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Freddy is a mess.
This isn’t exactly news, Billy noticed the day they met. Noticed his messy, greasy hair, the clothes skewen around the room, noticed Freddy doing the tried and true sniff test more than recommended. He’s messy, with low priority on hygiene and overall personal presentation.
For whatever reason it never bothers Billy. Sometimes he even finds it endearing, the way his soft brown hair sticks to his forehead, the way his clothes are always rumpled and unkempt. He even likes the way Freddy smells, like dirt and sweat most of the time, never covered by gross sprays and colognes that always make Billy cringe. Sometimes it's gross, like when he doesn’t notice the stains on his shirt, or when his usually nice Freddy smell gets a little pungent, or when he forgets to brush his teeth.
Hygiene wasn’t Freddy’s priority, Billy got that having been thrown from home to home his whole life, how things like that get pushed to the back of your mind. It wasn’t an issue as far as Billy was concerned. It didn’t bother him the way it seemed to bother the others in the house sometimes. He didn’t always agree when Victor kindly mentioned the way Freddy smelled, or when Mary would make disgusted groans when she’d touch Freddy’s greasy hair. He didn’t mind.
He minds this.
Freddy has recently picked up a new habit in his campaign to be the messiest boy on the planet.
He’s been wearing Billy’s clothes.
Not just stealing Billy’s clothes from his drawers, which would be possibly more inconvenient but much more tolerable. No, Freddy has been grabbing Billy’s used clothes. Off the floor . That he has worn . And then wearing it himself .
The first time it happened, Billy watched lazily as Freddy picked one of Billy’s old band shirts off the ground and gave it the sniff test. Billy almost didn’t notice it was his shirt at all, having been so used to Freddy’s routine, except Freddy paused after sniffing, staring at the shirt for a good long moment. By the time Billy had realized what Freddy was holding, Freddy was already throwing it over his head.
“Uh,” Billy had started, sitting up in Freddy’s bunk where he had been lounging, about to address the shirt, but Freddy looked back at Billy with a neutral expression, Billy’s slightly-too-large shirt draped over Freddy’s frame, and something in Billy’s brain short circuits and suddenly he’s unable to use speech, staring with an open-mouthed gape as Freddy shrugs and limps out the door.
School that first day is fine, Billy’s not sure why he reacted the way he had that morning, but Freddy’s just like that. He wears whatever doesn’t smell like the bottom of a sewage plant. It’s fine.
Except after that it keeps. Fucking. Happening.
The worst part is, all Billy has to do is say something. Just be like, ‘Hey, Fred, bud, stop wearing my clothes!’ or, even better, he could just! Stop! Leaving his clothes! On the ground! But he doesn’t, he doesn’t say anything , and Freddy ends up wearing Billy’s used shirts almost every day for a week .
And it’s fine at first, because Billy is a level headed teen, but eventually something breaks in his brain and suddenly he feels this sick thrill run up his spine when he watches Freddy pick up the shirt Billy had strategically placed.
What is wrong with him?
It’s distracting at school when he sees Freddy walking towards him, Billy suddenly loses all trains of thought as he stares at his friend wearing his sweatshirt, the sleeves falling past his wrists, and it's all Billy can do not to scream.
“Yo, Billy!” Freddy calls as he stumbles up to Billy’s locker. “What’s crackin’?”
Billy doesn’t answer, his eyes trained at the hem of Freddy’s– his– sweatshirt, noticing how it lands low on Freddy’s hips. He struggles to regain his thoughts, but when he pulls up his eyes to focus they catch sight of the way the neck is loose around Freddy, one of Billy’s rumpled shirts peeking from beneath.
It’s too much.
“Bills? You good?” Freddy asks, his head tilting cutely—and oh, fuck. Freddy’s cute. Freddy is very fucking cute and just like that everything clicks into place for Billy.
It’s almost a relief to know, if it didn’t make everything ten times more complicated.
Instead of addressing the confusing and overwhelming feelings rattling around his brain and stomach, Billy blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.
“That was in my bag.”
“What?” Freddy squints, pursing his soft-looking lips and, Jesus, Billy seriously needs to Get A Grip.
