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Billy has always lived at a distance to others.
That’s just the reality of being the rabbit; he stays further ahead, never caught due to his purpose. If someone starts catching up, he just speeds along, maintaining distance. That doesn’t mean the distance truly exists physically, however. When Mom’s doing well, he basks in her hugs and passing touches. When he plays hockey, he skates into people and bumps fist with the opposing team at the end of the game. Pete will sometimes grab his shoulders to shake him, or Collie will lightly punch his arm, or Richard will gently his torso when he says something too bluntly.
Despite the distance, he does have contact—contact he mostly doesn’t give a second thought to.
Until he meets Gary Barkovitch, who treats touch like it is both the burn and the salve.
Gary never touches anyone. When people reach towards him, he flinches. He’s tense around people, like he can never be certain if their touch will hurt or help, so he assumes that it will hurt. Billy thinks Ray notices this too, and he tries to gently acclimate Gary to contact. Playful nudging, an arm over the shoulder, hair ruffling; these are all friendly touches that Billy sees Ray initiate to ease Gary into the world of physical comfort.
It sometimes works. Other times, Gary backs off like Ray is trying to lead him into a trap. The fear and discomfort in his eyes always shine brighter than the wobbly smile he tries to paint on his lips.
Gary doesn’t want to be touched.
Contact is contact to Billy, but it’s not for Gary. While Billy sometimes gets the overwhelming urge to press his hand to the flushed skin of Gary’s face to see how hot he runs, or desperately wants to press his fingers into Gary’s wrist to see what rate Gary’s heart beats, he refrains. Gary doesn’t want that. Billy will respect it.
Billy won’t touch Gary.
He never thought about whether Gary would touch him.
* * * * * * *
1.
Billy’s never minded the cold. He always runs warm, and with a good coat and some gloves, he stays comfortable in the winter weather. At worst, the wind will sting his cheeks, but even then he’s always been resistant to that kind of burn.
Right now, he feels a bit like he’s sweltering underneath his coat. His mind is still buzzing over the fact that Gary used his last picture on him. He tries not to read too much into it.
His back stays firmly against the apartment building, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches everyone enjoy the fluffy snow falling from the dark sky. Excited chatter and laughter fills the air around them, drifting towards him as he watches from the sideline, comfortable in his distance. It gives him the best view of everyone else.
It lets him easily see the way Gary can’t stop smiling.
He’s cold—it’s obvious in the way his teeth chatter and his hands tremble—but he continues to journey through the snow to take picture after picture with his digital camera. He’s snapping pictures of Ray and Clementine drawing pictures in the snow with their feet when Pete suddenly leans on the wall next to him.
Billy glances over, eyebrows raising when he sees that Pete is looking at him with a teasing grin.
“You like the snow?” Pete asks, tone leading.
Billy shrugs casually, looking back at everyone. “I prefer the rain, but snow is good too.”
“You know,” Pete says, “I was wondering what had you so distracted during the game. You kept looking out the window. I thought you were just in your head, but you were looking for snow the whole night. Did you read the forecast or something?”
Billy knows where Pete is trying to lead this. “I didn’t,” he replies easily. “I never read the forecast. I just happened to look outside and saw it was snowing.”
Pete hums a low note. Billy knows that tone. He doesn’t believe him. “You kept looking out the window, like you were searching for something.”
“I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“Enough snow.” Billy glances at Pete, and he has a shit eating grin on his face that Billy finds more amusing than threatening. “Falling snow is nice, but it’s better when there’s enough on the ground to do stuff with.”
“Oh, an expert. Play in the snow a lot growing up?”
Billy shakes his head. “I watched the other kids, though.” At Pete’s mildly confused expression, Billy elaborates, “The kids in my class. They complained when there wasn’t enough snow on the ground to do anything with.”
Pete nods at that, eyes squinting just a bit. “And you staring at Barkovitch?” he asks after a moment. “
Billy carefully keeps his face blank. “He’d never seen snow.”
Pete gets a wide and teasing grin on his face. “Neither has Art.”
Billy blinks at that. “Baker doesn’t have a camera,” he responds, finding his feet quickly enough.
Pete clicks his tongue, still amused. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” He looks away from Billy, staring out at everyone playing in the snow. “I question your tastes.”
Billy also looks out again. “Jelly sandwiches are a perfectly acceptable lunch.”
“You ain’t slick.”
“I don’t know, the snow melts on me pretty quickly.”
Pete huffs out in disbelief, and Billy bites back a smile at how easy it is to get on Pete’s nerves. Besides, Billy doesn’t have anything to say about his tastes. He didn’t even know he had tastes; he thought he figured that out on his eighteenth birthday.
Watching Gary, though, his smile electric and terrified and alive, Billy still doesn’t know anything about his tastes. He just knows it’s Gary.
Pete grows bored enough to wander back over to Ray, leaning into his side and complaining about the cold. He has a grin on his face though, and Ray says he’s full of shit, but he laughs and wraps Pete in a hug to warm him up.
Billy doesn’t know why they still haven’t outright said they are together when it’s so obvious, but whatever. They’re happy. Maybe there’s less pressure for them like this.
Billy looks away from them and back at everyone else.
Richard throws a snowball at Collie, and Gary laughs brightly, ripped out of him and honest. Billy stares at the way his mouth rises more on the left side of his face, the way it makes his eyes squint, the way it makes his nose wrinkle slightly. Billy wants to trace the laugh lines on his face. He keeps his hands to himself.
Collie hears Gary laughing with his camera aimed at him, and he starts making a snowball, his own wide grin coming to his face.
Does Gary’s heart race when Collie smiles at him like that? Billy wonders to himself. Does Gary feel more human? Does Gary fear it as much as he loves it?
Gary cradles his camera to his chest, eyes wide and nervous even as the smile won’t quite die on his face. “No, no! I don’t want to break my camera!”
Collie doesn’t throw his snowball yet, considering Gary’s words. “You’ve got ten seconds to figure out what to do with it, and then I’m throwing this directly at your face,” Collie says. He’s kind even when he’s a menace.
Gary’s fingers curl tighter around his camera, eyes flickering around nervously. “Asshole, I’m not—”
“Ten. Nine. Eight.”
