Bill didn't much like being told what to do. Maybe it was because he was the first of seven and he'd spent his life following instructions, chasing his brothers, cleaning up, being in charge and being responsible. But he didn't like some guy telling him to stop doing something. It had been a long time since someone rubbed him the wrong way and his nostrils flared, his fingers resting on his wand for a long beat before he ran his hands through his hair instead. What was he going to do? Hex some poor muggle for being an arse? Hardly. The moment passed and with it the flair of irritation.
Eddie was mad, about what exactly he was starting to think no one knew. Which made it easier to relate, to see the fear there and meet it with a little empathy.
And there it was, blurted out and hanging between them. Eddie wanted something better for the person he loved. Better like what he thought he saw in Bill, with his jokes and experience and whatever else he thought that he was. "Oh sugar," Bill said softly on an exhale.
He appreciated the apology and he nodded, happy to shrug that off. Maybe one day they'd talk about blood politics and Eddie would be really sorry. Or not. Hopefully not. "Well look at that, we're both sorry, that seems like a pretty good place to be. Says we care about how each other feel, I like that," Bill said kindly. But Eddie still kind of looked like someone falling apart on him, a rush of words and feelings the man himself probably didn't understand yet. These middle aged teenagers had it rough.
"We don't get to decide for people what they deserve, or what they should have. He's your person, show him the respect he deserves and trust him to make his own choices about that," Bill said gently. "Sometimes people see in us what we can be, not what we are."