Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

SEPTEMBER 1985

“Shit,” you said blankly, clapping your alarm clock, realizing that was your third alarm, and you would be late for work if you didn’t move right then. Rolling out of bed, you grabbed your crumpled high-waisted jeans off the floor and tugged them on. Right leg, left leg, and flop – back down on your bed to do the tight jeans maneuver. After writhing and tugging for a good thirty seconds, you were buttoning them up and eyeing your closet to choose a top as quick as possible. You sloppily pulled on a Judas Priest tee with cut sleeves, grabbed your pre-packed bag, and burst through the front door with purpose, as ready as you’d ever be to make your way to the shop.

Barry was on the precipice of retirement, and you knew exactly what he was going to say when you slid through the door with just a minute to spare before clock-in time: “Hey, kid, if you’re going to run this show, you’ve gotta at least make it in by soundcheck.” It was the same speech he’d been giving you for the past three weeks.

Trax was the best place to buy, sell, trade, and discover music in Hawkins, Indiana. You frequented the music shop all throughout Freshman year, and Barry finally decided to offer you a part-time job after overhearing you recommend and discuss music with some of his customers. Nowadays, you worked full shifts after your high school graduation, and soon enough, this store would be all yours – that is, if you could manage to make it to work on time at least somewhat consistently.

You wrenched the door open, the familiar chime of the bells causing Barry to peek from around one of the racks and roll his eyes. “Hey, kid –”

“I know, I know. Late for soundcheck, sorry. I’ll be in sooner tomorrow, I promise.”

“Sure, sure. Grab the cart from the back and start stacking. We have another shipment coming in tomorrow, and everything needs to be out on the shelves before closing.” You did as Barry asked, wheeling the heavy metal cart out into one of the aisles and filing the cellophane-wrapped vinyls away in their respective places, your mind wandering between greeting customers and helping with the odd question while you continued filing album after album.

You had finally reached the lunch hour of your workday, and right on time, Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington made their entrance into Trax. You caught the tail end of their bickering as they bobbed and weaved through customers and racks, looking for where you could be hiding.

“I’m just saying I don’t get it. They had a sword, and a bow, and an axe, and, like, a bunch of dudes. Why didn’t they just charge in there and throw the ring into the mountain or whatever?”

“One does not simply walk into Mordor, Steve. And they’re no match for an entire orc army. That’s like us thinking it would be cool and easy to stroll into a Russian military base with our Hellfire party and a D20 and take over.” Eddie was talking with his hands, and Steve was rolling his eyes. You knew this argument wouldn’t die without intervention.

“I’m over here, guys,” you called from the M through P aisle.

“Hey, there she is!” Eddie skipped his way over to you, Steve following close behind. “What’s on the setlist for tonight?” You and Eddie had played in Corroded Coffin for years, and as far as you could remember, he had never retained a single setlist.

“I wrote down an extra copy for you.” You dug around in your bag and finally pressed a piece of paper to his chest. You had grown accustomed to this ritual, and Eddie was always overexpressing his gratitude for it.

“I am, as usual, forever in your debt,” he said, taking a dramatic, low bow causing Steve to step backwards into a customer.

“Sorry about that,” Steve said to the mystery man. “My friend here has the spatial awareness of a drunk octopus.” Steve turned around and instantly sighed, eyes rolling into the catacombs of his skull, when he realized who he had backed into. “What are you doing here?”

Billy Hargrove just smirked and stared back at Steve, physically biting his tongue. He didn’t want to spat with Harrington here in front of everyone, especially now that he was taking his best shot at redemption. He thought for a few more seconds before replying, “Don’t sweat it. Accidents happen.” An awkward silence loomed over all of you before Eddie finally piped up.

“Well, we’d better be going. As much as I always enjoy these reunions, we have some very urgent business to attend to.” Billy exhaled audibly, looking down at the ground and clenching his jaw. The three of you turned and made your way out of the aisle and toward the front door, bell jingling as you all exited single file in search of a quick bite to eat.

