Billy Hargrove

Billy Hargrove was the kind of guy people noticed.

He didn't have to try particularly hard, either.

He'd walk through the front doors of Hawkins High with his jean jacket hanging loose around his shoulders, curly blonde hair falling perfectly around his face, and that familiar cocky grin already plastered across his mouth.

People looked. They always looked.

Girls whispered when he passed. Guys nodded at him in the hallway. Even people who couldn't stand him couldn't deny that Billy had a presence.

He carried himself like he belonged everywhere. Like nothing in the world could embarrass him. Like nothing could hurt him.

Billy liked it that way. It was useful.

Because the truth was that his life was nothing like what everyone imagined. The perfect California boy didn't have a perfect home.

He had a father who was becoming more frightening by the day. A house that never felt like a home, a temper he was quickly mirroring, and a growing collection of things he refused to tell anyone about.

So every morning, Billy put on his armor.

He fixed his hair. He put on his jacket. He climbed into his Camaro.

And he became the Billy Hargrove everyone knew. Cocky. Charming. Untouchable...

Until Steve Harrington decided to start something one morning.

It happened between classes.

One minute Billy was leaning against the lockers, laughing with a couple of guys from the basketball team, and the next Steve was standing directly in front of him.

"You got something to say, Harrington?"

Steve stared him down. "You've been running your mouth, that's all."

Billy's grin widened. "When don't I?"

A few people around them laughed. Billy loved that. He always did. He thrived on an audience.

Steve suddenly shoved him and Billy's expression changed instantly.

"Get your fucking hands off me, Steve."

Steve shoved him again, so Billy swung.

The hallway exploded into noise.

Students gathered around them almost immediately, but they weren't exactly rooting against Billy. If anything, half the crowd seemed entertained.

"Come on, Hargrove!"

"Get him!"

"You're screwed, Harrington!"

Billy grinned through the chaos.

He was bleeding slightly from the corner of his mouth, but that only seemed to make his smile sharper.

Steve threw another punch, Billy stumbled backward, then laughed.

"That's your big move?" He commented.

The crowd laughed. Steve charged him again.

The fight continued until the two were finally pulled apart.

Billy straightened his jacket and ran a hand through his hair. The crowd was still buzzing around him when someone slapped his shoulder.

"Nice one, Hargrove!"

Billy smirked. "Yeah, yeah." He looked completely fine.

Then one of the students shouted something from somewhere in the crowd.

It wasn't an insult about the fight, it wasn't even really directed at Billy. But it landed. It was something about him always acting like he was better than everyone.

Someone else joked that maybe Billy's whole tough-guy act wasn't as convincing as he thought.

The crowd laughed. Not cruelly, not even particularly loudly. They were just joking and Billy knew that.

And still, Billy's smile faded.

For half a second, his eyes went distant. His stomach dropped, he could hear his father's voice in his head. He could see the expression on Neil's face. He could remember exactly what he'd been told that morning.

"How did I end up with a son as pathetic as you?"

His fingers curled against his palms, but he forced a laugh like the joke hadn't even registered.

"Jesus Christ," he said, shaking his head. "You guys are obsessed with me."

The moment passed quickly.

As far as everyone else was concerned, Billy had won again. He walked away with his shoulders straight and his head held high. Nobody saw his eyes. Nobody saw how quickly he blinked. Nobody saw him disappear through the doors.

He kept walking until he was outside.

The moment he reached the football field, he stopped.

He looked back toward the school. Nobody was following him.

Good.

Billy crossed the field and disappeared behind the bleachers. There, hidden from the windows and the lunch crowd, he finally let his shoulders fall. He sat down against the metal supports with his hands resting loosely between his knees.

For a while, he just stared at the ground.

The adrenaline from the fight was gone, the laughter was gone, the crowd was gone, there was only silence.

Billy swallowed. His jaw clenched. He felt that familiar sting in his nose.

"Fuck." His voice was barely audible.

He tried to breathe, tried to get himself under control... but the comment kept replaying in his head over and over.

He squeezed his eyes shut. "No." His voice cracked.

Billy immediately opened his eyes. He looked around.

Nobody. He was alone, yet still, he wiped his face aggressively.

He refused to cry.

He'd rather take another punch from Steve than let anyone see him like this. But the tears came anyway, quietly at first. Billy lowered his head, his shoulders shook with each soft, shuddering sob.

He covered his face with both hands, trying to force himself to stop. He hated it. He hated feeling weak, he hated feeling exposed.

He hated that one stupid comment had managed to get past every wall he'd built. The Billy Hargrove everyone knew would have laughed, ould have flirted, would have made some smart-ass comment and walked away.

But the real Billy was sitting behind the bleachers, alone during lunch, crying because for once someone had accidentally reminded him that the life everyone envied was a life he desperately wanted to escape.

Oh, how he wished someone would care about him like his mother did...