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It was ridiculous. Honestly, just two nights ago, you’d gone to the cinema with the gang to see that new horror flick—R-rated, everyone so smug about sneaking in like they were pulling off some great heist. You hadn’t wanted to be the baby of the group, so you’d gone along, even though the thought of two hours of gore made your stomach twist. At least Billy had been there, the perfect excuse to tuck yourself against his shoulder when things got too much. Freddie had tried to get a laugh at your expense, teasing about how easily you spooked—until Billy shut him down so fast it left Freddie sulking in his popcorn. You’d appreciated that more than you’d admit out loud.
But now it was Thursday, and here you were at your regular babysitting gig at the Harveys’. The house creaked, the fridge hummed, and every little sound made your pulse jump like you were still trapped in that theatre.
It was supposed to be easy. Babysitting at the Harveys’ usually was—your homework was done, Matty was tucked into bed by nine, and the fridge was stocked with sodas and snacks that mysteriously “disappeared” by the end of the night. Easy money.
But tonight? Tonight, every floorboard groaned like it was auditioning for that damn horror movie, and the pipes hissed in a way that had your shoulders creeping higher and higher toward your ears. You kept telling yourself it was fine, just an old house doing what old houses do, but your nerves weren’t buying it.
You flipped through TV channels, but every station seemed determined to serve up either static or some B-grade slasher rerun. A magazine didn’t help much either—you couldn’t make it through a single article without glancing over your shoulder like something was about to leap out of the shadows.
Babysitting was supposed to be boring. So why did it feel like the setup to another jump scare?
You were halfway through pretending to care about a shampoo ad when it happened—a sharp thunk somewhere upstairs. Not the gentle creak you’d been half-expecting, not the wind rattling the gutters—a solid, heavy sound, like someone had dropped a bowling ball in the hallway.
Your heart tried to escape through your throat.
“Nope,” you muttered, a little too loudly for someone who was allegedly alone.
You sat frozen for a few seconds, waiting—hoping—for a follow-up sound to explain it. Nothing. Just the steady hum of the refrigerator and the muffled tick of the clock on the wall.
Fine. Rational explanation time. Maybe a window had shifted in the frame. Maybe the kid upstairs had rolled out of bed. Maybe the house was… settling. Right. Settling.
You stood, creeping toward the staircase with all the confidence of someone walking straight into a death scene in every horror movie ever. Halfway up, the silence pressed in so thick you could practically taste it. And that was it—you bailed. Spinning on your heel, you marched right back to the couch and tucked yourself into the corner cushions like they might protect you from… whatever.
You weren’t scared, of course. Just—strategically cautious. Totally different.
You stared at the silent ceiling for another five minutes, convincing yourself not to be that girl—the one who calls her boyfriend because of a bump in the night. But when the clock ticked past ten and the shadows in the hallway looked a little too alive, your pride gave out.
You grabbed the phone off the end table and dialled before you could overthink it.
“Hello?” Billy’s voice crackled through, casual as ever.
“Hey.” You tried for breezy but landed closer to breathless. “Um. You busy?”
There was a pause, then the faint sound of his lighter flicking. “Not really. Why? You sound—” A chuckle. “—jumpy.”
“I’m not jumpy,” you lied immediately. “It’s just… the Harveys’ place is kind of… loud tonight. Weird noises and stuff.”
Another pause. You could practically see the smirk tugging at his mouth. “What’s the matter, princess? That horror movie fry your brain?”
“Billy—” You sighed, already regretting the call. “Forget it.”
But then his tone shifted, softening like your voice had flipped some secret switch. “Hey. C’mon. If you’re freaked out, just say it.” A beat, then: “Of course I’d come over. You’re my girl, ain’t ya? Not gonna leave you here thinking Freddy Krueger’s upstairs.”
You blinked, thrown off by how quickly he’d gone from smug to steady. “You’d… actually do that?”
“‘Course I would.” A boot slammed down onto the ground, and you heard his car keys jingle as he must have grabbed them, proof he was already moving. “Sit tight. I’ll be there in ten.”
The line clicked dead, leaving you holding the phone and wondering how on earth Billy Hargrove—Billy, of all people—could make you feel safer than anyone else.
Headlights cut across the Harveys’ front lawn a few minutes later, sweeping the living room in pale arcs of light. Relief hit you so fast you almost laughed at yourself—like Billy’s Camaro could ward off ghosts and serial killers by sheer horsepower alone.
The car door slammed, and then there he was, climbing the front steps with that same lazy swagger he wore everywhere, cigarette tucked behind his ear, denim jacket hanging off one shoulder like he’d practised it in the mirror.
“Place looks intact,” he drawled as you opened the door, his smirk already in place. “Guess the boogeyman didn’t get to you yet.”
You crossed your arms, trying not to melt with how much better you felt just seeing him. “Very funny.”
Billy’s gaze flicked over your face, and the smirk softened into something else—something gentler. He didn’t comment on the fact that your hands were still trembling a little; he just stepped inside like he owned the place and shut the door behind him.