Gary looks around wildly. Billy wonders if it’s the idea of his camera breaking that freaks him out, or if Collie’s counting down is doing more than just causing panic. He wonders if Gary will freeze under the pressure, the fear.
Gary looks at him, and Billy doesn’t wonder about anything for just a moment.
Gary rushes over, nearly slipping in the snow, and it’s such a silly thing to find endearing, but Billy’s endeared anyway, and he doesn’t think there’s a damn thing he can do to prevent it. He doesn’t move from his position, but Gary suddenly is taking off his digital camera.
“Hold this,” Gary says urgently, and Billy’s hands instinctively, obediently, raise at the request. Then Gary pushes the camera into his hands quickly—
Their fingers brush.
Badum Badum Badum
Gary’s fingers are cold, practically ice, and Billy so badly wants to grab them, to clasp them between his palms and share this warmth that is starting to buzz through his body, originating from their point of contact. His fingers curl instinctively around the camera, securing his grip. His skin tingles, electrified, and Gary’s hands are pulling back, but Billy wants to reach out for them like a magnet, unable to resist the draw.
“How the hell are your hands so warm?” Gary asks, and his tone is genuinely baffled. Billy’s certain his expression is worth looking at, but he can’t stop staring at his hands, eyes pin-pointed on the small surface of skin where Gary had touched him.
“Not sure anymore,” Billy replies thoughtlessly and all the more honest for it. He’s always been warm. He thought it was because of his mechanical parts, like when a computer grows hot from overworking. The excited thumping in his chest is not from motors or gears, however, so he doesn’t know why he’s so warm.
He just knows that it’s not such a bad thing if Gary runs cold.
“What?” Gary asks, confused, which is fair. Billy won’t expand on it—he can’t—but he doesn’t need to because Collie finishes counting down and hits Gary with a snowball. Gary yelps with it like a surprised dog. Billy finally looks up to see Gary whip around, facing Collie, no longer looking at him.
Clementine gets Collie with a snowball, and then Richard hits Ray which makes Pete join in, and soon enough everyone is chucking snow at each other. Everywhere he looks, he sees smiles and hears laughter, all caused by the snow sprinkling down from above and the connections they each have with each other.
Gary stays standing next to him, watching the joy around them with conflicted eyes.
“You could join,” Billy says, knowing that Gary has never been part of something like this before. He wants it just as much as it scares him.
“I’ve never done this before.”
Billy bites back a smile at being right. “Ray would be an easy target,” he suggests, not tearing his eyes away from Gary even as his grey-green eyes flicker to where Ray is laughing.
“Don’t you want to join in?” Gary asks, and Billy feels surprise run through him.
“I’m fine,” he says before he can actually think about it. “Besides, I’d destroy them all,” he adds, far more certain about that. If he can beat his teammates at bowling despite never bowling before, he’s sure he can knock them on their asses with snowballs. It wouldn’t be that fun for everyone else.
Gary gives a jerky nod, but Billy doesn’t think he’s nodding at anything in particular. He crouches down, gathering snow in his paling hands. He should really be wearing gloves, but Billy’s not about to discourage him right now. His head is ducked down, and the only thing allowing Billy to see Gary’s nervous expression is his bandana pushing his hair back. Billy stares at the few loose strands of hair that curl around his ears before Gary stands up, and now he notices the fear in his eyes, hands nervously digging into the compacted snow in his palm. He’s second guessing himself.
“Scared?” Billy goads, hoping it will be enough to push Gary into acting.
Gary glares at him, chin tilted back just a bit. “Fuck you,” he says, but he begins moving, and then he joins the snowball fight. He smiles, sharp and mean and real, his laughter biting and honest. Billy feels almost dazed as he watches the other, warm fingers curling around the camera still.
He looks down at the camera, studying the buttons. He’s pretty sure the button at the top takes the picture. He glances up, seeing Gary skid as he dodges a snowball. His smile is blinding, all teeth and curled lip, wide and free.
Billy raises the camera to his eye, his skin still tingling from when Gary had brushed his fingers.
* * * * * * *
Billy is glad to be going home for winter break. He can’t wait to see Mom, to sit next to her bed and hold her hand as he tells her of his hockey season, his classes, his progress. He can’t wait to see her bright eyes and see the way her chest rises and falls with each real, comforting breath. He can’t wait.
He is going to miss these lunches, though.
He takes another bite of his sandwich while he eavesdrops on Art and Hank’s conversation. It’s hard to hear from across the table, but it’s entertaining enough that it’s worth straining his ears. Art is describing something from his anatomy class, and Hank is making increasingly crude comments.
“You have a girl,” Art says, exasperated. “Why are you asking me this?”
Hank shrugs. “It’s good to know the science of these things. Never stop being a student, you know? Theory is just as important as practice.”
Art’s face scrunches up in disgust even as he laughs. “How did you ever get Clementine to like you if you talk like that?”
Hank’s face softens, his smile becoming a bit more genuine. “My comedic wit and unparalleled charisma.”
“The only funny thing about you is how you need help reaching the top shelf,” Collie suddenly chimes in. Evidently Billy isn’t the only one listening in.
Hank flips off Collie for that, and Collie grins sharply in response.
“Hey, easy now,” Richard says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m always in the middle of your arguments!” Literally due to the fact that he sits between Collie and Hank.
“Meh, they’re not arguments,” Hank says, flicking his wrist casually. “They’re more Parker needing to tear me down to make himself feel better about how single he is.”
Collie barks out a laugh. “I still have a personality while single though.”
“You’re like cats and dogs,” Pete complains, rolling his eyes. He always brightens up more when Ray finally gets to lunch, but Billy knows he finds amusement in the lunch-table bickering.
“It’s worse than that,” Richard laments, pushing up his glasses to rub at his eyes.
“I thought it was accurate,” Billy comments.
Hank rolls his eyes. “That’s just because he used an idiom about animals.”
Billy takes another bite of his sandwich, shrugging his shoulders. He thinks there’s something interesting about how animal humans are at their core. He thinks it’s interesting that there’s something animal in him despite his metal frame and mechanical guts. He wonders if there’s a flesh heart in the centre of his man-crafted components.
“You need to stop calling people animals, actually,” Pete huffs. “It’s getting ridiculous.”
“Sheeps and dogs and rabbits and mules,” Billy muses aloud just to see the way Pete’s eye twitches. “Who would win out in the end? Would there be a winner at all?”
