us both adjust to the overwhelming sensation. His breath comes in harsh pants that fan across my face, mingling with my own ragged breathing in the heavy, dust-thick air.
โYou feel so fucking good,โ he rasps out. Then heโs moving, pulling back slowly only to slam in again with an intense force, immediately setting a rough, desperate rhythm that has the old wood rocking beneath us. Each powerful thrust is absolutely punishing, his hips snapping against mine, hitting that devastating spot deep inside me over and over and over until Iโm seeing actual stars, my vision tunneling down to just him, just this, just the overwhelming pleasure threatening to split me apart.
My trembling fingers lift my shirt, bunching the fabric up to expose my bra. The lace cups do absolutely nothing to hide how peaked my nipples are, straining almost painfully against the delicate material. Billyโs eyes fall to my chest with undisguised hunger and he doesnโt hesitate for even a second. His hand shoves roughly under the fabric, palm calloused and warm against my sensitive skin, gripping my breast with a possession that makes me arch desperately into his touch, a loud moan spilling uncontrollably from my lips and echoing off every surface.
His thumb circles my nipple before pinching it sharply, the burst of pleasurable pain making my walls clench tight around him, drawing a hissed curse from between his clenched teeth. His other hand grips my thigh, fingers digging in deep enough that I know Iโll see the marks for days. The position makes every single movement hit deeper, harder, the friction both beautiful and completely overwhelming.
โYes, fuck, just like that,โ I gasp out desperately.
The sounds escaping me donโt even feel like they belong to me anymore. Theyโre too raw, too loud, too unrestrained for this dangerously hidden pocket of camp, filling the shed with echoes that seem to amplify my desperation, making my cheeks burn with a confusing mix of intense lust and fear.
What if someone hears us? What if someoneโs walking past right now?
Anxiety roams through my mind like a warning beacon, but instead of dampening my arousal it only seems to intensify everything, the sheer wrongness of it, the exposure, the recklessness making everything feel sharper and hotter and more desperate. My body responds by clenching even tighter, drawing louder, more broken whimpers from deep in my chest.
Billyโs hand leaves my breast abruptly to clamp firmly over my mouth, his palm warm and slightly rough against my lips, fingers splaying across my flushed cheek in a grip thatโs simultaneously silencing and unbearably intimate.
โBe quiet,โ he warns, voice rough with command topped with a barely restrained groan. But thereโs absolutely no mercy in his rhythm - if anything he drives even deeper, even harder, making obedience completely impossible as another muffled cry vibrates desperately against his palm.
I nod frantically, eyes wide and silently pleading, but the pleasure building inside me is far too intense, my body betraying me. He shushes me again, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear as he leans in, his solid body completely caging mine in the cramped, airless space.
โShh, baby. Someone might hear- we canโt- fuck, Lydia~โ
The fractured words send shivers cascading through my entire body, the very real risk wrapping tighter around the pleasure like constricting vines, making everything feel more intense, making my walls pulse and throb around him in response. But he keeps going with seemingly endless stamina, pounding into me, the obscene sound of our skin slapping together filling every corner of the shed.
Then, without any warning, he suddenly slows.
His thrusts become torturously deliberate, agonizingly languid, each one a slow, dragging pull that forces me to feel every single inch of him sliding in and out with excruciating clarity. I can feel his prominent veins pulsing against my sensitive inner walls, can feel the way he throbs and twitches inside me with barely restrained power.
The abrupt change is absolutely torturous, the hypersensitivity it creates completely overwhelming. The drawn out friction building until itโs genuinely unbearable, my body clenching around him completely involuntarily, squeezing even tighter than before.
โWhy?โ I gasp desperately when he shifts his hand just slightly, giving me barely enough room to speak. My voice comes out muffled and pleading, my lips brushing against his palm in what feels almost like a kiss. โWhy slow down? Billy, please- I need-โ
โBaby, youโre-โ he starts, then cuts off with a long, broken moan as he pushes all the way in with devastating slowness. โWeโre being too loud. We canโt risk itโฆ not here, not like this.โ His voice cracks badly on the last words, completely betraying how much this restraint is costing him, how the agonisingly slow pace is systematically unraveling him just as much as itโs destroying me.
He lets out a beautiful whimper and it absolutely ruins me.
I bite down hard on my lip, desperately trying to stifle the moan building with each deliberate stroke, but itโs completely futile. The slow, grinding rhythm somehow makes everything worse, more intense, more sensitive. The mounting pleasure builds like a violent storm being held back by nothing but rapidly crumbling willpower.
