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Pete White is not entirely sure he deserves happiness. That is to say, he’s never done anything to deserve it. In fact, some (like he himself) could argue for the exact opposite. For example, all he does is consistently ruins Billy’s life. If he were a selfless person, Pete would disappear and grant Billy a Pete-free life, but hes too selfish to let go of someone he loves so easily. Hell, the only reason Billy sticks around is because of a certain life-threatening situation involving dogs and missing limbs and eyes that he accidentally put him in all those years ago. Yet, somehow, Billy really has stuck with him— no matter how much he fucks up, no matter how lazy and annoying he is, Billy never gives up on him.
Still, now that they’re moving to New York together, brand new ways he could possibly fuck this all up spring forth in his mind, forming a fog that permeates his body with a deep melancholy. He should probably be packing right now, but he can’t quite bring himself too. His body is heavy, but not in a sleep-tired way. So he sits silently on the bench that he’s sat on every morning for two decades. Jesus. Two decades. It’s much longer than he ever thought anyone would stick around with him— let alone Billy. Billy who he loves and adores and doesn’t deserve.
Pete’s never been good with feelings— it’s not really his forte. What his forte is is bottling it all up and forgetting about it until the next crisis. It's not that he isn’t happy— because he is, happier than he’s ever been in fact— it’s just that, oftentimes, a bitter-sweetness forms a stain over it all. A bitter-sweetness stemming from having Billy here with him but knowing that the surgeon could have had so much more if Pete had just left him alone. If he hadn’t tried interfering in his life.
He tries not to sit and think too much, but it’s hard not to be introspective at a time like this— at the start of what’s probably “a new chapter in his life”, or whatever. He had meant to just pack some stuff from their cupboards before heading to bed, but he’d dug up an old photo of Billy from the set of Quizboys. He’d seen that smiling face, unmarred by the reminder of Pete’s second biggest regret (his first being cheating for Billy in the first place), and it had all come falling down on him. Decades of self hate and denial, forming a monsoon that flooded his every thought.
As he stared at the photograph something peculiar happened. Something wet dropped onto the corner of the photograph, sliding off the glossy surface with relative ease. And then again. It took Pete a few seconds to realize what was happening. He can’t even remember the last time he cried. But now that he’s started, it’s pouring out of him and he can’t stop it. His shoulders shake as a few tears turns into full on crying turns into outright sobbing. It’s pretty early in the morning and he really doesn’t want to wake Billy— partially because he deserves to sleep in and partially because he doesn’t want to be seen like this- but a few choked off sobs still make their way into the silence of their trailer. He’s holding his head in his hands as he falls apart, and he just barely registers the sound of their bedroom door opening. Pete’s head shoots up to look at Billy, a steady stream of tears— and probably snot as well— making their way down Pete’s face. His hair sticks to his face, plastered to it actually, and he can’t even bring himself to wipe it away.
Billy steps through the open door idly rubbing at his eye, very obviously having been awakened by Pete’s meltdown. He definitely hasn’t actually registered what’s happening yet, and dread fills Pete as he realizes he won’t remain oblivious for much longer.
“White? Did something happen? I thought I heard someone—“ he looks around the room blearily as he speaks, stopping mid sentence as his eyes land on Pete. His face softens, grogginess making way to concern. “What’s wrong? What happened?” He gently places his hands on Pete’s shoulders, knowing Pete well enough to preemptively not let him shrink away and hide from the situation.
“Wouldn’t you—“ he interrupts himself with a hiccuping sob “—like to know.” Pete’s voice is wrecked and it comes out as a shaky mess, any possible snark completely bleached from the sentence. He expects Billy to get irritated, but the soft concerned expression doesn’t waver.
“Yeah… I would.” The earnest tone of his voice only serves to make Pete feel worse. He doesn’t deserve this sympathy. “Scooch over.” Billy doesn’t really give him a chance to comply, gently pushing him down the bench until he’s able to seat himself beside him. Once he’s on the bench he turns to face Pete and catches him completely by surprise by reaching out and wrapping his arms around him in a hug. Pete leans into it without thinking, gripping Billy’s arms and letting himself cradle his head against his chest.
“God— pally, I'm so sorry.” Billy rubs circles into his back, it feels nice. Grounding.
“What for?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
“For ruining your life.” Billy leans back a bit so he can look Pete in the eyes.