“I think I know one rabbit who keeps winning shit,” Collie comments, raising his eyebrows in amusement.
Billy keeps his face neutral. “Only by warped perspective,” he says. He wouldn’t be put on the podium despite crossing the finish line first. That’s not the fate of this rabbit.
“Oh thank fuck,” Pete suddenly comments, looking off to the side. “Finally I don’t have to deal with you freaks alone.” Billy glances over to see Gary and Ray making their way through the crowd, Ray talking animatedly while Gary nods sluggishly. The circles under his eyes are intense, and his feet drag as he walks. He’s still not sleeping.
Billy had tried to bring up how difficult Gary’s drive would be without proper rest, but it seems that Gary either didn’t listen or can’t do anything about it. Billy aches to know just what is haunting Gary’s sleep. It’s a selfish want in the end. He wouldn’t be able to do anything about Gary’s sleeping habits. He wants to know anyway.
“Hey!” Ray says brightly when they draw closer, bright-eyed and bushy tailed compared to the meandering dog walking up just behind him. “Everyone feeling ready for finals?”
Art starts responding, but then Gary gasps sharply, body careening down as his shoe loudly squeaks on the winter-wet floor, slipping out from under him. His arm darts out, landing on the closest object to prevent himself from falling.
Which just happens to be Billy’s shoulder.
Gary’s hand plants heavily, bearing his weight and sending a shockwave of warmth and electricity through Billy’s shoulder, travelling down his arm and up his neck. His hands twitch, wanting to reach out and steady Gary, but he grips his pant legs to refrain himself.
“Whoa, are you okay?” Richard asks.
Gary quickly draws his hand back, flopping in his typical chair as he rambles angrily, “Goddamn fuckin’ floors! Can no one clean this fuckin’ shit? People’s stupid shoes trackin’ in snow and mud, makes it impossible to fuckin’ walk!”
Billy studies him. Gary’s face is flushed, eyes wide and slightly blood shot, but that’s just from the lack of sleep. His hand goes to his neck, fingers clawing at that perpetual red and scabbed spot he always scratches, and Billy’s certain he’s going to draw blood.
“Yeah, the floors are bad if your shoes don’t have any traction,” Art says, giving a perplexed smile. He’s probably confused as to why Gary’s so worked up over this. Billy’s trying to figure that out too, to be fair. Is it just embarrassment? Is it his body working off the adrenaline from slipping like that?
Billy mindlessly rolls his shoulder as he contemplates Gary’s anger.
“You alright?” Pete asks, and when Billy looks over, he realises that he’s looking at him, not Gary. Billy silently raises his eyebrows in question. “Your shoulder.” Billy keeps his current expression. Pete sighs deeply. “Gary grabbed your shoulder when he fell. Is it fine?”
“Fuck off, Mcvries!” Gary says, face flushing brighter. “I didn’t fuckin’ mean to!”
Oh. Maybe Gary’s embarrassed about touching him.
“It’s fine,” Billy says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Barely felt it,” he adds just to see the way Gary sputters. It’s a lie, of course. He can still feel heat or pressure in the shape of Gary’s hand on his shoulder.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Gary hisses, face scrunching up more, and Billy’s mindful to keep his eyes locked with Gary’s, not letting them drift down to his snarling mouth.
He lets a teasing smile come to his own mouth, though. “You know what it means.”
Gary scowls at him, eyes flickering back and forth as he stares back. “Fuck you, you’re an asshole,” Gary eventually says, but his shoulders are relaxed, nowhere near his ears, so Billy pushes.
“One day you’ll say something original,” Billy hums easily, watching with a special kind of pleasure as Gary’s blush blooms further on his sunkissed skin. He wants to brush Gary’s hair back to see if his ears are pink.
Gary flips him off, and Billy gives one of his wide, more unsettling smiles, pushing the plate of fries towards Gary as a challenge. Gary doesn’t look unsettled. In fact, Gary just adds his other hand in flipping him off before grabbing a fry and eating it, eyes narrowed in his own challenge.
Badum Badum Badum
Conversation moves on, Gary paying more attention to Richard as he rants about an article he’s writing for class. Billy brings a hand up to his shoulder, rubbing at it. It doesn’t hurt, not even close, he’s just hyperaware of it in a way that makes it difficult to focus on anything else. He catches Pete looking at him.
I know what you are, his unimpressed gaze seems to say.
You can’t prove anything, Billy communicates back with squinted eyes and a subtle smile.
* * * * * * *
3.
“Okay, I need you to look to your left. Tilt your head up a bit. Not that much, back down just a little. Yeah, there,” Gary says, his digital camera raised to his eye as Billy follows his instruction. His back is pressed against the rough bark of a tree, snow sprinkling down around them, small and barely noticeable. Billy’s certain that Gary will be able to capture it anyway.
He stays quiet as Gary snaps his photos, not moving a muscle. Gary moves around, mumbling to himself distractedly, and Billy’s pretty certain that Gary doesn’t realise he’s doing it. It’s endearing, so he doesn’t bring attention to it in case Gary ceases to do it at all.
“Okay, look at the camera,” Gary says, and Billy just moves his eyes. Gary does say anything, presumably taking some photos. He’s doing his best to look into the camera lens rather than at Gary behind the camera. “Okay, now turn your head to face the camera. Tilt your head down a bit.”
Billy obliges. “Doesn’t Parker usually do this?” Billy asks, unable to refrain from asking any longer. It’s been swimming around in his head since Gary asked for his help with a homework assignment.
Gary pauses for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line. “He couldn’t this time,” Gary says. “His classes have him busier this semester.” Billy knows that the first part is a lie and the second part is true. His shoulders are too tense, and he won’t look Billy in the eye. Discomfort radiates from him, making Gary nervous and twitchy. He’s using the second, true statement to make his lie believable, but it doesn’t matter if it’s believable when Gary doesn’t believe the lie.
Billy desperately wants to pry in deeper, to figure out why he’s lying. Did Collie turn down helping him for other reasons?
“So why ask me?” Billy asks, keeping his face neutral.
Gary huffs, lowering his camera a bit. “You know, you’re not meant to talk while I’m takin’ picture of you,” he sasses, and Billy smirks just a bit. Gary quickly lifts up his camera and takes another picture.
