Steve picks up the extra cardboard, shooting me a triumphant grin. "You're welcome," he teases, "never let it be said that I don't have a hidden talent for cat furniture."

I roll my eyes, but can't help the smile from forming, the tension from earlier starting to fade. Mom will be home soon and she'll get to enjoy her Christmas gift with us before we leave in the morning like Dustin and I planned, but it only happened because of Steve Harrington. A small pang in my chest tightens again when I catch Steve's eye. He's watching me closely, lifting a curious brow, like he can read the stray thoughts flickering across my mind.

"He couldn't be bothered to show up?" Steve asks, and I exhale, shooting him a glance from the corner of my eye.

"It's really none of your business," I mutter, turning on my heel to pick up the leftover scraps.

"It is a little bit," Steve argues, watching as I toss the cardboard and plastic into the box. I pause, shooting him another glare, only for him to laugh again, "Okay it's none of my business, but come on, you and Dustin are like the annoying younger siblings I never asked for."

"Let's get this straight," I say, pushing the box towards the backdoor, ignoring his observation, "I'm the only older sibling in this room. You're like the bumbling cousin we feel bad for."

"Bumbling? Really?" but Steve grins, picking up the cardboard box and following me onto the back steps towards the trash cans. "You know, being mean to me won't change the fact that your boyfriend's unreliable, Lacy," he adds, dropping the box with a thud, "just admit you're a little disappointed."

"He was busy," I snap, crossing my arms over my chest. I hate the way Steve looks at me when he's right, but I hate the fact that he's right even more, "and he's not my boyfriend."

"Yeah, but you want him to be," Steve points out, turning back towards the house without another glance my way. I follow close behind him, his words already eating away at me, despite how nonchalant he sounds.

"What I want and the reality of the situation are two very different things," I sigh, but Steve pauses at the backdoor, his face suddenly softening. "I don't need a label to know where I stand," I add, but I know Steve can see through my string of excuses.

"Look, Lace," Steve begins, but he seems to lose the words for a moment, he runs a hand through his hair before resting it on my shoulder like the gesture will soften the blow, "I don't think that he'll ever be the guy you want him to be."

I make a face, knowing that Steve and Billy will never like each other, but also knowing that Steve is only looking out for me and suddenly, it feels more complicated than it ever has. "You don't know him," I say, but the words sound pathetic the minute they escape my mouth.

"I know that if someone cares about you, they show up. No excuses." Steve shrugs, shoving the cardboard into the trash cans, "He hasn't even called, Lace."

I swallow, dropping my eyes to the ground, feeling the weight of his words. "He was busy," I say again, but now it just sounds lame, and I meet Steve's gaze again.

"You shouldn't have to make excuses for him," Steve says, his expression softening like he's bracing for my reaction.

It's strange being on the other side of this look, like I feel small and understood all at once. Steve wraps an arm around me, a friendly embrace as he leads me back towards the house, "You're better than him. It's really important to me that you know that."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The weight of his words settles heavily, and I feel a tightness in my chest. I want to brush it off, but Steve's gesture holds me in place. He means it, and there's something grounding in his concern that makes me feel seen.

"I'm better than a lot of people," I finally manage to tease, but my voice cracks under the weight. Steve rolls his eyes, but nods, seemingly satisfied for now.

Inside, the living room feels cozier than ever, the faint scent of the Christmas tree and cinnamon filling the air. I am surprised to find Mom standing in the middle of the room, one hand resting on the scratching post as Dustin recounts a slightly refined version of the assembly. She's laughing, her head tilting back in that effortless way that always makes the room seem brighter and her seem so much younger.

Steve sinks into the recliner, stretching out with a kind of arrogant ease that suggests he belongs here. He throws a smug glance my way when Tews decides to climb onto his lap, curling up without hesitation. I shake my head, settling onto the couch beside Dustin. Mom smiles at me, reaching down to smooth a stray piece of hair from my face. "You did good, Lacy girl," she says gently.

"You deserve it," I smile, leaning into her touch for just a moment before pulling away.

"Well," Mom says, putting her hands on her hips and glancing between the three of us, "I think this calls for some cookies and hot chocolate."

The evening unfolds quietly. Mom puts on It's a Wonderful Life, and the room is filled with the soft glow of the TV screen and the occasional rustle Tews climbing up and down the scratching post. Dustin is sprawled across the couch, half-asleep, but still clutching a half-eaten cookie. I glance at Steve, the TV illuminating his face. It's clear he's bored, but he politely watches the movie, agreeing with my mom, inhaling sharply at the sad parts, and laughing at the parts that are just a little cheesy.

By the time he gets up to leave, the house feels still and safe – the kind of memory I'll want to bottle and keep forever. He lingers by the door, his keys jangling in his hand as I walk him out, handing him a plate of extra Christmas cookies.

