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Billy's apartment was just what you had expected. Chaotic, messy and a little rough around the edges. Half-empty beer cans everywhere, toys scattered all over the floor, and a laundry basket overflowing with clothes.
The TV was on, playing some old cartoon, and in front of it, Billy's four-year-old son, Max, was sprawled on the carpet, coloring with crayons.
You stood in the doorway, shifting awkwardly. You weren't sure how and where to start. This was the first time Billy and you met by yourselves. Alone, without anyone else.
You knew Billy had a son, but you didn't know any specifics. He rarely talked about it. Hell, it had taken almost a month until you even figured out he had a child.
Billy and you had known each other for some time now. It was through a mutual friend, so the two of you interacting in some way, shape or form was bound to happen eventually.
And when you did, you got to learn exactly what kind of person Billy was. He had a rough exterior, but you knew there was more to him. Something utterly damaged that he couldn't quite hide.
At first glance, he seemed like a regular guy. Tough and kind of a hard-ass, but a regular guy nonetheless.
But then you'd found out about his financial issues. He was in debt. He had trouble getting by, especially while having to take care of a kid as a single dad.
That, along with some subtle anger outbursts from time to time, were a recipe for disaster.
But he was working on himself, trying to improve, trying to become a better man.
"Hey," Billy called from the kitchen, not looking up as he rummaged through a cabinet. His voice was gruff, but there was a hint of warmth in it. "You just gonna stand there, or you gonna come in? Make yourself at home."
You slowly stepped inside, carefully avoiding a toy truck as you made your way to the kitchen.
The small space was even messier than the living room. Dishes piled up in the sink and takeout containers stacked on the counter, along with more beer cans. Billy didn't seem to mind.
He was busy pouring cereal into a bowl. He then swiftly moved past you with the bowl of cereal in hand, and set it down on the living room table. "Come get your food, little man. You gotta eat."
He looked up at Billy with wide, curious eyes. "Thanks, Dad," Max mumbled before dragging himself onto the couch to claim his breakfast.
Billy finally turned to you, leaning against the the doorframe. He looked tired. Dark circles under his eyes, his hair uncharacteristically messy, and a stubble that had gone past the point of rugged. His usual tough-guy demeanor seemed a little worn down today, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of concern.
"Long night, huh?" you asked, your tone softer than usual.
"You could say that," Billy snorted. "Max decided that 3 a.m. was a good time to reenact a dinosaur attack in his room. Took forever to get the little monster back to sleep."
You offered him a small, sympathetic smile, not entirely sure what to say. "Must be tough."
"It is," Billy admitted, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability in his eyes. "But I'm managing. We're managing."
You wanted to help, to offer something more than just words and a small smile, but things simply weren't that simple.
There were feelings involved for sure. Feelings beyond acquaintances or even friendship. But it was hard to see what Billy was thinking, what he was feeling.
There were a few moments here and there, but...
You didn't want to make his situation even more complicated. This wasn't about you, this was about him.
"You want a drink or something?" Billy asked, breaking the silence. "I've got beer, soda, whatever."
"Uh, water's fine," you replied, feeling a bit out of place. "Thanks."
Billy grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and handed it to you. Your fingers brushed, and you felt a jolt of nerves buzz through you. You quickly looked away, hoping Billy hadn't noticed.
"You know," you started, your voice barely above a whisper. "I could help out a little. With Max, I mean. Or the apartment. I'm not great at stuff, but I could try."
He stared at you for a second, and you wondered if you'd overstepped the line. Billy wasn't one to ask for help, or even accept it when offered. But then, to your surprise, his expression softened.
"That's... nice of you," Billy said hesitantly, like he wasn't sure how to process the kindness. "But I don't want you to feel like you have to. We're friends, yeah, but I can't just dump all my crap on you."
"I don't mind," you reassured him immediately, feeling your face warm up a little. "Really. I like hanging out with you and Max. It doesn't have to be anything big, just... you know, keeping you company or whatever."
It was a weak attempt at sounding casual. And judging by the way Billy quietly looked at you, you could tell he sensed something was off.
"You're a good dad, Billy," you continued, despite your brain screaming at you to shut up. "You got issues, but who doesn't? I mean, look at all the stuff you've been through. Most people would've cracked under half that pressure, but you keep going. You care about Max, more than you even realize, probably," you kept going. "You're trying your best. People can see that, I can see that. You're not perfect, no one is, but you're trying to be better and that's what matters. You just... you gotta give yourself more credit. You're so much more than what you think you are, Billy. And---"
Before you could finish, Billy suddenly closed the distance between you. His hands, rough and calloused, gently cupped your face. He waited for signs of discomfort, but couldn't find any.
Billy's lips crashed against yours in a quick, almost desperate kiss. It was over as soon as it happened, his breath hitching as he abruptly pulled away, his eyes wide with a mix of panic and regret.
"Shit, I didn't mean to---" Billy started, his voice harsh as he recoiled, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Forget it, just--- fuck, forget I did that. You deserve better than this."
You could see the anger building in him, the self-loathing, but you reached out before he could spiral any further. "Hey," you said softly, your hand finding its way to his arm to stop him from turning away. "It's okay. Really."
This time, you were the one to cup his face, like he was the most precious thing in the world. You felt the tension in his jaw, the way he fought to hold everything in, to keep the world at arm's length.
"It's okay," you repeated, brushing your thumb across the stubble on his cheek. His breath hitched again, but he didn't pull away this time. "I'm here, Billy."
Billy's eyes softened, the anger and self-hatred slowly fading into raw vulnerability. He leaned into your touch, just the slightest bit, as though he was cautiously testing the waters.
"Thank you," Billy just said. "Means a lot. Seriously."
His tired hazel eyes locked onto yours, and you realized just how much he needed someone to believe in him, to see the good in him, even when he couldn't see it himself.
And you were more than happy to be that someone.