“Well if that’s the case, I probably wasn’t a very good person to ask to help,” Billy says, pretending to think aloud.
Gary scoffs. “Who was I goin’ to ask instead? Richard? He talks more than you. Tilt your head to the left.”
Billy tilts his head to the left. “Mcvries. Garraty. Baker,” he lists off easily. “Any of them would have been good choices. So why pick me?”
Gary lowers his camera again, adjusting his hat when a strong wind blows, shaking the pine needles from the trees surrounding them. He stares at Billy, jaw tensing and untensing. “Does the answer matter?” he eventually asks.
“No,” Billy says, because it doesn’t. He wants to know, but it doesn’t actually matter.
“Then why would I tell you?”
“So there is a reason.”
Gary lifts his camera up again, eyes squinting. “Close your mouth. Turn your body to the left. Tilt your head back so it’s restin’ on the tree.”
Billy doesn’t. “Why did you ask me?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I still would like to know.”
Gary narrows his eyes. His face is pink, but it’s been pink since they started taking photographs, the winter air stinging his skin and flushing it. Billy studies his body language instead. Gary’s mostly relaxed, but his fingers are nervously rubbing over his camera. He keeps chewing at his lips which definitely can’t feel good in the cold, late January air. Wetting them would make the cold sting more. Maybe that’s the point. Whatever Gary’s hiding, he doesn’t want to reveal it.
“Why?” Gary finally asks. “Would you knowin’ change anythin’?”
Billy smirks a bit more. “Depends on what I would know. I can’t answer that question unless you tell me. Did everyone else tell you no?”
Gary huffs, ducking his head down and kicking at a twig near his feet. Then he looks up, expression more determined, and he lifts his camera to his eye again.
“You’re the only one I asked.”
Billy’s eyebrows raise against his will, lips parting slightly in surprise. Gary didn’t ask Collie? Logically, he knows that Gary is taking pictures of him right now, but he can only stare at the other, his chest twisting with something complicated, something human and distinctly not machine-like.
“Did something happen between you and Parker?” he finds himself asking. It doesn’t make sense that Gary would ask him over Collie. Him and Collie always do this. Collie is practically Gary’s muse.
“Turn your body to the left.”
“Say please,” he says, just managing to make his voice come out clear.
Gary narrows his eyes. “Please stop bein’ a prick.”
“You can be nicer than that,” Billy taunts.
“I can be, but I won’t. Turn.”
Billy chuckles at that, shaking his head and turning his body to the left finally. “My question still stands,” he comments as another strong wind blows. “You ask Collie to do these kinds of things.”
“Usually,” Gary confirms, voice hesitant and uncertain. “I can ask other people.”
But you don’t, Billy thinks to himself. You have a comfortable thing going with Collie. You don’t like breaking your comfort. You don’t just ask to take a picture of someone else when Collie is available.
“You’ve got pine needles in your hair,” Gary suddenly says.
Billy furrows his eyebrows, lifting his hand to his hair. He blindly feels around, finding some pine needles that must’ve fallen there from the wind. He tosses them aside and looks back at Gary.
Gary raises his eyebrows, a mean smile coming to his face. “You missed a bunch.”
Irritation rises in Billy’s chest—not at Gary, more at the knowledge that he’ll have to shake out his hair—and he runs his fingers through his hair multiple times, pushing the blond strands back as he tosses aside whatever pine needles he finds. When he’s certain he gets them all, he tries to fix his hair, eyebrows pinched together in concentration.
“Stebbins, there’s still pine needles,” Gary says, amusement obvious in his voice.
Billy narrows his eyes at the bleach blond. “I can’t see my own hair.”
“Clearly,” Gary says. He hesitates before he starts walking over, letting his camera hang from around his neck.
Billy furrows his eyebrows. “What?”
“I’ll take them out,” Gary says simply, but his voice is a bit stilted, like he’s forcing the words. He swallows, and Billy’s eyes automatically flick down to study the way his throat bobs with the action. Gary hesitantly lifts his hands up before pausing, eyes flickering over Billy’s face, his own expression anxious and mildly terrified.
Billy feels winded as he ducks his head to let Gary reach his hair easier. There’s a second of nothing, just the wind rustling the branches, and then careful fingers start picking at pine needles in his hair, parting the locks and brushing against his scalp.
Badum Badum Badum Badum Badum Badum
Billy stares at his feet, chest hammering as goosebumps rise on the back of his neck from Gary messing with his hair. The silence around them is tense—at least, Billy thinks it is, but that’s over the blood rushing in his ears. His own fingers twitch, desperate to land on Gary’s hips or waist or maybe his forearms. He wants to touch him. He wants to see if Gary still thinks his hands are warm.
“Your hair is soft,” Gary comments, voice awkward but soft, quiet in the space between them.
“Perks of not bleaching your hair,” he replies, thankful his voice is so steady when his heart is working so hard that he can feel his pulse in his fingertips.
Gary’s fingers pause for a moment before they continue moving. “Not all of us can be a natural blond,” the photographer replies, voice tense and perhaps hurt. There’s something deeper there; an intense self-loathing that somehow manifests into his hair colour.
Billy furrows his eyebrows, lifting his head a bit to look down at Gary. “I like the brown,” he says, eyes flicking to Gary’s roots before returning to his eyes.
Gary’s mouth opens slightly, slack jawed and confused and soft as his eyes flicker back and forth between Billy’s eyes, searching. Billy’s got nothing to hide here. He’s telling the truth. That doesn’t mean Gary will believe him, however. He’ll search for the answers he wants; oftentimes, he wants answers that hurt.
Billy waits for Gary to get angry, to back off, to get embarrassed and awkward and paranoid. Instead, Gary just quietly says, voice trembling around the edges, “You might be the only one.”
Something stutters in Billy’s chest, and it’s not motors or gears or loose screws.
They stare at each other for a moment longer before Gary looks away, jaw tense as he grinds his teeth. “Duck your head again,” he demands. “I can’t see.”
“Say please,” Billy says like always.
Gary doesn’t even reply, he just reaches up and puts his hand flat on the top of Billy’s head, shoving it down. Billy’s too stunned to fight against it.
Not that he particularly wants to.
