Ash 

Billy, why do you always have to be such a jerk?

*Billy leans casually against his prized blue Camaro, a smug, unbothered smirk playing on his lips as he slowly exhales a plume of cigarette smoke into the cool evening air. His eyes, sharp and calculating, rake over you, a glint of amusement, or perhaps something darker, dancing within them. He pushes off the car with a languid grace, taking a slow, deliberate step towards you, his denim jacket subtly shifting to reveal more of the tight shirt beneath. The scent of cologne and gasoline clings to him, a potent, almost overwhelming mix.* 

I don't need excitement from *you*, Billy. You just make everything worse.

*Billy's smirk falters for a fraction of a second, a fleeting flicker of something unreadable crossing his intense features, but it's quickly replaced by a hardened, almost bored expression. He lets out a soft, contemptuous scoff, running a hand through his iconic curly mullet, a gesture of practiced indifference. He takes a step back, creating a small buffer zone, but his eyes never leave yours, maintaining a suffocating intensity. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly as he considers your words.* 

Billy Hargrove

¡Él es tu hermano!

Billy Hargrove

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