Billy didn’t know how to apologize yet, but he would find a way. The skepticism was understandable, and he knew he had to be patient, but where did he start? Max would know. He sauntered toward the shop door and out into the parking lot, pulling open the door to his blue Camaro and lighting a cigarette. He swung out of his parking space and peeled down the main road, revving his engine as he passed the three of you contentedly trekking along the sidewalk, obviously lost deep in conversation, laughing, smiling, you punching Eddie’s shoulder in jest.

He wanted to know what it was like to have friends, to have that trust and closeness with people, and he knew that after the events of that summer, The Party was his only real chance because no one else would understand. He thought about how to approach the subject with Max once she returned home. Just because she had forgiven him didn’t mean anyone else would, but he was hopeful, and he was willing to do whatever it took.

Chapter Text

Eddie scooped up the mushy green pile of guacamole on his plate with two fingers and flung it onto the ground with a glop. The street tacos were more than satisfactory for 25 cents apiece, and everyone was chattering about that night’s impending show with their mouths full and their hands greasy.

“What do you mean you’re not going to sing Pat Benatar?! Everyone loves Pat Benatar,” Steve protested, breaking out into a very unique rendition of “Shadows of the Night.”

“It’s not that kind of music, Steve,” you replied through a giggle. Steve gestured as if to say “whatever” and indulged himself in another taco while Eddie started refastening his rings to each of his digits, taking care to make sure they were all facing the correct way.

“Harrington, while I am no music taste basher, I will say that you are a pathetically poor judge of genre. What does the phrase ‘progressive metal music’ mean to you, dear boy?” Eddie broke out his Olde English accent for this question, and Steve knew it was only a matter of moments before you and Eddie both started teasing him mercilessly, and he didn’t have the means to defend himself against a Hellfire ambush right now.

“Well, it’s about time to get going back,” he managed to convey around his last bites of street taco. “You don’t want to be late for work twice in one day.” Your mouth fell open in mock offense as you backhanded him on the shoulder before standing up from the park bench you were all sitting at.

As the three of you made your way back up the sidewalk to Trax, you decided to share what had been floating around in your head since you left the shop. “It was kind of weird seeing Billy be so unphased about you running into him. You stepped right on his shoe, and he didn’t even complain. Not a single insult. Did you notice?”

Steve scoffed. “Yeah. That doesn’t make me any more glad to see him though.” He kicked a rock a few feet out in front of him, and Eddie took a skip forward and made the next kick.

“I don’t know,” Eddie mused. “I think something might have clicked in the douchebag. Tommy was trying to pay some kid to key my van when I picked Dustin up from school the other day, and Billy totally rocked his shit in front of everyone. Told him he’d be dead if Billy ever caught him trying to mess with me again.”

“What?!” you and Steve gawked in unison, both of you coming to an abrupt halt.

“And you didn’t think to, maybe, I don’t know, mention that?” Steve’s eyebrows almost met his hairline in surprise. “Dude, how could you not tell us this?” You could tell he was actually slightly offended, so you decided to soften the mood with an irrelevant question.

“And what was Billy doing in the parking lot of the high school?” You resumed the game of kick the rock so everyone would continue down the sidewalk again.

“Picking up Max is my best guess,” Eddie replied, taking his skip forward for the rock.

“Yeah, well, a few good deeds don’t erase a whole year of being a total prick to anything that breathes,” Steve grumbled, keeping his eyes on the ground and taking his turn to kick the rock.

“Out of any of us here, you would do well to remember that people can change if they want to, Steve,” you said, giving him an affectionate side eye. “It wasn’t even two years ago that you were King Steve, being just as much of a prick to Jonathan as Billy was to you. Give him some time. See what it’s all about. That’s my suggestion.”

Steve sighed heavily and gestured toward the front door of Trax as Eddie opened it for you. No one said another word as you entered the building, sloppy salutes signaling the end of the conversation, and the two guys continued on their return to Steve’s car.

