Come on now, California, give me a little credit. We both know I'm too smart to do a stupid thing like pity you.
[ He slides closer. Not... entirely sure how to handle this. His other friends are different. Less afraid of physical affection. Less afraid to cry in the face of something as horrible as their own death, losing all their autonomy.
He thinks maybe, just maybe, he could tell the story of Kas the Bloodyhanded. Slide a book his way. Give him something other than reality to escape into.
So he does the only thing he can think to: he springs on him, nearly toppling them over in the process. Locking long, lanky arms around him and holding tight. Fully expecting to be fucking decked for his efforts. ]
[He should deck him. Billy freezes in place, all his joints locking while his eyes go wide for a moment with a wild kind of fury. His breath stutters, comes out ragged as his fingers flex into a fist.
He should throw him off. Lash out. Scream, howl, but Eddie’s chest is warm against his own, his arms feel grounding, somehow. His hair smells faintly of shampoo and mostly weed, and Billy feels a wild surge of something he thinks is hatred, but -
But his arms move slow, then his hands are clinging to the back of Eddie’s jacket-shirt-whatever. His nose is somewhere on his shoulder, and Billy thinks he might be shaking. He thinks he might be crying.
The last time someone hugged him had been a million years ago, tucked away in a California home with his Spider-Man sheets. It was his mothers hands stroking his hair, kissing his face, her arms so tight that Billy thought he’d never leave them. Then she’d left, and no one has hugged him since, realises. Not a single person, except Eddie fucking Munson.]
[ Eddie Munson collects strays. He's not sure when that became something he did - maybe before he moved in with Uncle Wayne, maybe after. Only that one day he'd blinked and he was no longer the only freak in Hawkins, he had a whole merry band of outcasts and suddenly he had a purpose to temper the old Munson anger.
He'd deserve the hit if it came, and he knows it. They barely knew each other in Hawkins, and they barely know each other here. Little connects them saved for shared secrets they buried deep beneath their feet to be spared the fury of small town small mindedness, a love for a boy with a sweet smile, and a grim fate that they weren't quick enough to alter.
So he just holds him. Rubbing his back and murmuring softly every now and again, little reassurances he remembers his uncle giving way back when all this was new to him too. And he'll keep holding until he's pushed back, miming zipped lips before any threat can even be uttered. ]
[In some ways it feels like a relief to be seen. He’s spent so long stuffing all his weaknesses down; all the things that made him warm and kind, the things his mother gave him all locked away. You can’t be hurt if you’re angry, except that had been a lie. Being hurt makes you angry, he guesses.
When he’s disentangled he feels colder. He feels a little wrecked, like he’s just committed a horrible sin, something so terrible that he’ll have no choice but to wrap his fingers around Eddie’s throat and squeeze until he cries too.
But Eddie zips his lip, and Billy’s face is damp, and he doesn’t want to hurt him. So he nods, gets and stumbles to the kitchen. Runs the cold tap and wets his face until the cold shock has soothed his face. Until he stops shaking. All he can say, really, is a soft, quiet:] Thanks.
[ Though there's no need to thank him, saying that won't be a comfort. Not when something as simple as basic human decency is so foreign to him it reduces him to tears.
He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket, lights it. Goes quiet as he thinks about what to say and how he wants to say it. ]
[He's hunched over the sink for a moment, letting his face and front curls drip into while he steadies his breathing. In, out, in, out. His head started buzzing somewhere between thanks and you're welcome - it might be the weed.
He grabs a dishtowel - new, microfibre - and dabs his face, turns around and leans back against the sink and shrugs. ] Been known to, sometimes.
[Not just the porn magazines, or the class textbooks he skimmed to graduate. ]
No, because then you'll never fucking do it. [ he blows a smoke ring, grinning lazily. ] I'm sharing the shit I like with you. Common interests. Friendship.
And in exchange you can haul my ass to the gym once in a blue moon.
[He's lighter with the proposition of a project, bouncing on his feet as he steps away from the sink and crosses back over to the couch. He grabs Eddie's hand, grins wide - ] Pain is gain, baby, [and it's hard to say if that's a promise or a threat, but whatever. He will give this boy MUSCLE. STAMINA.
It's a bit of emotional whiplash, obviously. One extreme to this. Still, it's better than crying on Eddie's shoulder. ]
[He sits back, goes back to his comfortable sprawl, all thigh and head tilted back. Maybe he feels better. Maybe. ] I should be saying that you. How's your squat game with that prosthetic?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ He slides closer. Not... entirely sure how to handle this. His other friends are different. Less afraid of physical affection. Less afraid to cry in the face of something as horrible as their own death, losing all their autonomy.
