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@delulugirlblogger
What if…
Hawkins, Indiana / 1984
The room smelled like cigarettes, cheap booze, and the kind of tension that lingers when too much is left unsaid. Some song echoed faintly from the floor below, muffled by the walls and the hour. Everyone was either too drunk or too far gone.
Everyone but you two.
Billy was lying on someone else’s bed some idiot party thrown by one of Tommy’s even dumber friends. You’d said no at first, but then Billy had another fight with his dad, and somehow, you’d ended up dragged along.
You could’ve said no —really said no— but you didn’t. Because getting him out of that house, even for a night, sounded like a better idea than leaving him in it.
He had one arm stretched out lazily over the edge of the bed, a half-finished cigarette burning slowly between his fingers, forgotten after a single drag. His shirt was unbuttoned, his chest slick with sweat, jeans undone just enough to make you look away. But his eyes were on you, like he couldn’t look anywhere else even if he tried.
You, on the other hand, were sitting against the headboard, legs crossed, quiet. Watching him with that look the one that sometimes said I could kill you, and other times... well, other times it calmed him in ways nothing else ever did.
You didn’t say it out loud, but you liked seeing him like that. Relaxed. Lying down. Like the world had finally shut the fuck up for a minute.
“You’re drunk,” you muttered, not judging. Just stating.
He tilted his head back, eyes on the ceiling, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.
“Yeah… I’m drunk.”
He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand, then leaned slightly toward you. That lazy, heated look in his eyes softened by the alcohol, like his sharp edges had finally dulled for a while.
“And you’re beautiful.”
He said it warm, smooth. Like honey and smoke.
You smiled —barely— heat blooming in your cheeks as you looked away, pretending it didn’t land square in the middle of your chest.
He caught that, of course he did. And he laughed, soft and low. But he didn’t stop.
“And tomorrow morning, I’ll be sober...” A pause, his gaze heavy, unwavering. “And you’ll still be beautiful.”
You looked at him again, and something shifted. Your shoulders loosened. That tension you hadn’t even noticed bled out slowly. You didn’t move.
Not out of nerves, but because there was something in his words that held you there.
You hadn’t seen him like this before. Not fully. Unarmed. No sarcasm, no cocky smirk, no swagger. Just Billy, raw and honest in a way that felt dangerous.
It wasn’t a compliment, It was a fact.
One that seemed to hurt him just to admit.
He licked his split lip, looking more tired than drunk now. More real than charming.
“And what do you want me to do with that?” You asked without shifting, your voice steady.
He looked at you like you were the only fixed thing in a world that wouldn’t stop spinning.
“Nothing,” he said. “I just needed to say it out loud.”
He got up, gracelessly. Just a slight stumble before he sat down beside you, letting out a quiet sigh. The heat of his body was something else entirely wild, heavy, electric. Like sitting too close to a fire you knew was eventually going to burn everything down.
Including you.
He slid his arm behind you, not quite touching, but close enough that you felt it anyway. And his cologne hit you stronger now. That familiar scent he never talked about, the one that always clung to your clothes after he was gone. His presence buzzed just beneath your skin.
“You… you really have no idea what you do to me, do you?”
You looked at him, you could feel his breath. Maybe if you focused, you could count every goddamn eyelash. ‘Yes, I do’ You thought.
Because you were already wrecked too. And he knew it.
Billy looked at you one last time, that cold blue stare flickering from your eyes to your mouth. And without asking, he touched your chin, just enough to tilt your face toward him and kissed you. It wasn’t rushed, IIt wasn’t sloppy. It was slow, and steady, and real. No games. No hesitation. No first-time nerves. He already knew you. He’d already had you. But this — this kiss didn’t need an excuse. Didn’t want an aftermath, didn’t pretend.
This was truth.
And tonight, his truth was you.
I will leave this world without ever hearing it. Life has nothing left to offer me I’ve seen it all, I’ve felt it all. Above all, I despise the times we live in they hurt. Everything’s fake now.
Everything’s been replaced.
There’s no respect for one’s word anymore the only thing that matters is money and wealth.
And I know I’ll leave this world without regrets.
— Alain Delon
Rest in peace, baby.
He was a study in contradiction. Rage, tenderness, sunburns and shadows. The kind of boy who smells like trouble but screams like someone who once knew love.
If I could write him a diagnosis, it wouldn't be a label it would be a letter that says;
“Honey, I saw you. I know you tried.”
Billy Hargrove deserved better.
He really did. We saw him practicing his lines in the car proof that the tough guy act was exactly that: an act. And that didn’t make him manipulative; it made him human. It made him someone desperate not to seem vulnerable. We saw how terrified he was in the sauna, forced to do things against his will. We saw where his pain came from, why he thought and acted the way he did.
We saw a Billy who was once happy. A boy who had a mother that loved him and a childhood filled with light until that light was snuffed out by an abusive father who didn’t just hit him, but stripped away his humanity. And when his mother left, she took with her any last hope of escape.
And not once did anyone try to save him the way they did with Will the season before. Not once did anyone suggest helping him out of his misery. The only reason we got to see him come back to himself in the end was because it was the only way to beat the mind flayer. He wasn’t a person to them he was a pawn. A tactic. And still, he sacrificed himself for the very people who had only ever looked at him with disgust.
And in the end, after everything, he got a sliver of redemption just before he gave himself up to the mind flayer. So don’t tell me he got what he deserved. Not when he lived a life full of pain, not when he was broken down into something he never wanted to become, and not when just the memory of his mother was enough to bring him back to who he truly was someone willing to die to save everyone else.
So I’ll say it once, twice and a million times if I have to. Billy Hargrove deserved better.