–-----------

Screeching tires alerted everyone in the Hawkins High parking lot of the arrival of a slick blue Camaro. Billy flicked his cigarette out of his window and saw Max swiftly approaching his passenger side door, her ginger hair flowing steadily behind her, skateboard resting on her shoulder. She slid into the seat beside Billy’s and clunked her bag and board down by her feet.

“Max,” Billy said dryly, keeping his aviator sunglasses fixed on the windshield in front of him.

“I’m not late,” she replied, a slight tone of annoyance in her voice.

“I know,” Billy stated, reminding himself to soften his jaw when he spoke to her. “I just want to talk when we get home, if you’re not, you know, busy or whatever.” Max just stared at him, incredulous.

“You want to…talk? About what?”

“Nothing, okay? Nothing until we get home.” The sharpness returned to Billy’s voice as he gripped the gearshift and peeled them out of the parking lot. Max was completely lost for words, but she complied with Billy’s instruction and tried to zone in on Ted Nugent’s “Wango Tango” for the trillionth time as Billy sped down the side roads to their home on Cherry Lane.

Max hurried through the front door and straight to her room to discard her things. She was eager to know what Billy could possibly want to talk about, but she was also afraid to ask. After everything they had experienced this past year, it could be anything, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for anything again. She turned around to find Billy standing in her doorway with his eyes down at his shoes. Why was he acting so weird? This wasn’t like him at all, and it made a hint of anxiety start to creep down her neck, giving her the shivers.

“Billy?” she said, unable to hide the concern in her voice.

Billy shuffled his feet where he stood and started to fidget with his sunglasses in his hands, still not making eye contact with Max. “I need to ask you something, and you have to swear not to make fun of me. I’m dead serious,” he said, his ocean blue eyes finally making stone cold eye contact.

“Okay. I promise.” Max’s voice shook slightly, and she took a seat on her bed to steady herself.

“I need to know how to apologize,” Billy admitted, his eyes falling back down to the ground.

“Apologize? For what?” He must have hit his head, Max thought. There was no way this was actually Billy talking.

“For being…ugh.” Billy let out a painful sigh and took the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “For making everyone’s lives hell this past year.” Max’s eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open in shock. He had apologized to her, and they had what she would consider a pretty fair conversation about their sibling relationship, but this was completely unexpected. He wanted to apologize to The Party?

“I mean, I guess you just…say it, you know? You just say it, and you hope for the best, and that’s all you can do.”

Billy was unimpressed. “That’s it?” he asked with a scoff. “That can’t be it. It needs to be more. Needs to be better than that or there’s no way in hell they’re going to take me seriously.”

“You just have to mean it,” Max replied, her eyes softening as she came to the realization that this was really important to him. She had never seen him like this before, and it was clear that he really felt remorse, and he wanted something to change.

“Max,” Billy choked, his voice breaking. A tear fell from his face making a tiny tap on his shoe, and Max stood up abruptly.

“Billy, it’s going to be okay,” she said, her own eyes welling up now. She had only ever seen him cry once.

“Max, I’m so sorry. I know you said you forgave me, and I know things have been different ever since July, but I’m just so sorry.” Billy was speaking softly through sobs now. “Max, I can’t be the same as I was. I can’t explain it. Nothing can ever be the same as it was before everything that happened, and I don’t know who I am anymore.” Billy brought his hands up to his face, covering his eyes as he continued to choke out words as best as he could. “I’m so sorry, Max. You didn’t deserve that. Nobody did. I need to make things right, but I don’t know how.”

“Billy.” Max stook a few steps toward him, palming his shoulder gently. “I know there has always been a part of you that wants to be good. I forgave you because I really believed that. All you can do is say it, mean it, and try. Just keep trying.” Billy reached his arms out and gave Max a firm hug. He had no idea how badly he had always needed to hear that, and in that moment, he found himself eternally grateful he had a little sister.

After a few seconds of the second hug they had ever shared, Billy let go, and Max took a step back, both of them wiping their eyes, noses red and puffy from the flare of emotion. Billy patted Max on the shoulder and pivoted on his heel to leave her bedroom. Max turned her attention to her backpack and mentally prepared herself to start her homework.

“Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Billy half smiled, and Max could tell his gratitude was genuine.

“Anytime.” She returned his half smile, and Billy sauntered away into the other room. Max found herself, for the first time ever, feeling really proud of her brother.

Chapter Text

The cash register drawer groaned as you shoved it into place and locked it. You turned around and walked the row of large windows, methodically pulling on the long strings to close each set of blinds as you made your way to the front of the shop. The last pull silenced the buzzing of the OPEN sign, and you gave the door a hard jostle to make sure it was locked up tight.

“Shit.” Glancing at the wall clock, you realized if you didn’t quicken your pace, you were going to be late for soundcheck at The Hideout. “Not three times in one day. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you muttered to yourself, heels clacking rapidly on the vinyl flooring as you hurried to the break room to gather your things and jet out the back door. Plunging a hand into your bag, you felt around in the dark for your pack of Marlboros. “I swear they were in here. What the –” Conceding to the reality that you’d just have to pick up another pack, you began a half run through the alley to get to the corner store. It was close enough to The Hideout, and you reasoned that if you grabbed a bag of peanut M&Ms as an offering of apology to Eddie for your tardiness, he would likely let you off the hook for missing another sound check.

Rounding the corner out of the alley, it was a straight shot across the street and through the parking lot to the corner store. You were still half running and almost out of breath when you wrenched the door open and made a B-line for the peanut M&Ms. You were so determined to complete your mission that you didn’t even notice the blue Camaro you strode right past on your way in. You snagged the bag of M&Ms and a packet of Pop Rocks to sweeten the deal just in case and took your place in the long line to the register. You knew you were late, but you couldn’t figure out how late because there didn’t seem to be a clock anywhere in sight.

“Excuse me,” you said tapping the denim clad shoulder of the person in front of you. “Do you happen to have the time?”

“Sure,” the man sighed, checking his wristwatch. “It’s 8:57,” he relayed without turning around.

“Thank you,” you replied glumly, knowing that sound check was almost over, and Eddie would be infinitely more annoyed that you wouldn’t be there to play the first song. Jeff could sing some of the set list, so they might have to rearrange, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. You rummaged through your bag once more, trying to make sure you at least had a lighter or some matches so you wouldn’t have to make another desperate trip back here later. Your fingertips found the cool metal of your lighter at the bottom of your bag, and as you brought it to the surface, it slipped right out of your hand, clattering to the floor. The man with the watch bent down and retrieved your lighter from its landing spot, and you instantly recognized him. Billy Fucking Hargrove.

“You should keep a tighter hold on this. It’s a nice one,” he said with a half smile, holding your Kreisler lighter out for you to take back.

“Yeah. Butter fingers,” you replied with a nervous laugh. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” For the first time you could recall, Billy was unusually quiet. You couldn’t feel the heat of arrogance radiating off of him like usual, and he wasn’t jutting his chin up in an attempt to signal masculine dominance. Something was off. You also noticed his eyes were bloodshot, and his lips were slightly puffy. Had he been crying?

“So, uh,” you stammered awkwardly. “Come here often?” You offered the stupid question while avoiding eye contact, and Billy’s thousand-yard stare of surprise was uncontestable. He paused trying to correct his facial expression and let out a small chuckle.

“I guess so. Only as often as I have to.” He shuffled his feet where he stood and looked around the room, desperately searching his mind for conversation prompts. You could see the lightbulb go off in his head in real time. “You work at that record store downtown, right? Trax?”

“Yeah, I do,” you answered, a genuine smile forming on your lips. Billy Hargrove had remembered something about you, and you weren’t sure why that made you feel a bit warm inside.

“It’s a cool place. I’ve seen you in there before stocking shelves and pushing that big cart around. Seems like quite the workout,” he joked. His discomfort was slowly melting away, but you could still sense that he wasn’t at home in himself.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you confirmed. “The best part is the thirty percent discount though. Thirty percent on new selections and fifty on any overstock.”