It only takes a few more seconds, but Gary eventually steps back and curls his fingers against his camera. “There. I got it all,” he states, clearing his throat awkwardly.
Billy stands up straight, hands raising to start fixing his messy hair—
“Don’t,” Gary says quickly, voice pitched up. Billy hesitates, staring at Gary with raised eyebrows. Gary shifts foot to foot, eyes flickering around the trees before looking back at Billy again, slightly wide and vulnerable. “It’s— the messy hair is good. For the photos,” he explains, words fumbling out of his mouth.
Billy stares long and hard. He’s always had to be perfect from his appearance to his performance. Clean shaved, well rested, neat hair. He feels exposed with his hair messy and sticking up in different directions. It’s not befitting of the rabbit, the perfect machine that’s meant to stay ahead and remain uncaught.
He’s never been the rabbit for Gary, though. He’s never fallen for it, even when all Billy wants is for Gary to chase him.
“Okay,” he says, letting his hands fall to his sides. “What do you want me to do?”
* * * * * * *
Loud chatter fills the locker room, the energy high with their victory. Billy works on removing his helmet and gloves, setting them in his typical spot. He runs his fingers through his sweaty hair, trying to make it less of a mess. It quickly falls back on his forehead.
He’s about to leave the locker room when Pete says, “Where are you rushing to, Stebbins?”
Billy looks over his shoulder at Pete, seeing Ray was also watching him. “The lobby,” he says, unimpressed.
Pete looks at Ray with raised eyebrows while Ray just looks back at Pete, unmoved and unconvinced. Pete sighs deeply and looks back at Billy. “Who are you heading out to see?”
Billy blinks slowly. “People.”
Pete pinches the bridge of his nose. “Anyone in particular?”
“Come on, Pete,” Ray says. “He probably has family out there, and you’re keeping him.”
Billy carefully keeps his face blank even as an ache fills his bones. “I’m leaving, now,” he says simply, turning around and leaving the locker room finally.
“Hey, hey, wait,” Collie says, and Billy doesn’t wait, but he quickly catches up anyway. Collie looks over his shoulder, and when they’re a decent distance away from the locker room, he asks quietly, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Billy replies simply.
“The family talk must be hard,” Collie says, and Billy knows that Collie is trying to connect, but he can’t.
“It’s fine,” Billy says, firmer this time. “People’s family members come to games all the time. If it bothered me that much, I would just shower, get changed, and leave.”
Collie stares at the side of his face because Billy won’t look at him. “It’s fine if it does bother you.”
“Good thing it doesn’t. I’m very fortunate like that.”
Collie sighs deeply. “What was Pete doing back there?” he asks, changing topics.
“Probably trying to prove something.”
“Like what?”
That I’m always hanging around Gary, he thinks, bitter maybe. Or worried. Or confused. He’s not sure what he’s feeling. That I’m always excited when he comes to the games. That I like hearing him insult the refs or the other team. That he never says anything about whether I’m good or bad, just that I’m there.
It doesn’t matter what Billy feels because he’d never say it anyway.
“Who knows with those two,” he says instead, and then they enter the lobby. Billy’s familiar with the regular people who come watch the games. Ewing’s dad talks to him every time; apparently he used to play defence and always wanted to talk about Billy’s plays and interceptions. There’s two older local women who attend every game. They donate to the rink and simply enjoy watching the game. They coo over him, and he lets them, because it keeps him busy enough that he can feel normal while everyone talks with family and friends while he doesn’t have anyone.
Lately, he’s been cutting these conversations short whenever Gary attends a game.
He spends five minutes talking with Ewing’s dad and two minutes with the older women before wandering over to where Gary stands with Richard and Art. Richard excitedly chatters as Art just silently looks at the photos, a bright smile on his face. Art’s holding the camera while Gary breathes on his hands, rubbing them together. The flesh of his fingers are bright pink from the cold despite Gary now standing in the warm lobby.
“You’re getting so good at catching everyone moving,” he hears Richard say once he gets close enough, the journalist pushing up his glasses. “I remember you complained about how hard it was to get clear photos the first time you took pictures of the game.”
Gary huffs, nose crinkling up. “I didn’t complain,” he immediately denies. “I was just statin’ it. It’s a fact.”
“It sounded an awful lot like complaining,” Art says playfully.
In the past, Gary would have gotten worked up over this. Now, his eyes flicker nervously before he realises it’s just ribbing and becomes petulant rather than enraged. There’s still traces of that nervous dog—maybe that nervous dog will never leave—but it calms quickly, and that soothes something in Billy’s chest.
He finally gets close enough that he feels comfortable talking. “What did you think about the game?” he asks, looking at Gary, glancing at Richard, and then looking back at Gary.
Gary tucks his hands against the side of his neck, idly scratching his skin like his fingers can’t help it when in such close proximity. Gary gives a mean grin, eyes narrowing in a way that Billy finds himself enraptured by.
“‘Bout time y’all finally won. Two losin’ games in a row ain’t a pretty sight,” Gary says, words sharp. “I thought y’all were a good team.”
Billy feels amusement and irritation burn in his chest, mixing together in an intoxicating way that has him crossing his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side as he looks down at Gary with feigned boredom.
Gary has never bored him before. He’s not sure it’s possible.
“Hm, I’m surprised you didn’t walk out then if they were such terrible games,” he comments idly.
Gary shrugs his shoulders, eyes shining. “Figured y’all needed a luck charm since you were playin’ like shit.”
Billy has to bite his cheek to refrain from laughing. “I played fine.”
“Shame it’s a team game, then.”
That gets Billy to laugh, and Gary’s grin grows, but it loses the mean edge. He’s just smiling now. It shouldn’t make Billy feel so winded.
The other guys eventually walk over, all eager to see the pictures. Billy can’t deny he’s curious too, but when there’s so many people around, it’s easier to stay on the sidelines and hope he’ll see them later. Sometimes Gary sends them to Hank, and then Billy can ask Hank to send them to him. That way Mom can see the photos.
His chest aches with the thought.
He studies everyone’s joy, the way they lean against each other or poke and prod playfully. Gary also stands at distance, watching on as he brings his hands back to his face, lips parted as he steadily breathes out on them.
It takes Billy a great amount of effort to tear his gaze away from Gary’s mouth.