“You didn’t ruin my life. Sure, we’ve both made mistakes—“
“I’ve made mistakes. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Pete interjects, interrupting him mid-sentence. Billy rolls his eyes, and pulls Pete, who’s relentless stream of tears is starting to slow down yet is still at a formidable amount, close to him again.
“We’re not perfect. We’ve both made mistakes. But that's okay, because we’re here now and that’s what actually matters.” He’s comforted Pete after enough nightmares to know where part of this stems from. “I’m alive, everything’s okay.”
Pete abruptly sits up and gestures wildly with his hands, brows furrowing. “But it’s not! I ruined your life. You could’ve gone to MIT!” Billy crosses his arms.
“But would I have been happy?”
“What?”
Billy tilts his head and asks again. “Would I have been happy?”
“I— fucking of course you would’ve been happy, it’s MIT!“
Billy shakes his head resolutely. “It’s a trick question. Hypotheticals like that are useless.” His face softens again and he places his hands on Pete’s shoulders. “Because you make me happy. Nothing makes me happier now than being with you— watching shitty tv or reading a book next to you while you play some game or even just existing in the same general space as you, that’s what makes me happy. Not some stupid degree.”
“But—“
“Nuh-uh, no ‘buts.’ You didn’t ruin my life, you just changed its course a little— and that’s okay. Even if I ‘could have’ been happy, I’m still happy now. I haven’t lost out on anything.”
“You lost your hand.”
“And I got a new robot hand. Yes, you fucked up with the dog fighting,” Pete flinches, “but you never meant to hurt me. You even jumped in the ring to save me. You were doing what you thought was best for us.”
“But you still got hurt because of me.”
“People get hurt, that’s life. It’s been about two decades, I’ve more than forgiven you.”
“But I can literally never do anything to fix that— nothing will give you your hand back or take the pain of it being ripped off away.”
“It won’t, and that’s okay too. People make mistakes that hurt people they care about all the time.”
“That doesn’t make it okay!”
“You can’t keep beating yourself up for something that I don’t even hold against you.”
“But you should. You shouldn’t just forgive me for this.”
“Fine. Then how about this— I dragged you to Spanakopita and you nearly died, we’re definitely even by now.”
“But I don’t have to live with that forever! And you ended up saving my life anyway!”
“And you saved mine by jumping in the ring! sure, maybe I ‘saved’ you-” he says, making air quotes as he talks “-but I’m the reason you were in that situation in the first place. St. Cloud wouldn’t even be arching you if it wasn’t for me.” Pete sits silently and stares at his hands in his lap, sniffling.
“Plus, I wouldn’t be moving to New York to work for rusty venture if we never met— now would I?” Pete lets out a wet laugh. Billy pauses, really considering his next words. He gently grabs Pete’s face in his hands and forces eye contact.
“I love you. Nothing is going to change that.”
“Don’t say that.” Billy tries to cut him off but he barrels forward, "I don't deserve that. I don’t even do any work around the van or in Conjec. Tech… I’m still holding you down.”
“Pete, it’s fine, I promise. You’re not holding me down or holding me back. If you really feel that bad you can just promise to do more in the future, okay?” Pete nods.
Billy let’s go of his face and pulls him into another hug, holding him as close as he can. Pete wraps his arms around the smaller man, his legs tucked under him so he can face Billy to make up for the fact that they’re sitting on a bench. He tucks his head into the crook where Billy’s neck meets his shoulders. He’s stopped crying without even realizing it, though he still shakes a little. He takes a few deep breaths, inhaling the scent of the body wash and detergent they both use— which is somehow still so distinctly Billy— until he stops shaking. They sit in silence, just holding each other. It’s nice.
“I promise… and- and I love you too.” Pete says, quiet yet still very much audible to Billy— who hums in response, stroking Pete’s hair. “But I’m still sorry. You deserve someone better, something healthy.”
“Healthy’s boring.”
“That’s not—”
“Just shut up.” Pete huffs out a small laugh in response. “Let’s go back to bed, okay?”
Pete sighs.
“Alright, pally.”
They untangle themselves from each other and make their way back into their bedroom, climbing into the bed they share. It’s a wonder they didn’t admit to loving each other early. The excuse of using the other one for ‘more storage space’ had been flimsy when they first started using it and it’s even flimsier now.
The last thing Pete consciously registers is Billy kissing him on the forehead as he holds him, his smaller form somehow still feeling like it’s hiding him from the rest of the world. One final thought nestles it’s way into Pete’s mind, and he just barely hangs onto it as he falls asleep.
If Billy loves him back, then maybe— just maybe— he isn’t actually all that bad.