“That’s very generous.” Billy was smiling now, too. “I’m still looking for a copy of the new Ratt album. Everywhere’s been sold out for months”

“Oh, Invasion of Your Privacy?”

“That’s the one.”

“Yeah, that one flies off the shelves every time we get more in. We just got a new shipment today though. I can set one aside for you…you know, if you want,” you offered somewhat hesitantly. You couldn’t let yourself forget this was Billy you were talking to, and his reputation still preceded him.

“That’s quite the offer,” he said, looking down to his feet, that smile still dancing at the corners of his mouth. “I can come pick it up tomorrow if you’ll be there.” His eyes snapped back up to yours, and you felt butterflies rise in your stomach.

“I’ll be there. Just go to the register, and tell whoever’s working the counter your name and that you have a layaway. I’ll make sure to get it ready for you first thing in the morning.” Billy nodded slowly, taking in your instructions.

“Thanks. It’s really cool of you to do that. I’ll definitely owe you one.”

“Anytime.” You smiled at him again, and you made a mental note to obey your first alarm tomorrow morning so you had time to follow through with your promise.

It was Billy’s turn in line, and you eavesdropped as he asked the cashier for a pack of Marlboro Reds. You couldn’t help but note that as a coincidence, and you stifled the little voice in your head that tried to tell you it might have been some taste of fate – there were probably ten million other people in the world who smoked Marb Reds besides you and Billy Fucking Hargrove.

“See you tomorrow.” Billy’s husky voice broke you out of your inner monologue. He gave you a small nod as he made his way toward the door. You stepped up to the counter to make your purchase as you tried not to let your mind wander.

Pushing the door open, you jumped as the roar of a blue Camaro just a few feet away startled you.

“Sorry about that,” Billy’s raised voice sounded from the open window of the driver’s seat. Did he just apologize for the sound of his car? What the hell was happening?

“No worries,” you reassured, smiling through your nervousness.

“Where are you headed? If you need a ride somewhere, maybe we can call that repayment for the layaway album.” It was a kind offer, and you’d almost wished your destination was further away so you could take him up on it.

“I’m just going right next door, actually.”

“To the dive bar?” Billy furrowed his brows in confusion. For a second, he thought you were making up a story just to avoid spending a few more minutes with him.

“To The Hideout,” you replied, trying not to let the edge catch your voice too much. “Our band plays shows there every Tuesday. I was late about ten minutes ago, so I really have to run.”

“You’re in a band?” Billy didn’t even try to hide his intrigue. “What kind of music do you guys play?”

“Eddie calls it progressive metal,” you answered. You knew you needed to get moving, but something about the depth of his eyes and the way they gripped you from the inside kept your feet firmly rooted in the concrete.

“Progressive metal,” he repeated slowly. “Interesting.” He looked ahead through his windshield and then down at his watch. “I’m not busy. I guess I might as well go see what you’re all about,” he finally said with a cheeky smile.

“I mean, if you want to. Everyone’s welcome.” You didn’t know what else to say. Was this some kind of prank? You knew Billy was into metal from the songs you couldn’t help but overhear blaring from his car every time he would swerve into the Hawkins High parking lot. Maybe he was genuinely curious about your band, or maybe he just needed an escape for the time being. Either way, you didn’t have time to argue with him, and Corroded Coffin could always use another fan.

Billy turned off the Camaro’s engine, exited the driver’s side, and slammed the door shut, checking the handle to make sure it was locked. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his form fitting jeans. “Lead the way,” he said with a smirk. His confidence had seemingly returned, and your chest tightened at the thought of what Eddie and the others would say when they saw you walk into the Hideout fifteen minutes late accompanied by Billy Hargrove. You didn’t have time to anticipate whatever the situation might be, so you walked briskly alongside him in silence toward the front door of The Hideout, praying that the M&Ms and Pop Rocks would be enough to appease Eddie, but knowing in your heart of hearts that it definitely wasn’t.