“My sweatshirt. It wasn’t on the floor, it was in my gym bag.”
Freddy’s eyes widen as he leans back, as if struck, his face paling in color distinctly. “I, what? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did you know fruit fly swarms are just massive orgies?”
Billy frowns, watching as Freddy suddenly becomes shifty-eyed, his face rapidly going from pale to bright red. “Yes, you told me that one already. Did you take my dirty sweatshirt out of my gym bag? To wear ?”
“N-no!” Freddy sputters out, seemingly trying to look indignant. “Why would I do that ? That-that would be creepy as fuck. No, what? No?”
Billy’s heart thrums in his chest as he watches Freddy shift, clearly nervous, a guilty expression on his face. The way the boy bites his lip entices Billy in a way he’s sure nothing ever has before.
“It, uh–It looks good on you.” Billy finds himself saying.
Freddy’s face grows impossibly more red, eyes locking on to Billy’s. Billy’s stomach flips, and he wonders why he opened his stupid mouth. He’s making things weird , what if Freddy gets freaked out? What if he stops wearing Billy’s clothes?!
“O-oh?” Freddy stutters, biting his lip again, making Billy resist the urge to reach out and touch. “D-did you know in the middle ages they soaked dirty clothes in ashes and urine?”
“Are you planning on doing that to my sweatshirt?”
“Yeah, dude, I’ve got all the ingredients in my locker. You need anything else washed?” Freddy snarks, his still-red face relaxing into a grin.
Billy shakes his head, turning to start heading home for the day. “No, but if that’s your plan you might as well keep it. The sweatshirt, I mean.”
Freddy snorts, crutch clacking against the ground as he catches up. “That would defeat the point.”
“The point?” Billy pauses, watching Freddy take a few more steps before turning around. “What point?”
As if punched in the gut, Freddy’s face barrels into a look of horror, brown eyes mostly wide as he stares back at his friend. “Point?! No, what point?! Dude you sound crazy, I’m leaving.” The boy chokes, turning and limping away as fast as he can.
“No, no, no, Freeman!” He starts, running after the boy after his shock ebs. “Are you… Freddy, are you up to something? Is this whole wearing-my-clothes-all-week thing a scheme?!”
“Okay, I do not have a scheming face.” Freddy says, and freezes. “Wait, you noticed?”
“Noticed what? That you’ve been wearing my clothes? They’re my clothes, Fred, did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I–Yeah, I think maybe I did think that. A little bit.”
Billy studies Freddy for a moment, watching his blush deepen, the freckles on his face more pronounced. He’s doing that thing, where when he’s nervous he bounces off his crutch over and over again, and he’s biting his goddamn lip and he’s so freaking cute Billy thinks he might just combust.
“So it’s a scheme.”
“ No, it is not a fucking–I’m not regularly scheming, you know?”
“Then, why?”
“I–Oh my god–Can we, just, go? Please? We can talk about this later for fucks sake but from the comfort of my room where I can peacefully kill myself, please.”
Billy gives Freddy a long-suffering sigh, but relents. “You’re not getting out of this that easy, Freeman. Let’s go.”
The ride home is quiet, the usual chatter from Freddy and Billy stunted, the void being filled by sweet Darla who barely seems to notice the tension but still doesn’t seem to make up for it. They get side-eyes and looks from the others, Rosa especially watches them carefully as they make their way through the house without a word, and then the boys are in their room, the door closed, Freddy sitting on his bed and not meeting Billy’s eyes.
“So?”
“So, did you know the Romans had a designated dude to collect urine to use for laundry? And teeth-brushing, of course.”
“Of course.” Billy sighs. “What’s with you and piss facts?”
“They make people uncomfortable, sets them on edge. Makes me feel better.”
Billy hums. “That almost makes sense.”
“I’m not, like, a urine freak or anything.”
“Right.”
“I mean, it's not like I have a piss kink or something. That’s not why I do that.”
Billy can’t help the bubble of laughter from spilling over. “I didn’t think you did, but you are denying it an awful lot.”
“What?! No way, don’t make this weird!” Freddy sputters indignantly.
