Re: Carriage House: Atticus & Billy
It was still more of all of the ways that they were opposite poles in a magnetic field, these two figures sprawled on perpendicular sides of the coffee table in the little room. Billy was good with people whether they were strangers or not, had always been the sociable butterfly type to flit around and make friends wherever he landed, with an easy smile and a way about him that made other people comfortable. Non-threatening. But there was also an acute need for approval, to be liked. Therapy and years of analysis from his own mother had made him aware of this, but never lessened it any.
Billy narrowed his eyes astutely at Atticus’ lazy grin, trying and mostly failing to arrange his own expression into something more annoyed that amused. So he settled for grabbing a napkin to wipe most of the grease from his fingers before balling it up and tossing it ineffectively at the man’s head.
“Whatever,” he laughed, shaking his head because of course Atticus wasn’t wrong. He went for some of the rice and added it to his plate along with a scoop of the roe, thinking for a moment about the last time his dad had taken him out to their favourite sushi place. One of the last meals he’d had with anyone in his family before everything went to hell. He realized Atticus probably wouldn’t think he was such a nice kid if he knew the truth. “I think it would be a good thing, helping people. Maybe not law, since that’s not so realistic anymore. But something, sure. One day.”
He ate quietly for a couple minutes and listened to Atticus recitation, looking over at him once more with interest. That was a good one. Fitting, for Billy’s current lot. He thought about how lonely he was these days, finding some sick sort of solace in the men who visited his trailer, taking his only comfort in the contact of warm skin even when it was brief: the indifference of strangers. How he liked what he did also because it gave him that sense of control that he’d been missing for so long now, that thing he and Atticus had talked about once - autonomy. Billy thought about how he found small pieces of happiness in Destiny and Wyatt, and Wren’s kindness, and even Sunshine when she wasn’t being mean to him. Or in real food like this, an actual meal cooked by someone that Billy liked to think he could consider a friend.
He grabbed the wine again and topped up each of their glasses while Atticus talked, drawing both knees up towards his chest and resting folded arms on top of them with the wine glass held against the shelter of his sternum like a security blanket. “I know you said you weren’t a very good teacher because it wasn’t what you cared most about,” he said, thoughtful tilt to his head as he took another sip and felt the slow, unfurling warmth of alcohol that made him feel more steady under his skin - that made the magic feel less volatile. “But I think you were better than you give yourself credit for, probably.”