Chapter Text

The remainder of your walk beside Billy was mostly silent with the exceptions of the muffled booming of music coming from deep inside The Hideout and the click of your heels on concrete. Though Hawkins was a relatively small town, the night life had its own hours, and people were starting to stumble out of the woodworks and onto the streets to find the nearest place to grab a drink and get lost in some local musicians’ handiwork.

“A little late tonight, Miss?” Ray, the doorman of The Hideout always greeted you respectfully, and tonight was no different. His dark eyes and bald head glinted symmetrically with the dim glow of the outdoor lights.
“Hi, Ray. Yeah, Eddie’s gonna kill me for this one,” you replied with a toothy grimace. “Fifteen minutes isn’t too bad though. I guess it could be worse.”
“It could, indeed,” Ray agreed, eyeing Billy up and down with the intensity of an overalert bodyguard.
“It’s okay. He’s with me. Billy, this is Ray.” You introduced the two in an attempt to diffuse the tension and in hopes that Ray would let Billy in as a friend of the band. He knew your age, but he didn’t ask too many questions as business was exploding lately thanks to Corroded Coffin’s new set. Ray gave Billy another methodical once over with his almost-black eyes before nodding stoically and gesturing to the door.
“Break a leg, Miss,” he wished through a bright smile as you approached the doorway.

“Hey, what are you – don’t – HEY!” You only caught a few words before you felt a sharp blow to your sternum and the wind was completely knocked out of you. “I don’t even like beer! I just wanted to see the band!” You steadied yourself as the young boy who had just body slammed into you turned around.
“Dustin?!” It was Dustin Henderson. “What are you doing here?!” You were too young to be at the bar, but you were also technically employed there. Dustin, on the other hand, was even younger, and you knew his mom would be worried sick if she had even an inkling of what he was doing right now.
“Hey! I was just, uh – you know, uh –”
“Dustin, where does your mom think you are right now?” Dustin’s braces shone as he kept his grin all through trying to stutter out some kind of excuse as to why he was trying to sneak into a bar after 9 p.m. on a school night. Realizing you weren’t going to accept anything other than the truth, he conceded with a sullen sigh.
“At Mike’s playing a campaign that ran late.” Dustin avoided your gaze, feeling slight guilt for creating another problem you felt responsible to solve.
“You need to get home. How did you even get here?”
“That’s not important. I wasn’t doing anything stupid. I just wanted to see the band play. I’ve never seen you guys live, and I’m always missing out,” he groaned. Your expression softened at Dustin’s obvious want to support his friends.
“I hear you, and I get it. But this isn’t safe, okay? We’ll find a way for you to see a show soon at a different venue. I promise. But right now, we need to find a way to get you home.”
“Oof!” A man came stumbling out the door and barreled into the back of Dustin, creating a domino effect and knocking him into you yet again.

“Hey! Watch where you’re – Henderson?!” Thank God it was Steve. “What the hell are you doing here?! Where does your mom think you are right now?” It was the most common question for any of your crowd to ask Dustin who was always into some kind of mischief due to his insatiable curiosity.
“It’s okay, Steve,” you assured. “His mom thinks he’s at Mike’s playing DnD.” Steve rested both of his hands on his hips and scowled at Dustin, incredulous.
“Well, this is just great,” Steve complained, turning to you. “I was high tailing it to hunt you down because Eddie is having a total diva meltdown over you being late. He’s really hard to handle when he gets like this, you know, and I can’t soothe diva Eddie, I just can’t –” Steve trailed off as both of the boys’ eyes locked on a target slightly behind you. Shit. You were hoping that the commotion of the moment would get you out of answering any questions about why Billy seemed to be escorting you to your show.