“You made this weird when you wore my shirts every day. For a week.”
“Oh, okay, we’re just going to go right into it then.” Freddy coughs, his deep blush returning and Billy finds himself thinking about how pretty it makes him look. “I mean, you noticed and didn’t say anything. If anyone made it weird, it’s you.”
“I have lots of clean clothes if you were out. You made it weird by choosing my dirty clothes. Covered in my, like, sweat and B.O.”
Freddy glares, “You made it weird by not just telling me to stop! If it grosses you out that much you could have been like, ‘Yo, Fredmeister, that’s my shirt!’”
“You’re making it weird by not telling me why you keep doing it!”
“It’ll make it weirder if I tell you!”
“It’s already mega-weird, dude! You took my sweatshirt out of my nasty gym bag! It probably reeks, that’s pretty fucking weird!”
“It doesn’t reek ! I like it, fucking weirdo.” At the admission, Freddy looks away again, chewing violently on his lip. “Why didn’t you just say something?!” He asks, almost desperately, and Billy wants– God, Billy has never wanted so hard, not since he stood outside his mother’s apartment, not since he first stepped foot in the wild and loving home of the Vásquez household. He wonders if he wanted those things as much as he just wants Freddy right now.
“Because, I like it, too!” Billy admits, instantly regretting it. Fuck , this is painfully, starkly weird, and Billy doesn’t know what to do next, where to go, to make this less weird.
Freddy frowns, looking up at Billy with a curious expression, the red still blooming in his cheeks. “Okay, now you’re making it weird.”
“Well, fuck.”
And they laugh, together. At the strangeness, at the tension, at the unspoken admissions they both are dancing around. And Billy feels it, in his bones, what he needs to say, what Freddy is trying to say. So he finally– finally –lets himself reach out, and grabs on. He takes Freddy’s hand in his own as he sits next to him on the bed, and Freddy is still looking at him with shock and embarrassment and Billy thinks maybe the boy hasn’t caught on yet.
“ You made it weird,” Billy starts with a deep breath, steeling himself. “When you looked so fucking adorable in my clothes. How was I supposed to stop you then, huh?”
Freddy’s eyes dance, surprise and shyness and joy lighting his face like fireworks. Finally, it settles on a grin, wide and bright and everything Billy likes in the boy. “You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not shitting you, dude.”
“You gotta be. This is like, one to one, the best daydream I’ve had. Seriously, did I fall asleep in trig again?”
Billy smirks, adjusting Freddy’s hand in his, threading their fingers together. “Do you always daydream about calling each other weird for like, fifteen minutes straight?”
Freddy rubs his chin in thought, his other hand tightening around Billy’s as if Billy had ever planned to let go. “No, usually they involve a lot more making-out. And your abs. In fact, usually your abs. Seriously, why the fuck do you have abs? We’re fifteen, that should be, like, illegal or something.”
“Did you want my workout routine or did you want to try that make-out thing?”
“Holy fuck you’re not shitting me, are you?”
Billy laughs, pushing in closer, his free hand coming to rest on Freddy’s cheek. He brushes the soft skin there, drinking in the happy sigh that leaves the boy. “Seriously, you’ve been strutting around in my shirts for a week now. I think I’ve held back enough.”
“Wow, that was not the intention but this sure as shit worked out in my favor, didn’t it?” Freddy breaths, his nose brushing Billy’s.
Billy pauses, “Wait, what was your intention?”
“I–I don’t know!” Freddy blushes, suddenly trying to pull back but Billy doesn’t let him.
“Come on, Freeman. I’m about to stick my tongue down your throat, just tell me.”
