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.