"Don't forget what I said," he says, his voice low but firm. I lift a brow, confused for a moment, but the weight of his words settles over me again. "You deserve better," he repeats, before popping a cookie into his mouth.

I shut the door softly shut behind him, the chill from the outside lingering, as I lean against it for a moment, staring at Steve's tail lights disappearing down the street. The realization creeps up on me slowly, like a secret I'm just now uncovering – I haven't thought about Billy all evening – not in the way I usually do. There were no stolen glances at the clock, no waiting for the phone to ring or headlights to appear, and the ache of wondering where I stand with him feels … distant.

I shake my head, brushing the thought aside as I step back into the living room. Mom is curled up in the corner of the couch, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Dustin is stirring slightly, mumbling about boring movies, as Tews curls up on top of him. The sight pulls a smile from me, and I move quietly to grab my own mug from the coffee table, settling into the chair Steve vacated.

The glow of the Christmas tree fills the room, soft and warm, and I remind myself that this is enough. I don't need anyone else, but the thought doesn't settle. It twists within me, not because it's untrue, but because I know it's not complete. The quiet is fleeting, and as much as I want to hold onto it – I know the moment won't last.

A faint knock pulls me out of my thoughts, so soft at first that I think I've imagined it, but then it comes again, louder this time, and my chest tightens as I glance at the door. Mom doesn't seem to notice, too engrossed in her movie, and Dustin is dead to the world. I stand, careful not to disturb them, and pad softly to the front door. My heart races as I reach for the handle, the cold metal biting against my palm as I pull it open.

And there he is.

Billy Hargrove stands on the porch, his shoulders tense, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. The lights catch the sharp lines of his face, but there's something soft in his expression.

"I don't need your help anymore," I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. They're sharp, but my voice tapers at the end, betraying the quiet hope blooming in my chest.

Billy smirks, but it's faint, almost hesitant, "Oh come on, Lucy. I was busy."

I scoff, moving to close the door but Billy's hand shoots out to stop me, a light chuckle erupting from his chest. "Okay, okay, that wasn't funny" he agrees, his voice lightening with a smile, "can I come in?"

"No," I cross my arms over my chest, "we're spending time with my mom before we leave in the morning."

Billy exhales, clearly losing some patience with me. "Will you at least take a drive with me?"

"No," I say again, trying to fight the smile that threatens my face as Billy shifts his weight from foot to foot, the tension and annoyance radiating off of him as he shakes his head at me.

"Just a loop around the block," he presses, stepping closer. His hand lifts to cup my face before slowly coming to a rest at the nape of my neck, but despite my best efforts I find myself leaning towards him. "Come on, I'm not going to see you for two days."

"The distance might do you some good," I mutter, feeling Billy's grip tighten as he rolls his eyes.

He opens his mouth, but my mom's voice cuts him off from behind me. "Lacy, who's at the door?"

"Hi Mrs. H," Billy calls, dropping his hand, the absence of his touch leaving me feeling cold and exposed.

"Oh Billy," my mom grins and I try to ignore the way she fixes her hair, the color returning to her cheeks, "what another pleasant surprise. You just missed Steve."

I flinch, watching as Billy lifts a brow towards me, before he forces a grin, "That's too bad." His voice is tight, the annoyance in his tone is clear to me, and I look away quickly.

"Do you want to come in for some hot chocolate?" Mom asks and I try not to make a face, catching the gleam in Billy's eye at the offer.

"Actually," Billy says, his voice smooth and even, really turning on the charm despite his growing annoyance, "I was wondering if I could borrow Lacy for a little bit?

"Of course you can," she says before I can think of an excuse. "Dustin and I were just about to turn in for the night," Mom smiles at me expectantly, believing that she's doing me a favor. I exhale slowly knowing that I can't argue my way out of this one.

Stepping back inside the house to grab my bag and jacket, my mom takes a moment to fix my hair in the entryway. Her smile is still wide, oblivious to the tension between Billy and me. "Have so much fun," she says, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

Billy nods for me to follow him, slipping an arm around my waist as we walk down the porch. Once I hear the front door click softly behind us, I shove his arm off of me, pushing him away.

Billy rolls his eyes, lifting his hands in mock surrender, that faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Easy," he teases, "I'm just trying to keep you warm."

"I'm fine," I snap, pulling my jacket tighter around me as we head toward the Camaro. The air outside bites against my skin, but I'd rather freeze than let him think I need anything from him right now.

Billy strides ahead, opening the passenger door for me, "Cut the attitude and let's try to enjoy the rest of the night."

I roll my eyes, sliding into the seat and slamming the car door shut. The familiar scent of leather and cologne surrounds me, making it harder to hold onto my irritation. Billy circles around to the drivers side, sliding in with an effortless ease that only he can pull off.

