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Summary
"So, you looking forward to-"
"Why are you even coming, Steve?" Billy speaks over him, and Steve is taken aback at the ice in his tone. He flounders, gesturing in the air with his fork,
"It's, uh, the team. A tradition. They always-"
Billy cuts him off, "They don't even like you anymore."
"And you think they like you?" Steve shoots back, instantly defensive, "They stuck you with me, remember. We're both the butt of this particular joke."
Billy's mouth opens. Closes. His fist clenches around his fork and then he lets it clatter to the table.
But Steve isn't done. Billy opened this particular can of worms. He can deal with the wiggliest of the fuckers.