“I… I just like the way you smell, okay?!” Freddy says, looking like he wishes the ground would swallow him up. “I know that’s fucking creepy, okay? But you smell so nice, and I guess I just liked that I could be like, around that all day and it made the day better that I could just sniff my shirt and there you were and oh god I sound so fucking creepy, oh my god. I’m sorry, I swear I’m not a psycho, okay, I’ve just had this stupid fucking crush on you for ever and— Okay, I get it, I do, but maybe stop fucking laughing at me you ass!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Billy gasps through his laughter, pulling Freddy into his chest in an embrace that was somewhat awkward from the way he was still gripping tightly to the boy’s hand. “That’s so cute, Freddy, I’m sorry.” His laughter ebs into giggles as he nuzzles his nose into Freddy’s hair. He breathes deeply, holding his friend as he lets the smell of earth and Freddy fill him, and he thinks he gets it. Billy thinks he might have tried to sneak Freddy’s clothes, too, if they could have fit. “So, you have a crush on me?”
Freddy squirms in his arms but Billy doesn’t let him go. Instead, the shorter boy looks up, half his face buried in Billy’s chest and the other half glaring daggers at Billy. “Was that not obvious?”
Billy doesn’t answer as he leans into Freddy’s space, and he knows his smile must look dopey and lovestruck but he really can’t find it in himself to care. “I have a crush on you, too.”
“Great, fantastic.” Freddy hums, biting his lip as they grow impossibly closer. “All well and good, but I was promised a tongue down my throat so if you could just get on that—”
When the boys came down for dinner–hours and hours of kissing later–-they sat across from each other, sneaking looks, working up the nerve to do what they had already agreed on. It was the right thing to do, Billy had insisted, the Vásquez’s were good people and deserved to know what was going on in their house. Freddy insisted that Billy was too noble for his own good, but he said it with such a fond expression that Billy ended up kissing him stupid.
Still, Billy is terrified as he clears his throat, gaining the attention of the chattering group. “I, uh… I have an announcement.”
“What’s going on, son?” Victor asks, his expression that same patient, kind look that he gives when he knows something is meant to be serious.
“I–uh, I mean to say, we –me and Freddy–Freddy and I —”
Freddy groans loudly and slams his hands on the table. “Billy and I are dating now. Hope that’s okay.”
Billy kicks him under the table, but can’t help feeling relieved.
Rosa frowns, looking between the boys, and Billy starts panicking again.
“You don’t have to worry!” Billy starts, feeling his chest cave as all thoughts of a worst case scenario come crashing down on him. “We would never do anything inappropriate, or, like, disrespectful . And I promise I would never do anything to, like, hurt Freddy or anything. I really like him, and I’m sorry, but please don’t kick me out I promise I won’t—”
“Whoa, Billy, slow down mi amour .” Rosa says, standing and rushing to Billy’s side to wrap an arm around him. “We would never kick you out, why would you think that?”
Billy takes a few breaths, looking up at Freddy’s worried gaze. “I just, I don’t know.” He says weakly.
Victor laughs then, though he puts a hand on Billy’s shoulder and shakes him softly. “Honestly, son. I thought this would be important. We already knew, you guys haven’t been subtle.”
Mary snickers at that. “Seriously, what were we supposed to think when Freddy started wearing your shirts around? That you guys are just extra special friends ?”
Freddy sputters. “W-what?!”
“Yeah, Eugene says ‘boyfriend-shirts’ are a big step in a relationship!” Darla adds with delight. “I can’t believe you guys are gonna get married one day! This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”
“Darla!” Freddy hisses as Billy slowly dies. “We aren’t–we haven’t—we just started going out! Like, today!”
Pedro snorts. “Yeah, okay dude. We all believe that.”
“ Mijo , it’s okay.” Rosa says, voice soft and comforting. “We aren’t mad, you don’t have to pretend.”
“We aren’t pretending.” Billy interjects, feeling somewhat defeated. “I asked him out like two hours ago.”
Surprisingly, Freddy starts laughing, looking a little hysterical as he shakes in his chair. “I’m sorry, Billy.” He gasps, shaking his head. “I honestly didn’t think anyone would notice. I thought I was being so sly .”
“I’m glad you guys finally feel comfortable telling us.” Victor says, leaning back in his chair with a wide, happy smile.
“ Si , you boys make such a cute couple!”
“Rosa!” Freddy groans, and the table laughs. They lock eyes, light and electricity dancing between them, and Billy thinks maybe it doesn’t matter.
“But maybe keep your door open at night from now on.”
“ Rosa !”