“How long are you going to do that?” he finally asks, drawing Gary’s gaze back to him.
“Do what?” he asks, eyebrows pinched, hands still near his chapped lips.
“Breathe on your hands like that’s going to save you from frostbite.”
Gary’s face flushes. Billy admires how it contrasts his eyes. “I don’t have frostbite.”
“You’re acting like you do.”
Gary narrows his eyes up at Billy. “It’s just cold in here.”
“Where are your gloves?”
Gary blinks in surprise, and Billy tries to keep his face blank. “I forgot them,” Gary says slowly, nervous, like it’s dangerous that he forgot them.
Billy’s eyebrows raise. “You hate the cold. How did you forget them?” He aims for playfulness, but he’s never been good at expressing these types of things. He waits for Gary to get defensive, but Gary takes a moment to just stare at Billy’s face, calculating.
His hackles remain down.
“You can’t bitch at me when I’m the one who takes your photos,” Gary says, lips twitching up at the corners. “You’re required to be nice.”
Billy finds himself breathing out in disbelief at that. “I don’t think I got that memo.”
“I don’t think so either.” Gary breathes against his hands again before his face crinkles with annoyance. “Give me your hands,” he suddenly says.
Billy stares at Gary. He heard him, and there’s no point in asking for clarification even though he feels totally thrown. He just holds out both his hands, palms up since he wasn’t given any further instructions.
Gary keeps his eyes on Billy’s hands as he grabs them—fucking christ, Gary’s hands are freezing—and manoeuvres them so Billy’s holding both of Gary’s hands, sandwiched between his warm palms as his fingers encapsulate to the best of their ability. The ice of Gary’s skin captivates him, and he has to refrain himself from rubbing his thumb over the delicate bones of Gary’s wrist. His own face feels flushed, but he thinks he can blame it on the game he just played.
Badum Badum Badum Badum Badum Badum Badum Badum
Billy wonders if Gary can feel his racing heart through his hands.
He doesn’t say anything, just stares at their hands despite the fact that he can tell Gary is looking at his face. He studies the difference in their skin colour, the way Gary has the sun woven in his flesh, tanning him and highlighting the moles and beauty marks on his skin. His own skin is pale and unmarked, a blank and easy slate for anyone, ready to be shaped and molded to fit whatever purpose he is meant to fill.
“You’ll meet your bein’-nice quota this way,” Gary suddenly says, voice warbly with his nerves. He clears his throat, and Billy glances up to take in his expression. There’s fear in his eyes and tension in his mouth, but he keeps eye contact, and it makes Billy want to use his loose grip on Gary’s hands to pull him closer, so they’re standing with no space between them, so he can study the tiny flecks of colour in Gary’s eyes.
“The quota,” Billy says, the words a test on his tongue. “I’ll meet it by keeping your hands warm?” He waits for Gary to pull away at the question, to say he’s not gay, to say he was just fucking around, to excuse everything, to blame it on being that cold.
Gary swallows hard instead. “You got a better idea? Or you just goin’ to let my fingers fall off?”
Billy slowly lifts their hands, giving time for Gary to pull away, but he doesn’t, and Billy feels his flesh-and-blood heart hammering against his metal-turned-bone ribcage. He raises their hands to his mouth, close enough that when he speaks, his warm breath fans over their fingers.
“Can’t have the photographer without his fingers,” he comments, eyes never leaving Gary’s face.
Gary doesn’t look away either. “It would be a bit of a problem, yeah,” he replies quietly.
Billy’s lips twitch up slightly.
* * * * * * *
5.
Click
The call hangs up.
Billy stares blankly at the wall opposite of him, his body numb to his surroundings. He can tell there’s idle chatter around him, the muffled voices of the mass of students in the dining hall, but it’s all senseless. His mind can’t latch on anything.
Mom’s not doing well.
He blinks rapidly, starting to think through logistics. He needs to email his professors and let them know he’ll miss class for a week. He needs to schedule a flight back home. He needs to pack a duffle bag. He needs to let the team know he’ll miss a few games.
They’ll ask questions, he realises. They’ll want to know why I can’t play. They won’t believe me if I say it’s nothing major. They know I’d never miss a game unless it was something major. They’ll ask. They’ll ask, and they’ll keep asking.
And I won’t be able to tell them.
Billy pockets his phone before running his hands through his hair, messing up the blond strands as he tries to organise his racing thoughts while staring at the floor. He’s got it under control. He has to have it under control. Mom’s not gone. She’ll see him, and she’ll keep fighting because he’s the perfect son and he’s been the perfect son and she can’t leave him behind, not when he’s built his entire life around being something worth fighting for.
Shoes enter his vision, and he snaps his head up, met with Gary’s face. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed together, and his mouth is subtly pulled into a frown. He’s not wearing his messenger bag, Billy notes. He must’ve left it at the lunch table.
“Stebbins?” Gary asks, voice not necessarily soft, but it’s quiet, meant just for his attention.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he says, keeping a tight control on his throat to prevent his voice from shaking. “You can go back.”
Gary doesn’t move. “You’ve been gone for twenty minutes.”
“Difficult case,” he replies automatically. “Lots of conflicting evidence. Trickiest murder in a long time.”
“Billy,” Gary says this time, and Billy stares at him, chest aching at hearing someone, anyone, Gary, use his first name. Gary’s eyes flicker over his face. “I know they’re not murder calls.”
“Obviously,” Billy says dryly, something thick and unpleasant in his chest. Maybe annoyance. No one actually believes they’re murder phone calls; that’s the joke. There’s safety in that joke. No one pushes when the bit is fun to keep continuing.
Gary’s never participated in the bit though. It won’t work here.
Gary presses his lips into a thin line, shifting his weight foot to foot. “I can’t read minds like you can,” he begins slowly. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Billy sucks on his teeth, trying to fight the numb feeling in his body. “I don’t read minds.”
“You get close. You get accurate. I can’t do that.”
Billy rips his gaze away. “Nothing’s wrong. You can go back to lunch, I’ll be there in a bit.”
Gary sighs, something breathy and nervous. “I know you’ll be back, but I’m— I don’t want to leave you here.”
Billy glares at Gary. “Leave, Gary. I said you can go.”
Gary stares back, grey-green eyes wide and searching. Hesitantly, slowly, he says, “I don’t think you want me to go.”