As the engine roars to life, I glance out the window, watching my house fade as we pull onto the street. Neither of us says anything for a while, but Billy drums his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

"So," he finally says, breaking the silence. "Steve's your handyman now?"

My head snaps toward him, his voice laced with a teasing edge, but there's something sharper beneath it – the undeniable jealousy that Billy can't seem to shake. I try to smirk at the idea – that his feelings for me run deeper than he'll ever let me know. "Steve showed up," I shrug, but I meet his gaze head-on, "maybe you should thank him for helping me."

Billy scoffs, shaking his head, "Yeah, I'll get right on that."

"Why did you even show up at all?" I ask, keeping my eyes on his face, "You've made it pretty clear that what I need doesn't matter."

"Why did you even bother to call me, then?" Billy snaps back, his jaw tightening, "Fuck, Lacy. Does everything have to be some grand gesture with you?"

I blink, turning away from him to watch the neighbors' houses slowly pass by before we creep up towards my house again, the familiar lights a beacon in the darkness. "Nothing is ever a grand gesture from you," I finally say, but Billy doesn't slow down, he pushes the Camaro past my house, a sure sign that our argument is far from over, "I don't even think you give a shit."

Billy's grip tightens on the wheel, the leather creaking faintly under his fingers, frustrations radiating off him in waves. He's not good at this – at talking, at explaining himself – and part of me hates that I keep expecting him to try.

I wait for him to say anything, to give me something to show that I matter, but the silence stretches between us, colder than the air outside. Billy's arrogance only seems to build. "You sure about that, princess?" he asks, his voice low and sharp.

I glance at him, the familiar arrogance clinging to him, shielding him from whatever he really wants to say to me. "Sitting in your car and watching you sneak into my window isn't exactly sweeping me off my feet," I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest, "pretending like you want nothing to do with me when we're around other people isn't real affection."

Billy exhales sharply, pulling the Camaro over to look at me straight-on. We're only a few houses down from my own and I wonder if the neighbors can see us through their front windows or if they've already gone to bed. He cuts the engine and the silence only grows. For a moment, I think he's going to stay quiet, that he's going to brush this off the way he always does and convince me that I'm the one being irrational.

What's your deal?" Billy asks, but his voice is low, quieter now. "You don't seem to mind my affection when I'm sneaking in your room every night or when I'm working on your piece of shit truck."

"Then you haven't been listening to me," I swallow, pulling my jacket closer around me to protect myself from the sudden chill.

"God dammit, you think I wanted to spend my night dragging Max around Hawkins?" he asks, "I couldn't be there, Lacy. What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say that I matter to you," I admit, my voice unsteady but firm. "I'm tired of being a secret. I'm tired of waiting for you to want me the way I want you."

Billy leans back in his seat, running a hand through his hair, "What? You want to be my girlfriend? You want to hold my hand at school and show up to Tommy's shitty parties with me?"

His sarcasm stings more than I'm willing to admit to him. I thought if I waited long enough, if I gave him enough time, he'd finally see me, but now sitting in his freezing car with his arrogance cutting through me, I realize he'll never say what I'm desperate to hear.

"I deserve those grand gestures, Billy," I shrug, my voice firm, "not just sneaking around in the dark, waiting for you."

Billy's jaw tightens, and for a moment I think he's going to snap back, to argue like he always does, but instead, he exhales slowly and a cool look crosses his face. "Then what are you still doing here?" he asks, his tone low, even, and so unemotional that I shrink away with surprise. The truth in the words hits me hard. He isn't going to change and I can't keep pretending that this is enough.

"I don't know," I admit, my voice breaking. The fight is over, but the ache in my chest lingers. I open the car door, half hoping he'll stop me, half knowing he won't. The silence is louder than anything he could have said, and it cuts deeper.

I pause, turning back to face him, studying the hard lines of his face, trying to find anything in his eyes that might make me change my mind. He nods his head for me to go and I swallow again, quickly reaching into my bag for the mixtape. I palm it for a moment, questioning if he even deserves to have this last part of me, but before I can think too much about it I am pulling it out and setting it on his dashboard, because deep down I know it won't matter to him. Billy Hargrove isn't the kind of guy who changes for anyone, not even for me.

Billy's eyes flick to the tape, his hand twitching as if to grab it, but he holds back. The mask of indifference slips for a second – just long enough to show a flicker of something real, but as always, he buries it, retreating behind the walls I can't seem to break through.

I step out of the car, the cold air biting against my cheeks, but I barely feel it. My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag as I glance back to him one last time. His eyes flit back towards me after a fleeting second and he opens his mouth, but for the first time, I don't wait for him to get the last word.

"I know you'll never admit it," I say, "but you're going to miss me, Billy Hargrove."