He thinks maybe, just maybe, he could tell the story of Kas the Bloodyhanded. Slide a book his way. Give him something other than reality to escape into.
So he does the only thing he can think to: he springs on him, nearly toppling them over in the process. Locking long, lanky arms around him and holding tight. Fully expecting to be fucking decked for his efforts. ]
You're alright, man.
no subject
He should throw him off. Lash out. Scream, howl, but Eddie’s chest is warm against his own, his arms feel grounding, somehow. His hair smells faintly of shampoo and mostly weed, and Billy feels a wild surge of something he thinks is hatred, but -
But his arms move slow, then his hands are clinging to the back of Eddie’s jacket-shirt-whatever. His nose is somewhere on his shoulder, and Billy thinks he might be shaking. He thinks he might be crying.
The last time someone hugged him had been a million years ago, tucked away in a California home with his Spider-Man sheets. It was his mothers hands stroking his hair, kissing his face, her arms so tight that Billy thought he’d never leave them. Then she’d left, and no one has hugged him since, realises. Not a single person, except Eddie fucking Munson.]
no subject
He'd deserve the hit if it came, and he knows it. They barely knew each other in Hawkins, and they barely know each other here. Little connects them saved for shared secrets they buried deep beneath their feet to be spared the fury of small town small mindedness, a love for a boy with a sweet smile, and a grim fate that they weren't quick enough to alter.
So he just holds him. Rubbing his back and murmuring softly every now and again, little reassurances he remembers his uncle giving way back when all this was new to him too. And he'll keep holding until he's pushed back, miming zipped lips before any threat can even be uttered. ]
no subject
When he’s disentangled he feels colder. He feels a little wrecked, like he’s just committed a horrible sin, something so terrible that he’ll have no choice but to wrap his fingers around Eddie’s throat and squeeze until he cries too.
But Eddie zips his lip, and Billy’s face is damp, and he doesn’t want to hurt him. So he nods, gets and stumbles to the kitchen. Runs the cold tap and wets his face until the cold shock has soothed his face. Until he stops shaking. All he can say, really, is a soft, quiet:] Thanks.
[He can’t bear to turn around though. ]
no subject
[ Though there's no need to thank him, saying that won't be a comfort. Not when something as simple as basic human decency is so foreign to him it reduces him to tears.
He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket, lights it. Goes quiet as he thinks about what to say and how he wants to say it. ]
You read much, Hargrove?
no subject
He grabs a dishtowel - new, microfibre - and dabs his face, turns around and leans back against the sink and shrugs. ] Been known to, sometimes.
[Not just the porn magazines, or the class textbooks he skimmed to graduate. ]
no subject
[ he folds both hands behind its head. ]
no subject
[Eddie ?? No?? ]
no subject
And in exchange you can haul my ass to the gym once in a blue moon.
no subject
[HOWEVER, however -] You serious?
no subject
[ he shrugs, flicking ash. ]
If we're going to be fighting monsters I should probably start leveling up my physical stats.
no subject
[ :) :)]
no subject
I am gonna regret thiiiiis.
no subject
It's a bit of emotional whiplash, obviously. One extreme to this. Still, it's better than crying on Eddie's shoulder. ]
no subject
[ but they shake, firm. ]
And don't go trying to cheat. I'll know if you tried to watch the movie instead.
no subject
[It's a competitive thing, Eddie. Use it to your advantage. ]
no subject
[ he smiles, big and broad. ]
I'll put you through your paces.
no subject
[He sits back, goes back to his comfortable sprawl, all thigh and head tilted back. Maybe he feels better. Maybe. ] I should be saying that you. How's your squat game with that prosthetic?
no subject
Can't say I've been testing it.
no subject
[He's thinking. He knows sweet fuck all about amputation or recovery, but he figures some movements will hurt. Much to consider. ]
Does it hurt?
no subject
[ he takes another drag of his cigarette. ]
Moshing on it was not the smartest choice.
no subject
[He makes a little grabby hand for the cigarette. A little bratty, maybe. ]
When I first started working out I nearly killed myself with a barbell. Harrington'll kill me if I nearly kill you too.
no subject
[ handing it on over. ]
But he is in overprotective mode.
no subject
[get high. remove stick from butt. doesn't matter how bad he has it, it's a real sad sight to see.
he takes a draw, passes it back. ]
no subject
[ its adorable. in a tragic kind of way. ]
Once we get some answers he'll get settled.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)