Billyโs eyes squeeze shut so tightly it creates deep furrows across his brow as he steadies himself by placing both hands on the table.
โFuck,โ he hisses out, voice absolutely strained and breaking apart. โYouโre so tight like this. I canโt- god, Lydia, youโre killing me. I need you.โ
Suddenly, the prolonged torture finally snaps. โFuck it,โ he snarls, the words a guttural release of pent-up frustration, and he pulls out abruptly, the sudden loss of him leaving me feeling desperately empty and aching. A high whine escapes my throat despite my bitten lip, my body instinctively chasing the warmth thatโs been ripped away, inner walls clenching frantically around nothing in desperate, futile protest.
His hands are on me instantly, picking me up and spinning me around with a rough urgency that makes my head actually spin. My hip collides painfully with a shelf in the impossibly tight space, sending a bow clattering loudly to the floor with a rattle that echoes far too clearly.
Fuck, weโre being way too noisy, taking far too many risks, but the spike of fear only seems to fuel the raging fire consuming us both.
He presses me face-first against an empty stretch of wall with commanding force, the wood startlingly cool and rough against my overheated cheek. Splintered grains bite into my palms as I instinctively brace myself, the shock of cold seeping through my thin shirt and contrasting sharply with the fever raging inside my body.
โHands up,โ he commands, voice gone dark and authoritative in a way that is so fucking sexy it shatters my stubbornness and ego. He captures both my wrists together above my head with one hand holding me stretched out and completely vulnerable. My body is forced to arch and bend at the waist, ass pushed out toward him in utterly shameless offering. The position leaves me feeling totally exposed and at his mercy.
Billyโs free hand comes down hard across my ass without any warning whatsoever, the sharp crack of the impact echoing loudly in the confined space. The sting blooms immediately into radiating heat. A shocked gasp tearing from my throat, high-pitched and startled. My body jerking forward reflexively against the wall, rough wood scraping against my flushed skin.
This is completely new territory. Heโs never done anything remotely like this before, never shown me this commanding, dominant side of himself. A thousand questions race through my mind. Do I want this? Am I okay with this?
The answer comes swift and certain:
โYes- Fuck, Billy, please-โ
โFilthy slut,โ he growls in immediate response, his voice dropping impossibly low and laced with degradation that somehow feels like the most intimate form of worship. His hand soothes the stinging heat for one brief moment before delivering another sharp, precise slap that makes the noise reverberate off every surface, making my knees go genuinely weak and punching the breath from my lungs.
โYouโre so desperate, arenโt you?โ he continues relentlessly. โBent over in this dirty shed, completely exposed like this, begging me.โ
The filthy words sink into me like barbed hooks, pulling at the tangled mess of shame and overwhelming desire churning in my chest. The absolute wrongness of everything - the very public risk weโre taking, how exposed I am, how easily we could be discovered - only makes everything burn impossibly hotter, my flushed skin prickling with an intoxicating mixture of humiliation and raw want.
โBegging me for what?โ he questions, voice hard and uncompromising. โTell me exactly what you want.โ His hand comes down yet again, the sharp sting blooming into deep, throbbing heat that makes me arch back desperately toward him, actively seeking more even as overwhelmed tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
My mouth hangs open uselessly, lips parted but no coherent words emerging. Iโm completely shocked and speechless by this sudden surge of dominant control from him. I fumble desperately for words, my brain unable to string together a single coherent sentence.
โItโs okay, baby,โ he says, voice gentling just slightly even as his grip remains iron. โDonโt be shy now. Tell me exactly how much you need this.โ
โI need it,โ I finally choke out, my voice breaking badly on the words, half-muffled against the rough wall as another sharp spank lands with devastating precision. โSo fucking much. I need you inside me, Billy, pleaseโฆ please, Iโm begging-โ
He releases a dark, satisfied chuckle that vibrates through the air, clearly pleased with my broken, desperate submission. Then heโs right where I want it. The blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance from behind, hot and demanding. He thrusts in without any warning whatsoever, filling me completely in one brutal stroke.
The new angle allows him to somehow go even deeper than before, hitting spots inside me that make my vision actually blur and white out, my body contorting in helpless ecstasy. I cry out, the sound absolutely raw and primal yet muffled against the unforgiving wood as he starts truly railing me, hips slamming against my ass with punishing force that literally drives me forward with each powerful thrust. The wall scrapes roughly against my cheek, my breasts pressing harder into the cold surface through my rumpled shirt with every impact.
