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It was a normal night in the office, even if it felt anything but. The room was filled with the city's "natural" lighting. Rain shyly tapped against the windows.
Hughie and Annie met up less than 20 minutes ago, now. They were planning on trying this new restaurant close by. M.M. had left with Frenchie and Kimiko, working overnight on a possible lead.
That meant you and Butcher were the last two in the office. You didn't mind this, of course. And you would never say so, but you appreciated the small moments alone with him. He was comforting to be around. He could be a bit of a "right cunt," as he might put it, but sometimes he was just... Billy. He was thoughtful… Sweet even. There was never any show of grandeur, but you noticed the little things. The way he cared for Ryan and The Boys. The way he'd make a joke he knew would crack you up. The way he'd stand a little closer whenever your fears began to get the best of you. These acts were small, but they were there. And you really, truly, and deeply appreciated them.
Butcher laid on the couch, scrolling through the various T.V. channels. Sounds crashed over each other like waves. Channels switched so fast they began to blend together. But one voice stood out through it all. Its cadence was confident. A fabricated laugh, as though it had been stitched together until the string was pulled taut. A voice that was strong and unwavering, yet grating and unsettling. America’s “hero.” Butcher continued to scroll, eyes glazed over. You sat at your desk, trying to get a bit more work done. It was distracting, though. The T.V., not Butcher. Definitely not Butcher. Definitely not his tee that hung dangerously low. Definitely not his hair that was practically calling for your hands to run through it. And definitely, DEFINITELY not that beautiful face of his that you craved to cradle next to yours.
Stop it, stop it, STOP IT , you told yourself. You need to calm down before you can't control yourself anymore.
And that was for sure a possibility.
But was it? Really? You've always controlled yourself. Too much, maybe. There were so many choices eager to be acted upon, and yet, were left discarded. So many adventures you could've been on, and yet, you never went.
You sigh, quietly, not wanting Butcher to hear, but he whipped around as soon as it left your lips.
Damn that man and his ability to just know when something’s up.
"Oi, what's wrong with you?," Butcher lazily asks.
"Nothing... I'm okay," you reply.
He makes a small "hmph" noise before standing up and walking toward you. He rolls a chair over in your direction and then sits. Right smack in front of you. You couldn't escape this conversation now, even if you wanted to.
He usually wouldn't have asked, but it was just you two in the office. No one but you to notice the Billy behind the Butcher. It was nice, even if you were still feeling down. Maybe he just needed the distraction. Maybe he was tired of seeing Homelander’ smug face which haunted his everyday life and wanted to talk about anything else.
Or maybe- No. He wouldn’t just want to know how you were feeling, would he?
"Right," he says. "That's why you're sittin' over 'ere by yourself doin' nothing but sighing and checking your emails."
You put your head down and sigh again.
"Sorry, I really wasn't trying to bother you. I just- I was just really feeling it tonight."
"Feeling what exactly, love?," he questions, softer than normal. You'd unpack that later.
"We don't have to talk about it if you're uncomfortable with the topic but…" you hesitate before asking. "What's it like to be in love?"
You look up, and Butcher leans back, eyes suddenly shooting everywhere but your face. You feel embarrassed. Stupid, even. You should have known he wouldn't want to talk about this.
Just as you were going to apologize again, Butcher spoke up.
"'S nice. Just... Nice. Good. Why’d you ask?"
You lock eyes for a swift moment.
"I don't know," you say. "I've always wondered, I guess."
"You've never been in love?"
"No." That's a lie. A glint in his eye tells you he’s caught you in it.
"Well, no one's ever loved me back, I mean," you relent before you sigh yet again. "It's so tiring. I always thought that maybe, just maybe, someone might want me. But no one ever has. Not for a date, let alone a whole life."
A moment passes, filled with small breaths and awkward feelings. You just told the man you've wanted since the moment you've met that no one has ever loved you.
FUCK, you think.
"So... You've never been on a date?," Butcher questions. "No dates at the movies, at the park, or at a decent restaurant?"
"No," you state, under your breath.
"Not even a quick shag in the bathroom?"
Your eyes dart up to his, cheeks feeling hotter than ever before. He's got that signature smirk spreading across his face.
"No," you manage to get out. "No, I - I haven't done that."
"Well there's plenty of ways we can fix-"
"BUTCHER."
He laughs it off, while you try to shake that INCREDIBLY wonderful offer off the table.
It's not like he ACTUALLY means it, you tell yourself. Just a joke. Yeah. A joke.
Another moment goes by before the conversation resumes.
"I just - I just want to know how it feels. I want to know how it feels to love someone who loves you back. Someone who listens to you even when they're exhausted. Like REALLY listen. Someone who hears a joke and immediately goes to tell you just so they can hear you laugh. I know it's silly.” A beat. “Sorry," you say, quietly.
And then you feel a hand on yours. It's rough, but gentle. A cool feeling against your warm and very nervous body.
"Hey. Don't ever say that. 'S not silly. I told you already, 's nice. I was lucky to feel it once." He laughs, slightly. "Heh, I felt all those feelings with my girl. I still feel 'em now. Don't know why she fell for a right ol' cunt like me, but she did. And I loved 'er for it. Shit, I'd bloody love 'er even if she didn't."
"It's nice to feel that with someone. Makes you feel not so alone. Makes you feel... Good," he says.
You look up again to see a tear roll down his cheek. And you frown, because you hate to see him this way, and maybe because you wish he would cry for you instead.
So you stand up, pulling him up from his chair. And you hug him. Hard. Tight. Gently. Because you know that this was it. He was the love of your life. The man you've been waiting for forever. And you were just a friend. Someone he'd always love, as a friend. He'd already found the love of his life, and her name was Becca.
So you hugged him and allowed the tears to fall onto the back of Butcher's shirt while his fell on the back of yours.
This was a rare occurrence with Butcher. It was hard for him to face his feelings. You knew that. You would never want to make him feel bad for being vulnerable, and so, you recognize that this conversation was over, and would most likely never be mentioned again.
It didn't matter, anyway. You knew the answer to your question. What it feels like to be in love.
The world was quiet as you held him. There were so many possibilities the moment may give way to, so many choices eager to be made. But you loved him. So you did nothing.