“Alright, show me where you heard it.”
You blinked at him. “You actually believe me?”
“Don’t have to believe you,” he said, brushing past with that casual confidence that always seemed to fill whatever room he was in. “Just gotta check it out so you’ll stop looking like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”
He made a quick circuit—upstairs, down the hall, even poked his head into the kitchen. You trailed after him, feeling more ridiculous with every step. Finally, he pointed at the culprit: a tree branch smacking against an upstairs window with the breeze.
“Terrifying,” he deadpanned. “Truly chilling.”
You swatted his arm, and he caught your wrist easily, grinning. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Told you—I’ve got you.”
And just like that, the house didn’t feel so scary anymore.
You stood there, staring at the offending tree branch, cheeks burning hotter than the Harveys’ fireplace. All that panic, all that creeping dread—over a branch. Perfect.
Billy leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching your embarrassment with undisguised amusement. “So… want me to fight it off for you? Tell it to meet me at the quarry after school tomorrow?”
You shot him a glare, which only widened his grin. “Shut up.”
“Hey, no shame in it,” he said, voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Seen scarier things take people down. Like… plastic spiders at Halloween.”
You groaned, dragging your hands over your face. “I knew calling you was a mistake.”
But he only tilted his head, that smirk softening at the edges again. “Nah. Not a mistake.” His eyes lingered on you for a beat too long, and then he pushed off the frame. “C’mon. Let’s get back downstairs before you start thinking the fridge is possessed or something.”
And even though he was clearly enjoying every second of your mortification, you noticed the way he stayed a half-step closer than usual as you headed back down, like he was keeping watch. His hand a calming weight on the small of your back.
Back in the living room, you flopped onto the couch with all the dramatics of someone who’d just survived a life-or-death ordeal. Billy dropped down beside you, close enough that the cushions dipped, his knee brushing yours. He stretched one arm across the back of the sofa, casual as anything, but the weight of it settled around you like a shield.
“You’re still tense,” he observed, eyeing the way you clutched a throw pillow.
“I’m fine,” you said too quickly.
He snorted. “Sure you are.” With one smooth motion, he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over your shoulders before you could argue. The denim was warm, faintly smelling of his cologne and cigarette smoke. You sank into it despite yourself.
“Billy…”
“What?” His tone was rough, but his eyes softened when they met yours. “I told you—I’ll show up if you need me. Don’t care if it’s monsters, murderers, or just a damn tree branch. You call, I come. That’s the deal.”
Your chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with fear. “You make it sound like you’ve got some kind of hero complex.”
He smirked, leaning back like he had the whole world figured out. “Nah. Just got a you complex.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away, and Billy looked insufferably pleased with himself. Still, he didn’t press. He just let his arm drop from the back of the couch to rest around your shoulders properly, pulling you against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The soft scrape of his fingers against your arm made your heart thump in a different, warmer way. You shifted a little, just enough to nuzzle into him, and Billy hummed low, almost like he’d been waiting for that.
And for the first time all night, the house felt quiet in a way that was comforting, rather than terrifying.
The steady thrum of Billy’s heartbeat under your cheek was lulling you into that soft, sleepy haze where the world felt a little less sharp. He traced idle circles on your shoulder through the jacket, the kind of absent touch that said more than he’d ever admit out loud.
“You good now?” he asked quietly, his voice low enough that it brushed across your ear.
“Yeah,” you murmured. “Thanks for coming.”
“‘Course I came,” he said, almost offended you’d even question it. “Told you, you’re my girl. That’s not negotiable.” He pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head, almost accidental, but you felt it all the same.
The warmth in your chest spread until you almost forgot where you were—until a small voice piped up from the staircase.
“Why is Billy here?”
You shot upright, nearly elbowing Billy in the ribs. Little Matthew Harvey stood halfway down the stairs in footie pyjamas, rubbing his eyes.
“Uh—” you started, scrambling for a babysitter-appropriate explanation.
But Billy beat you to it, flashing his most shameless grin. “Because your babysitter would be lost without me, kid. Someone’s gotta keep her safe from scary tree branches.”
The kid giggled, and you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Go back to bed Matty,” you mumbled.
Still smiling, the kid padded back upstairs, leaving you to glare at Billy, who looked far too pleased with himself.
“What?” he said innocently, draping his arm back around you like nothing happened. “You wanted me to lie? To a kid? What kind of babysitter are you?”
You huffed, but leaned into him anyway. Maybe he was impossible. Maybe he was smug. But he was yours—and suddenly, babysitting didn’t feel so bad after all.
Billy’s knee nudged yours, subtle but deliberate, and you caught the tiniest spark of mischief in his gaze. “Next time, I’m bringing the popcorn,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “You can hide behind me all you want.”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head against his chest. “You’re impossible.”
“Mm,” he said, pulling you just a little closer. “But you like it.”
And that was the last thought in your mind before the house finally felt… safe. Not because of the old walls or the hum of the fridge—but because of Billy.