The cramped space makes absolutely everything feel more intense, our bodies pressed so desperately close thereโs zero escape from the completely overwhelming sensations flooding my system. The shedโs close walls seem to press in even further, amplifying every obscene slap of sweat-slicked skin colliding.
Billy grabs my ponytail, wrapping the length once around his fist like a leather rein, yanking my head back sharply until my spine arches at an almost impossible angle. My body tilts into an absolutely obscene position that makes every impact devastating. Broken moans escape in ragged waves as I contort helplessly under his complete control, every muscle straining and trembling, pleasure bordering dangerously on pain in the absolute best way.
Time becomes completely meaningless in the overwhelming haze of pure sensation. After what feels simultaneously like hours and mere seconds he pulls me back from the wall, moving to bend me over the workbench.
My upper body sprawls limply across the surface, the wood bruising my hipbones as he drives into me with renewed intensity.
โGood girl,โ he praises breathlessly, his wrecked voice punctuating each brutal thrust, the approval washing over me like a benediction.
Another sharp spank lands and I let out an involuntary cry. โShh, I know, baby, I know- itโs too much, but youโre doing so fucking good for me.โ The words thread praise through the degradation in a way that makes my legs shake.
He continues fucking me with the entire workbench shaking violently under our combined force and frantic movements. Then he pulls me completely upright by my hair, until my back is flush against the solid wall of his heaving chest, his cock still buried inside as he holds me pinned close.
His thrusts slow to deep, grinding rolls, each one perfectly deliberate as his free arm bands tightly around my waist, holding me steady and secure against him.
โYouโre so fucking perfect.โ he murmurs against my hair, placing a kiss on my head.
โHereโs the thing,โ he continues, his hand slides up to firmly cup my jaw, tilting my head back even further against his solid shoulder. His hips roll slow and devastatingly deep, grinding relentlessly against that spot that makes my legs shake uncontrollably. โIโm getting close, and we canโt make a mess in here. So youโre gonna have to choose.โ
His thrusts punctuate each word with devastating precision, making it almost impossible to focus on what heโs saying.
โEither I pull out and cum in that pretty mouth of yours, and youโll swallow every last drop.โ he continues, breath hot against my ear, โOrโฆ I fill you up and pump you so full youโll be dripping me for the rest of the damn day. Your choice, baby. Where do you want it?โ
The absolutely filthy question drives me completely wild, the sheer audacity of making me choose, of putting this decision in my hands when I can barely form coherent thoughts. The idea of both options are to die for, but thereโs only one thing Iโve craved most of all since our first time together.
โInside,โ I gasp out desperately, my voice trembling on the single word as mounting pleasure coils impossibly tighter, threatening to release. โPlease- inside me-โ
Billy lets out a pleased breath thatโs so close to a laugh it makes his chest vibrate against my back. โGood choice,โ he hums with dark satisfaction, his pace immediately quickening, building back to that absolutely relentless rhythm thatโs driving me steadily insane. โLet me tell you exactly whatโs going to happen,โ he continues. โOnce Iโm finished, itโs gonna stay deep inside you and youโre gonnaโ keep it there. Then youโre gonna walk that pretty ass of yours back to my cabin and weโre gonna pick up exactly where we left off. Isnโt that right?โ
The scenario heโs painting is absolutely obscene, the idea of carrying him inside me as I walk through camp past dozens of completely oblivious eyes is dizzying.
โCome on,โ he urges, his arms hugging me tighter. โLet me hear you say it. Tell me how badly you want me to fill you up.โ
I gasp out, every nerve ending burning bright and alive with sensation, all I can do is moan and nod my head โyesโ.
โGood girl,โ he growls with fierce approval. โCum for me, baby. Do it all over my cock.โ
A high pitched sound tears violently from my throat but his hand clamps over my mouth just in time, barely muffling it as overwhelming ecstasy crashes over me in devastating waves. My entire body convulses almost violently, locking up tight around him in powerful rhythmic pulses that seem to milk him absolutely dry. He follows immediately after with one final, brutally deep thrust, groaning low and broken against my neck as he fills me with scorching heat, his whole body shuddering hard against mine in shared release.
We stay locked together in the immediate aftermath, both panting harshly in the dim, dust-filled light. The shedโs oppressive claustrophobia now feels almost comforting as the intense aftershocks gradually fade. His arms remain wrapped tightly around me like he physically canโt bear to let go yet, and the world outside becomes nothing but a distant, meaningless hum we both consciously ignore for just a little longer.