Billy clenches his jaw, eyes burning. He doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. Gary’s right, Billy doesn’t want him to go, but he can’t have that. His whole life, he’s mattered by being perfect. There’s nothing perfect about him right now. He’s a mess of ugly flesh and blood because the man standing in front of him turned his motors and gears into a heart, and he doesn’t know what to do with these organic parts.
Maybe he was never mechanical, but it was easier when he thought he was. When he believed he would never falter under pressure, never lose his ability to keep others moving. He stands here frozen, back against the wall, and the dog isn’t chasing him because this dog never did. He couldn’t even do that right.
“What are you thinkin’ right now?” Gary asks.
Don’t leave me. Don’t go. Don’t make me get back on the track and run another race I don’t get to win despite crossing over the finish line first. Don’t make me face my failures. Don’t make me admit that this flesh and blood is failing its purpose. Don’t make me wonder what the hell I’ve been doing for years, trying to save Mom when it was always going to end like this.
I don’t want to be alone.
Billy looks down at the ground, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to say any of it.”
He sees Gary’s shoes take a single step closer.
“I’d be willin’ to listen to you try.”
Billy huffs out a small breath, something that’s adjacent to a laugh but devoid of all the joy. “You’d be listening to me for hours.”
Gary is silent for a moment. “I’ve got four hours and twenty-three minutes.”
Billy looks up again, seeing Gary, with his nervous eyes and tense shoulders but open expression, stare back at him with something like determination, with stubbornness, with certainty.
Gary licks his lips and adds, “I’ve got more than that. I’ve got as long as you need. I’ve got until you hang up the phone first.”
Billy’s chest aches. He presses a hand to his face, his next inhale shaky, and he’s terrified at the way his eyes water, human and real and unrelenting. “I’m scared.” He can’t see Gary. That doesn’t help. He thought it would make things easier, but it doesn’t. He lowers his hand, stomach in knots over how he knows he’s putting his red-rimming eyes on display, but he stares at Gary and knows Gary won’t turn away. “My mom isn’t…” Billy swallows hard and blinks rapidly. “She isn’t okay. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Gary stares at him with pinched, downturned eyebrows, shoulders slumped at Billy’s words wash over him. There’s nothing he can say that’s going to make this better.
So he doesn’t say anything.
Gary just steps forward, and he wraps his arms around Billy tightly, skinny arms pulling him in with a surprising amount of strength. Billy doesn’t even get the chance to second guess himself. He brings his own arms up, wrapping tightly around Gary’s waist, having to bend down. Gary’s not warm, but he’s comforting, like a cooling balm against his overheating, crumbling form. His breath hitches, unable to remember the last time someone hugged him while he was standing up. Mom has only given him bedside hugs for the past few years.
He presses his nose into Gary’s neck, hiding from everything else around him, finding sanctuary in his cool skin and bleached hair. They don’t say a word, and Gary doesn’t loosen his grip, letting Billy breathe shakily against the scarred patch of his neck. Tears seep past his eyes, and while no cries physically pass his lips, it feels just as draining.
He knows he’s soaking Gary’s skin, Gary’s shirt.
Gary doesn’t move. Neither does Billy.
Badum Badum Badum
* * * * * * *
+1
“Fuck, it’s cold,” Gary sighs, shutting the driver door as he slumps in the driver’s seat of his honda civic. “I fuckin’ hate the cold.”
Billy’s lips twitch up in amusement. “You’re the one who wanted to do a night shoot.”
“I didn’t want to,” Gary corrects quickly, glaring lightly at Billy. He inserts the key into the car and starts the engine, and Billy knows it’s just to get the warm air on. “The other homework options were shit. This was essentially the only choice.”
Billy hums. “I didn’t realise you weren’t skilled enough to do shitty prompts.”
Gary barks out a laugh. “I know what you’re doin’.”
“I really thought you were the best photographer at school, but you were beaten by some homework prompts.”
Gary has a mean smile on his face as he turns the volume on, and Billy Joel’s voice lightly fills the car. “You don’t have the skill to know what makes a picture actually good. You’re so full of shit.”
Billy drums his fingers on the centre console. “Oh yeah? Let’s see your night pictures then. Let’s see if I can identify what makes a photo good.”
Gary huffs, picking up his camera from where it lies against his chest, hanging on by the strap. “You’re assumin’ it’s goin’ to be good.”
“I know it’s going to be good,” Billy says easily. “If you were capable of a bad photo, I would have seen it by now.”
A flush crawls across Gary’s cheeks. Billy wants to press his fingers to the apples of his cheeks and feel the warmth. “You still don’t know what makes a photo good and bad.”
“We’ll see about that,” Billy replies simply, turning on the interior car light.
Gary shakes his head, leaning in closer to Billy, as much as he can with the centre console dividing them. He starts clicking through the photos, displaying how Gary had been utilising street lamps and shop lights to capture Billy in the dark. Sometimes Gary used flash to create harsher images or to create more contrast. Gary talks about his thought process behind each significantly different shot, but Billy stops looking at the photos all together.
Billy stares at Gary’s side profile, soaking in his sunkissed skin and beauty marks, admiring the way his dark lashes rest against his cheeks every time he blinks, hypnotized by the way chapped pink lips form around each word he says, falling a bit in love with the way his hair curls around his ears—
And then Gary looks over at Billy, an easy smile on his face that quickly turns into surprise at seeing Billy already staring at him. His eyebrows furrow, glancing between his camera and Billy. “What?” he asks, nervous.
You’re beautiful, Billy thinks, studying the subtle rings of colour in Gary’s eyes. I wish you knew how my heart races when I’m around you. I wish you knew that I think about you more than I should. I wish you knew how brave you are, how kind you are, how perceptive and insightful and creative and brilliant you are. I wish you knew everything.
I wish I could say everything.
Billy doesn’t.
Instead, he leans forward, head tilted slightly to the side to press his mouth to Gary’s, a firm press of warmth that has his face prickling with a hot blush. He feels more than he hears Gary gasp against his lips, and Billy quickly pulls back a few inches, fingers digging into the leather of the centre console.
Gary stares at him with wide eyes, his face blooming red as his lips part with quick puffs of breath, chest rising and falling with his shock. Billy can only stare back, dread filling his stomach at how he slipped up. He’s been so careful to not touch Gary, to give him space and room and freedom, and here he went, getting caught up by the beating of his heart, still unused to its longing rhythm.
