Re: Comic Book Heroes: Alex/Holly/Billy
The kid’s hand felt like ice in Billy’s grasp even with the layer of a sweater’s cuff between them, with barely any of their skin touching in the shake. He got the sudden urge to push up the fabric of those sleeves and take both of Alex’s hands in his own to warm them up, some serious Bubbe energy apparently flowing in his veins between this and worrying about the kid being too skinny. If Billy found himself bringing over some matzo soup, he was going to have to get some lace doilies to decorate with, and a pair of those glasses that hung on beaded chains. Maybe a white apron to wear while he pinched cheeks.
Obviously, he didn’t reach out to touch Alex again after the shake ended, despite his concern. Boundaries, Billy. You remember, that thing normal people have, supposedly. Instead he eyed the swiftness with which Holly hid away his dog tags and followed the trajectory across to where Alex had made his way over to the hold shelves. His smile tucked in at one side of his mouth when Holly listed off a couple of his requests, his approval evident. And then, conversely, he put a lot of effort into not balking when he heard the suggestion of a smirk in the guy’s voice, even as Billy turned back to glance up at him with a blink of surprise. (And up; he was almost as tall as Tandy. What was with the giants in this town?) A good-natured Holly was a foreign concept, alright? The most that Billy’d ever gotten out of him was a few grunts of acknowledgement and the occasional glare if he happened to be lounging around anywhere near Noah in the shop when Holly came home.
His gaze flicked back to Alex when he heard Tandy’s name, and his eyes brightened. “Ooh, did Tandy reserve anything?” He glanced towards the shelves as if he’d be able to read the handwritten tags from here, squinting and leaning a little further over the counter by standing up on the toes of his boots. After their conversation about their favourite artists, Billy was super curious about what Tandy might want from the shop.
“Yeah, I heard that too,” he nodded, with an excited glimmer of recognition. He reached out and slid the issue closer with reverence, gazing down at the cover art drawn in stark black and gloomy grey-blues. The tip of one index finger reached out to trace over the red lettering along the top, and then the outline of the man who was falling through nothingness with a look of the utmost terror writ on his face. “I figured it was only a matter of time, with how crazy-huge they got as soon as it came out. And after The Walking Dead, people know that Kirkman’s shit can sell on screen. I just hope they do it justice, right?” He looked up, expression expectant that Alex would empathize with the plight of the money-hungry studios wreaking havoc on source material that they did not deserve.