Billyโs chest rises and falls rapidly against my back, his breath still ragged and uneven against my neck. He doesnโt pull out right away, instead staying buried completely deep, deliberately letting me feel every last twitch and fading pulse as he slowly softens inside me.
โFeel that?โ he murmurs, voice absolutely wrecked and low, lips brushing my ear with devastating intimacy. โThatโs my load inside you. Now, when I pull out, youโre gonnaโ have to squeeze that tight little cunt hard so that none of it escapes. Every single step you take, every time those pretty legs cross, youโll feel me slowly leaking out and remember exactly how I put it there.โ
A fresh shiver runs through my oversensitive body. My inner walls flutter weakly around him at the filthy words, drawing a rough, deeply satisfied hum from his throat.
He finally eases back with agonizing slowness, deliberately letting me feel the drag of every single inch as he slips free. The sudden emptiness makes me whimper pathetically, and immediately I feel the full devastating extent of it. The warm, thick slide of him beginning to drip down my inner thigh, obscene and completely unstoppable. My face burns hot with embarrassment even as my thigbs tremble with lingering aftershocks.
Billy lets out a dark, deeply appreciative chuckle. โLook at the mess we made,โ he says, voice still thick with unmistakable pride. His fingers trail down between my trembling legs, deliberately gathering the evidence of us on his fingertips before bringing them up to hover just in front of my lips.
โOpen.โ
I hesitate for only half a second. He doesnโt repeat the command, just waits with infinite patience and unwavering expectation.
My lips part obediently. He slides his fingers inside slowly, letting me taste the salty evidence of us both. His thumb strokes my bottom lip with surprising gentleness as I suck weakly at his fingers.
โThatโs my girl,โ he praises, voice dropping even lower with satisfaction. โDonโt worry. Iโm not even close to done with you yet.โ
He pulls his fingers free with a soft, wet pop, then steps back just enough to tuck himself away efficiently. His belt clinks as he fastens it with practiced movements. My legs are still shaky and unreliable, skirt falling back into place but doing nothing to hide how thoroughly used I feel. I reach down instinctively toward where my panties must have fallen during our frantic coupling.
Before my fingers can close around the damp lace, Billyโs hand catches my wrist firmly. โUh-uh.โ He bends down himself and takes the soaked scrap of fabric from the dirty floor, holding it up between two fingers like a little trophy. โThese are mine now.โ
My breath catches sharply. โBilly-โ
He steps close again, free hand reaching out to gently but firmly cup my jaw, then leans in to place one surprisingly soft kiss against my swollen lips.
โYouโre not getting them back,โ he states with absolute finality as he pulls away. โIโm gonna enjoy watching you struggle to keep my cum inside you. One wrong step and everyoneโs gonna know what a messy little thing you are for me.โ
I feel two of his fingers tilt my chin up firmly, forcing me to meet his intense gaze, ensuring he has my complete and undivided attentionโฆ As if he didnโt already.
โAnd when we get back,โ he continues, voice dropping quieter and somehow even darker, โIโm gonna spread you wide open on my bed and watch as my cum slowly leaks out of you. And then?โ A wicked little smile curls his lips. โIโm fucking it right back in until youโre overflowing, shaking, screaming my name. Until youโre so used up youโll feel it for days.โ
He leans in and kisses me deep and dirty tongue stroking mine like heโs already fucking my mouth, then eases back with hooded eyes.
โSo be a good girl for me out there, yeah?โ His thumb strokes my jaw once, soft but mocking.
โNot one fucking drop gets wasted. Youโre keeping me exactly where I belongโฆ so Iโve got plenty of lube when I fuck you stupid later.โ
He finally steps fully back, tucking my stolen panties deep into his pocket where I can see the outline of the damp fabric.
Iโm left standing there trembling, skirt back in place but providing zero actual protection, no underwear, no shield against discovery, just the slow, warm trickle between my thighs serving as a constant reminder of every single filthy word he just said.
Billy gives my ass one last possessive squeeze, then cracks open the shed door carefully, checking with practiced caution that the coast is clear.
โAfter you, Westbrook,โ he says casually, his voice sliding effortlessly back into that easy professional drawl he uses around everyone else - like nothing happened. But when his eyes meet mine one final time, theyโre absolutely burning with heat. With promise. With unfinished business.
I take one shaky, unsteady step toward the narrow door opening, already acutely feeling the slick slide between my thighs, already clenching as hard as I possibly can to keep him inside me where he demanded it stay.