“I’m sorry,” Billy says at the same time that Gary asks, “Why did you pull away?”
Billy’s eyebrows raise, and Gary turns his face away, the blush spreading further across his skin. He brings up a hand to his neck, scratching at the perpetually red skin there, digging in enough that he might draw blood.
Billy’s seen Ray and Collie and Richard grab Gary’s hand to pull it away from his neck, and he flinches every time. Billy’s already crossed a line today, but he doesn’t want to cross anymore, yet he can’t sit here while Gary mutilates himself.
He reaches over, sliding his hand between Gary’s neck and Gary’s hand so he can’t get to that patch of skin. Gary looks over at him, eyes wide and doe-like, and he slowly lowers his hand to instead grip Billy’s wrist, not pulling his hand away but merely resting there.
Billy tries to keep his breathing even while his lips tingle and his hand buzzes. “I should have asked before doing that,” he says quietly, eyes flickering to Gary’s lips before returning to his eyes.
Gary’s chest rises and falls quickly still, all nerves and anxiety and energy, like lightning in a bottle unable to sit still. He licks his lips. “Then ask,” he rasps out, voice crackling around the words.
Billy feels dizzy.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and he can’t stop the way his voice trembles with the words, but he also doesn’t care, not when Gary’s pupils are blown wide and his grip tightens on Billy’s wrist minutely.
“Please,” Gary whispers, and Billy could laugh. He thinks of all the times he told Gary to ask nicely, to say please, and Gary snarked and sassed back, but here he is, asking nicely without any prompting.
He could laugh, but he doesn’t. He leans forward, pressing their mouths together again.
Gary’s grip tightens on his wrist, and Billy can feel Gary’s nervous breaths that fan out from his nose across Billy’s top lip. The angle isn’t great, so Billy uses the hand that’s on Gary’s neck to trail it to his jaw and tilt his head the right way. Gary goes so easily that Billy has to be mindful not to dig his fingers into his skin from the sheer desire that washes over him.
Gary’s clumsy and anxious, never quite knowing how to move his lips, how to breathe, how to relax. It’s endearing; it drives Billy crazy. Billy lets his hand fall back to his neck, brushing his thumb over that scarred patch of skin, and Gary shudders against him, a choked sound escaping his throat, like he tried to bite it back and couldn’t manage it.
Billy has to pull back at that, but he doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against Gary’s, their breaths fanning over each other’s face. Billy Joel’s This Night fills the space between, and Billy keeps rubbing his thumb over the scarred bit on Gary’s neck while Gary keeps his death grip on Billy’s wrist like he doesn’t want him to move his hand.
Billy’s eyes open, winded by the vision before him. Gary’s eyes are closed, lips parted as he pants, but there’s a small smile pulling on his lips, a subconscious thing that he’s probably not even aware of. Billy carefully brings a hand up, brushing it through Gary’s hair and cupping his ear. Gary’s eyes flutter open, staring Billy with intense eyes.
“You’re beautiful,” Billy says, the words he’d been thinking of since October finally falling from his lips.
Gary laughs something choked and emotional. “That’s so fuckin’ gay.”
Billy grins, pulling Gary back in, but Gary’s giggling too much and Billy can’t stop smiling against his mouth. It’s too much teeth and too many breaths and it’s perfect. The giddiness passes enough that Billy can properly kiss the other, but the joy stays warm in his chest, fuelling the frantic rhythm pressing against his ribs.
“Relax,” he mumbles into Gary’s mouth, and Gary’s body immediately loses its tension, like the bleach blond wasn’t aware of how tightly he was holding his body. Gary’s hand trails up Billy’s wrist to his forearm along his bicep across his shoulder and around his neck until it lands in the short strands at the base of his skull. He groans when Gary grips the blond locks, and he leans further over the console to deepen the kiss.
Gary follows his lead the whole time, tilting his head when Billy does, shuddering with each loud click from their mouths. Gary’s free hand grips the fabric of Billy’s shirt, and this fucking console is digging into his stomach, making it impossible to get closer.
Billy pulls back, asking, “How do I push the seat back.”
“Fuck,” Gary replies smartly, dropping his forehead to Billy’s shoulder. Billy kisses his brown roots. “Under the chair, press up on the lever. It falls back.”
Billy pulls away enough to reach a hand under the passenger seat, finding a lever and pushing up so the seat immediately pushes back. He reaches back to Gary, hands finding his waist to start helping him across the console. “C’mere,” he pleads even as Gary is already moving eagerly.
Gary bumps his head on the roof of the car and his leg gets caught climbing across, but Gary is giggling all high pitched and manic, and Billy’s grinning too, helping placing a hand on the top of Gary's head so it doesn’t hurt when he bumps his head again. Finally, he’s seated on Billy’s thighs, legs spread on either side of Billy’s hips, and the photographer is much taller like this.
Billy feels reverent as he gazes up at Gary’s smiling face.
“This okay?” he asks, pulling his hands away from Gary’s hips like he suddenly realises that he’s touching Gary in ways he might not be okay with.
“You’re askin’ me that now?” Gary huffs, anxious and pleased. He grabs Billy’s hands, placing one back on his waist and putting the other back on his neck where he has that patch of scratched skin.
Billy shrugs weakly, unable to tear his eyes away from Gary’s face. “I’ll keep asking in case you change your mind. It’s okay if you do.”
Gary leans down, his nose brushing against Billy’s. “I’m not changin’ my mind. You changin’ yours?”
“No,” Billy replies breathlessly, like Gary has stolen all of the air from his lungs.
Gary smiles, still shy but electrified and honest. “Then I think you should kiss me again,” he whispers, voice shaking, and Billy just knows how much courage it takes Gary to make that request at all.
He takes Gary’s hand, pressing it against the pulse point of his neck so Gary can feel how his heart is frantically beating in his chest. “You did this to me,” he mumbles before leaning up to kiss Gary again, lips buzzing with the contact.
Gary kisses back, messy and inexperienced and so eager that it makes Billy ache. Gary’s index and middle finger dig in just a bit more, feeling the proof of a beating heart rather than motors and gears.
Badum Badum Badum