“Evening, gentlemen.” Billy’s voice slid out in deep, velvety tones, and you could tell he was putting on his best smooth guy ruse so as not to highlight the blatant awkwardness of the situation.
“What is with today,” Steve lamented, shaking his head, closing his eyes, and massaging the bridge of his nose, his opposite hand still perched firmly on his hip.
“As much fun as this has been, I really need to get going. Eddie will have my head already, I’m twenty minutes late, and the night isn’t getting any younger. Dustin, it’s time to go. Steve, make sure Dustin gets home safe, okay?”
“Oh, hold on, no, no, no,” Steve protested, holding up both hands in defiance.
“What other choice is there? He can’t get home on his own. It’s not safe for him to be out alone right now, especially in this part of town, and Billy can watch our table since Robin isn’t here yet. See? It all works out.” Steve gawked at you, neck flushing as his anger crept up on him. “I’ll see you when you get back,” you called over your shoulder as you rushed through the door with Billy hot on your heels.

“Unbelievable,” Steve muttered, turning to Dustin who was just as dumbfounded. “Always the goddamned babysitter.” Steve rolled his eyes, cupping Dustin’s shoulder and turning him to trudge across the parking lot to where his BMW was parked. “I can’t believe you thought this would work,” Steve scolded as he unlocked the driver’s side door. Faint bickering could be heard until the purr of the car’s engine overpowered all other sounds. Steve backed out of the parking lot and onto the main road, swearing Dustin’s ass would be grass if he ever pulled a stunt like this again.

Rushing around the crowd of showgoers, you led Billy to the table in the shadows closest to the backstage entrance. You shrugged off your jacket and draped it around the back of one of the chairs, tossing your bag onto the seat.
“Robin usually keeps guard of all of our stuff at the table, but she’s running late tonight. Do you mind filling in until she gets here? It shouldn’t be too much longer.” You had to yell over the metal music that seemed to suck all the air out of the room. A smirk tugged at the side of Billy’s mouth, his cerulean eyes glued to you as you hastily checked your pockets for loose items, tossing your lighter and pocket change into your bag.
“I don’t mind at all,” he barked back over the crashing of a drum solo.
“Thanks. I promise it’s not usually this chaotic,” you belted, apologetic.
“Something tells me it is, but I’m not complaining.” He flashed you a smile, and your insides backflipped. You could tell he was truly amused, and there was something very intriguing about Billy Hargrove exhibiting genuine emotion that sparked a warmth behind your cheeks.
“I’d better get up there. Samantha should make her rounds for drink orders any minute. Feel free to put whatever you want on my tab. CC groupies drink for free,” you teased with a wink. Billy let himself laugh, his brilliant smile making a second appearance. In a fluid transition of mood, his eyes trailed up behind you and widened, his grin fading. You whipped around to see Eddie staring directly at you from his spot onstage. Get up here NOW, he mouthed as his fingers worked the neck of his guitar at rapid speed. You nodded in response and gave Billy a quick pat on the forearm before bursting through the beaded archway to the backstage loading dock.

The sound of springy guitar strings tainted the entire space followed by a cacophony of “BOOs” from the front of the crowd. Eddie’s riff fell flat after being distracted by your fucking around with Billy while you should have been joining your bandmates onstage. You knew Eddie was already livid, but you would have to do your best to talk him down later. As the last chords of the song rang out and died down, you stepped your way onto the stage and took your place at the microphone, giving Eddie an apologetic smile and gripping the stand at the neck.

“How are you feeling tonight, Hawkins?!” The sound of your voice resonated off of the back walls of the bar, and the crowd below you roared with excitement. This was a sizable turnout. There seemed to be more and more people on the floor each week since your new demo had been finalized, and you took full advantage of the audience participation. “Give it up one more time for Jeff!” The crowd obliged once more, monstrous cheers ringing throughout the venue. “We are Corroded Coffin, and this is what we’re all about. ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!” The snare drum signaled the beginning of the song the waves of people in front of you went wild for.
Billy watched from your table in the darkness, never taking his gaze off of you. He could tell you were in your element, and he had never seen someone influence a room so effortlessly. He tapped his foot and nodded along to the beat of the song, a smirk plastered on his contemplative face. There was something about you he just couldn’t shake, and he was playing words over and over in his mind trying to grab at something he could say to you when you stepped off the stage and back into his world – some kind of compliment that would mean something. For that moment, all he could do was watch, and there was nowhere else he would rather be.