And I know with absolute certainty, without him even needing to say it again, that Iโm going to do exactly what he told me to do.
Morning comes soft and slow, consciousness creeping in through layers of warmth and safety Iโm still not entirely used to. I wake with Billyโs arm heavy across my waist, his chest pressed against my back, breath steady and even against the nape of my neck. For a moment I just lie there, eyes still closed, letting myself exist in this perfect stillness before the day demands we put our masks back on and pretend weโre nothing to each other.
Last nightโฆ it changed something between us. I donโt even know what possessed me to drop out so much, to actually open up. Iโve never told anybody about that night at the restaurant, about the way it made me feel, about how hard it was to see the life I could have had. But somehow, with him, it came out so easily. I get a sense that he trusts me too. I remember reading his report and seeing the details of how heโd never open up to anyone, of how much his past angered him, and yetโฆ he told me. Itโs like knowing the worst about each other and staying anyway matters more than anything.
Billy stirs behind me, his arm tightening around my waist, pulling me closer even in sleep. I feel his lips brush against my shoulder, soft and unconscious, and something in me aches to stay like this forever. To never, ever leave this bed.
But the alarm on his nightstand shatters the moment with its awful, blaring noise, dragging us both back to reality, responsibility and the roles we have to play.
Another day, another pointless activity.
Archery, this time.
I stand in a line with a dozen other campers on the archery range, bow in hand, trying to focus on the target in front of me instead of the man standing twenty feet away pretending he doesnโt know what I look like naked. The sun is warm on my shoulders, the grass still slightly damp from a late night shower, and everything about this moment should feel normal, routine, just another mandatory camp activity to check off the list.
Except Billyโs here.
And Billy keeps catching my eye when he thinks no oneโs looking, sending me these small, secret smiles that make my stomach flip. A wink when backs are turned. A barely perceptible quirk of his lips when our eyes meet across the range, so subtle anyone else would miss it but that hits me like a physical touch.
Itโs distracting as hell.
Tinaโs running the session, because of fucking course she has to be here too. She holds a clipboard tightly in hand, her voice carrying across the range with that particular blend of whiny cheerfulness and authority that all the others seem to adore. Sheโs wearing grey athletic leggings with pink shorts over top and a fitted โCamp Nightwingโ t-shirt. Her brunette hair is perfectly permed bouncing as she moves down the line, adjusting stances and correcting grips with practiced efficiency. Billyโs supposed to be assisting, but heโs mostly just standing there looking unfairly attractive in his navy staff polo, arms crossed over his chest, watching the campers with that careful neutrality heโs perfected.
Except when heโs watching me. Then that neutrality slips, just for a second, just enough for me to see the heat underneath.
Rachelโs beside me, fidgeting with her bowstring, and Iโm grateful for the distraction of her presence. Lauren and Jackson got assigned to a different activity and honestly, Iโm relieved. The thought of facing Jackson after last night, after he beat the shit out of Byron in my defense, makes something uncomfortable twist in my gut. Guilt, maybe. Or gratitude I donโt know how to express. Or the awkwardness of knowing someone cares about you enough to do something like that.
Itโs easier this way. Just me and Rachel, gossiping and complaining and existing in the comfortable simplicity of a friendship that doesnโt demand anything complicated.
โAlright everyone,โ Tina calls out, her voice bright and encouraging in that way that makes me want to roll my eyes. โLetโs try another round. Remember, steady breath, smooth release, follow through. Youโve got this!โ
I nock an arrow, feeling the weight of the bow in my hand. Archery has never particularly interested me, in all fairness Iโve never done it to give a fair judgement. Though, I canโt deny thereโs something satisfying about the focus it requires, the way everything else falls away when youโre lining up a shot.
โSoโฆโ Rachel says beside me, voice low enough that Iโm hoping only I can hear. โWe gonna talk about last night or what?โ
I knew this was coming. Of course I did. Thereโs no way Rachel would let something that dramatic slide without dissecting every detail, without picking apart every moment until sheโs satisfied she understands exactly what happened and why. Itโs just who she is, curious, relentless, always digging for the story underneath the story.
I adjust my stance, raising the bow and focusing intently on the target ahead, using the excuse of concentration to avoid meeting her eyes. If I donโt look at her, maybe sheโll take the hint. Maybe sheโll let it drop.
โWhat about it?โ I say, aiming for casual disinterest, like last night was just another forgettable incident and not the dramatic explosion that had the entire fire circle somewhat involved.
