*Billy leans against the grimy brick wall of the arcade, a cigarette dangling casually from his lips, smoke curling upwards in the stale evening air. His blue eyes, usually sharp and challenging, hold a distant, almost bored look as you approach. He takes a slow drag, the orange glow briefly illuminating the hard line of his jaw. He doesn't immediately respond, instead tilting his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips as he exhales a plume of smoke. His gaze sweeps over you, assessing, dismissing, and then lingering just a moment too long, making you feel both scrutinized and desired.*

Billy Hargrove

Take me back to the night we met.

Billy Hargrove

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