โOh, I donโt know.โ Rachelโs voice drips with exaggerated innocence. โMaybe the part where Jackson went full โknight in shining armourโ and beat the crap out of Byron? Or the part where Hargrove basically threatened to ruin Byronโs entire life? That was wild, Lydia. Like, genuinely insane.โ
I pull the string back. Just drop it Rachel. Drop it. โJackson shouldnโt have done that.โ
โPlease he got what was coming for him, besides Jackson did it for you.โ Rachel pauses, and I can feel her looking at me even though Iโm staring straight ahead. โItโs almost like heโs in love with you or something.โ
โWhat?โ The word comes out sharp and startled, my concentration shattering completely. My fingers release the string on instinct, and the arrow flies wild - not just off target, but completely airborne, sailing up and over in a perfect arc before disappearing somewhere behind the boards.
Around me, other arrows thud into targets with varying degrees of success. Mine is nowhere to be seen.
I lower my bow, turning to stare at Rachel. โWhat are you talking about?โ
Rachel furrows her brows smiling at me, like she didnโt expect that reaction. โAre you blind? The guy never stops starring at you. Heโs on about you all the time. Besides, I think you make a cute couple-โ
โBullseye!โ Tina exclaims loudly, completely cutting Rachel off, and for once in my life - this is the only time Iโll ever say this - Iโm glad to hear her voice.
โGreat shot, Amanda! And Michael, five points. Youโre improving! Ooo, Kai, only two. But donโt worry, youโll get there!โ
She continues down the line, calling out scores, and I feel my hands tighten around the bow with each name that isnโt mine. I know exactly where this is going.
โRachel, six points, well done!โ Tina announces cheerfully.
Then her attention lands on me.
โAnd Lydiaโฆโ Tinaโs tone shifts, taking on this particular quality of false sympathy that makes my jaw clench. โWell. Looks like we might need a bit more practice, hmm?โ
I grit my teeth, forcing myself not to respond, not to give her the satisfaction of seeing that sheโs gotten under my skin. My knuckles go white around the bow, the only outlet for the frustration building in my chest. A few campers snicker, quickly silenced by a look from Billy that could freeze water.
Tina turns to Billy with a smile thatโs too bright, too deliberate. โBilly~ would you be a doll and give Lydia a hand? She seems to be struggling. Iโve already explained what to do but I think sheโs in need of some, extra, assistance.โ
The way she emphasizes the word โextraโ drips with condescension, like Iโm some incompetent child who canโt follow basic instructions. Like I didnโt just get distracted by Rachel dropping a bomb about Jackson, like I actually need remedial help instead of just one moment of lost concentration. The implication hangs there, making me feel stupid, singled out, less than.
I catch Billyโs expression, watch the micro movement of his jaw tightening, the slight narrowing of his eyes that suggests heโs just as irritated by her tone as I am. But he nods professionally. โSure thing.โ
I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts, turning away from Tinaโs satisfied smile to retrieve another arrow from the quiver.
The other campers are already preparing for their next shots, adjusting their stances, nocking new arrows, focused on their own targets and their own scores. The range is full of quiet concentration, the kind of focused silence that comes when everyoneโs trying to prove they can do better than the last round.
Then Billyโs behind me.
I feel him before I hear him, that awareness thatโs become second nature, like my body just knows when heโs close. He doesnโt touch me at first, just stands there, close enough that I can sense his presence like a physical thing.
โAlright,โ he says, voice low and professional, pitched just for me. โLetโs work on your form.โ
I raise the bow, trying to ignore the way my pulse has kicked up, trying to focus on the target and not on the fact that heโs about to put his hands on me in front of around twenty people.
โYour stance is off,โ Billy murmurs, and then his hand is on my hip, adjusting my position with a touch thatโs firm and efficient and sends electricity racing up my spine.
Before I can process that contact, I feel his foot hook around my inner ankle. Without warning he slides my foot outward with controlled pressure, widening my stance. Then the other ankle, his boot gently but firmly pushing until my legs are spread shoulder-width apart.
The gasp escapes before I can stop it, quiet but unmistakable. He definitely heard it.
Heat floods through me. Not embarrassment, something darker, more visceral. The casual dominance of the gesture, the way heโs physically positioning my body in front of everyone while maintaining that perfectly professional demeanour, makes my skin prickle with awareness. It feels intimate in a way that has nothing to do with archery instruction and everything to do with the power dynamic heโs just established with one simple movement.
โThatโs better,โ Billy says, voice still maddeningly neutral. His hand comes up to my elbow, lifting it slightly. โKeep this up. Youโre dropping your bow arm.โโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโ
Heโs so close now I can feel the heat radiating off his body, can smell that scent thatโs become intoxicatingly familiar. His chest nearly brushes my back, and when he shifts his weight I feel it. The unmistakable press of his crotch against my ass, firm and deliberate and absolutely intentional.
My breath catches once again.
โDraw back,โ Billy instructs, his voice still perfectly professional despite the fact that heโs literally pressed against me, despite the fact that my entire body has gone hypersensitive to every point of contact. โSlowly. Thatโs good.โ
His hand slides down my arm, adjusting my grip on the bowstring, fingers brushing against mine in a way that feels less like instruction and more like intimacy. Iโm acutely aware of how public this is, how many people could be watching, how careful we need to be. But Iโm also aware of the way my body is responding to his proximity, heat pooling low in my belly, my breathing gone shallow and uneven.
โFocus on the target,โ Billy says, his breath ghosting over the bare skin at the back of my neck, my ponytail suddenly feeling like a terrible decision. God, of all the days to wear my hair up. โNothing else matters.โ
Easy for him to say when heโs the one making it impossible to focus on anything except the solid weight of him against me, the way his hand is still covering mine on the bowstring, the way I can feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt. Itโs almost as like heโs saying โfocus on meโ, it fits just the same.
โArchers ready!โ Tinaโs voice carries across the range, breaking through the bubble weโve created. โDraw!โ
Billyโs hand tightens slightly over mine. โBreathe,โ he whispers, so quiet I almost donโt hear it.
โAim!โ
I stare at the target, vision tunneling, every nerve ending in my body screaming with awareness.
โRelease!โ
I let go of the string, feeling it snap forward, and the arrow flies true this time. Perfect arc, perfect trajectory, burying itself dead center in the bullseye with a satisfying โthunkโ.
Billyโs lips brush against my ear, so quick and subtle it could almost be accidental. โGood girl.โ
Fuck.
My knees actually go weak, and I have to lock them to stay upright, have to remind myself to breathe, have to fight the blush thatโs threatening to consume my entire face.
He steps back immediately, creating professional distance, and the loss of his presence feels almost painful.
โNice.โ he declares a little louder in that same professional tone, like he didnโt just completely wreck me with two words and a whisper. โKeep it up Westbrook.โ
He walks away, moving down the line to check on other campers, and Iโm left standing there with my bow in trembling hands and my body still thrumming with want.
โHoly shit!โ Rachel appears at my elbow, grinning widely. โLydia, that was amazing! Dead center! I didnโt know you could shoot like that!โ
I lower my bow, willing my hands to stop shaking, willing the heat in my cheeks to fade. โYeah, neither. Good instructionโฆ I guess.โ
Rachelโs still chattering about the shot, about how impressed everyone looked, about how even Tina seemed surprised, but Iโm only half listening. My eyes find Billy across the range, and for just a second he looks back, and the heat in his gaze makes it very clear that archery instruction was the last thing on his mind.
The session ends with Tina announcing scores and praising various campers for their work today. I tune most of it out, focused on returning my equipment, on maintaining the appearance of normalcy when everything inside me feels like itโs vibrating at a frequency only Billy can hear.
โLunch time!โ Tina announces cheerfully, and thereโs an immediate shuffle as campers start moving over the grass toward the dining hall.
Rachel links her arm through mine. โCome on, Iโm starving. I saw Jackson and Lauren heading toward-โ
She stops mid-sentence, her gaze following something in the distance. I look over and spot Jackson and Lauren near the gymnasium, clearly finished with their own activity.
โYou coming?โ Rachel asks, already starting to pull me in their direction.
I glance over at Billy, whoโs methodically collecting arrows from the targets, alone now that Tinaโs wandered off to chat with another leader. The sight of him doing such a mundane task shouldnโt be as appealing as it is, but thereโs something about the efficient way he moves, the focus in his expression, that makes me want to stay.
โActually,โ I say, gently extracting my arm from Rachelโs. โI think I have to go back to isolation for a meeting. Some check in thing with Dr Leslie. Donโt wait up for me.โ
The lie comes easily, smoothly, and Rachel just nods sympathetically. โThat sucks. Want me to grab you something from lunch?โ
โNah, Iโll figure it out. Go, catch up with the others. Tell Jackson thanks for yesterday.โ
Rachel grins and takes off toward the gymnasium, leaving me alone on the archery range except for Billy and the scattered equipment that needs collecting.
I wait until sheโs out of sight before I start moving, crouching down to pick up arrows from the grass where theyโve fallen short of the targets. The repetitive motion is soothing, giving my hands something to do, and Iโm so focused on the task that I donโt notice Billy approaching until he speaks.
โSoโฆ you and Jackson, huh?โ
I straighten up so fast I nearly drop the arrows Iโm holding. โWhat?โ
Billyโs standing a few feet away, arms full of equipment, and thereโs something carefully casual about his tone that immediately puts me on alert. โLooks like youโd make quite the couple.โ
Understanding dawns, and with it comes a mild annoyance. โOh, that. God, Billy, must you eavesdrop on all my conversations?โ
His lips quirk into a small smile. โMmm, only the ones that interest me.โ
I roll my eyes, bending down to grab another arrow. โWell, itโs never gonna happen. Just Rachel spreading gossip again. You know how she is.โ
Billy doesnโt respond, just continues collecting equipment in silence, and the quiet stretches between us until I canโt resist filling it.
โThough I canโt say the same for you and Tina,โ I say, keeping my voice light, teasing, even though thereโs a genuine edge of curiosity underneath.
Billy laughs, actually laughs, and drives an arrow into the ground with more force than strictly necessary before pulling it free. โHa, no way.โ
โOh, please.โ I move closer, gathering more arrows. โSheโs head over heels for you. โBilly~ Would you be a dollโโ I mimic Tinaโs voice, adding extra sugar to it, and Billyโs smile widens as I mock her. โGo on, give her a chance.โ
We both reach for the same arrow at the exact same moment, our hands colliding, fingers interlocking around it. The contact sends that familiar jolt through me, and when I look up Billyโs already watching me, his expression shifting from amused to something darker, more intense.
โThatโs a shame for her,โ his thumb stroking across my knuckles in a gesture too intimate for the public setting. โIโve got eyes for someone else.โ He wispers.
Heat floods my cheeks, and Iโm suddenly very aware of how exposed we are, standing in the middle of the archery range where anyone could see. I clear my throat awkwardly, pulling my hand away and straightening up. โWe shouldโฆ we, uh- letโs put these away.โ
I glance around the camp, scanning for observers, for anyone who might have noticed the moment that just passed between us. The range is empty, most campers already halfway to the dining hall, but paranoia makes me cautious.
Billy follows my gaze, understanding the unspoken concern, then jerks his head towards where they go. โStorage shedโs this way.โ
The shed is tucked away from the main pathways, partially hidden by the cabins and a thick line of trees. Itโs small and weathered, the kind of structure thatโs been here so long everyone just accepts its presence without really seeing it anymore.
Billy pulls out a key and unlocks the padlock, shouldering the door open with a creak of protesting hinges. Inside itโs dim and dusty, smelling of wood and canvas and the particular mustiness of things stored and forgotten. Bows and quivers line one wall along with various sporting equipment organized with surprising efficiency.
I follow him inside, arms full of arrows, and help him sort them into their proper containers. The space is cramped enough that we keep brushing against each other, shoulders bumping, hands colliding as we reach for the same shelf.
โHere, let me-โ Billy reaches around me to grab a quiver, his chest pressing briefly against my back, and the contact makes my breath hitch.
โIโve got it,โ I say, but my voice comes out breathier than intended.
We continue working in silence, the air growing thicker with each passing moment, with each accidental touch that feels less and less accidental. Iโm hyper-aware of every movement, every breath, every time our eyes meet in the dim light filtering through the gaps in the wooden walls.
Billy hangs the last bow on its hook, and I set down the final arrow, and suddenly thereโs nothing left to organize, no task to keep our hands busy and our attention divided.
Suddenly, Billy shuts the door behind us with a soft click, and darkness descends.
Not complete darkness - thin streams of light cut through the gaps between boards, creating stripes of light that pattern the small space - but enough to make everything feel suddenly more intimate, more removed from the world outside.
โBilly,โ I start, but I donโt know how to finish the sentence.
I hear him move in the darkness, feel rather than see him step closer. โYeah?โ
My heart is hammering so hard Iโm sure he can hear it. โWe shouldnโt-โ
โI know.โ His voice is closer now, right in front of me. I can feel the heat of him in the small space between us.
โSomeone could-โ
โI know.โ
โThis is-โ
โLydia.โ His hand finds my waist in the darkness, and the touch makes me stop mid-sentence. โStop thinking for a second. Just let me...โ
And then his mouth is on mine, and thinking becomes impossible.