Purpose Was So Good!! I Love Your Writing Ahh You Write These Characters So Well

purpose was so good!! i love your writing ahh you write these characters so well 😭

ahh thank you love!

Hi! I'm back with another request and it is stu again(I'm sorry I'm in a phase rn) . In this request I was wondering if we could get Stu walking the reader from class to their locker, waiting for them at their locker, and then walking them to their next class. I know you've mentioned it before yk with Stu waiting for the reader and I'd just love to see the casual intimacy like in the last request (and also I hope you're feeling better after the break down you went through I'm not sure if this is a good time for request for you and if not thats so understandable I'm so sorry take your time, obviously if you do do this request I'd appreciate it but if you don't thats so okay i mainly sent this in bc you said you were in your Stu era and what kind of loyal reader would I be if I didn't indulge one of my favorite writers by tricking them into writing/talking about one of there current favorite characters :)

A/n hi, i'm feeling better now :)) i'm home so that always helps and done with school until close to late january so that definitely helps lol

also side note, i try to keep the appearance of the reader as vague as possible but at the beginning i do mention the reader having long enough hair to be tied back/up with a hair tie 

this took a minute but i hope it’s worth it!! 

----

You're practically bouncing on the balls of your feet once the bell rings, more akin to a little kid getting ready to run across the park than a student simply getting a few minutes to move from second period to third. It feels a little silly, especially when you intentionally keep your freshly graded test on top of your folder instead of tucking it away, but it's become a bit of a habit.

You'd think about breaking it if it wasn't for the fact that no one ever gives you a reaction quite like Stu. Sure, he's purposefully over the top, oversaturating his enthusiasm with his tone and teasing humor, but it's nice. Comforting in the way it never dwindles no matter how many things you bring up that you don't think anyone else would have the energy to even pretend to care about.

Out in the hallway, you adjust your hold on your math textbook and the plastic folder that's resting over it. Your head turns left, towards the row of lockers that he's always waiting near. Only, this time Stu's not there. Not looking through his actual locker or talking to Billy or Tatum or anyone. He's not there. At all.

You're more confused than you should be, it's not like Stu owes you his presence, but it is weird considering that this is the first time he's ever not been there since your tradition started. You frown, a little offended by his absence. Things with Stu are more intentional than he wants them to seem, a fact you picked up pretty quickly after meeting him, but something insecure within you twists at the thought that maybe he just forgot. Or decided he just didn't feel like it today.

Even though the hall is quickly flooding with teens, you crane your neck in the direction of Stu's second period. Stu has a tendency to stand out, too tall and too much of a force to blend in if one makes up their mind to look for him. It shouldn't be hard to--you bite your tongue to avoid yelping as some firm force settles on your upper hip.

You've heard too many stories, seen too many girls rant or tear up in the bathroom after some entitled guy thought it'd be funny to grab or grope under the guise of accidentally bumping into someone thanks to overcrowding. For a brief second, the contact feels pointed and wrong. You turn stiffly, eyes wide until they settle on a familiar grin.

Panic fading almost immediately, you exhale. "Stu."

When you don't melt , Stu drops his arms, offering you a halfhearted, "...Boo."

You roll your eyes, half stepping back. "You scared me."

“Should’ve been paying more attention,” he mumbles, expression slightly scolding. 

A retort about how you were just looking for him because he’s always waiting across the hall rises and dies on your tongue. There’s no normal way to explain that, and even if the fact that you were waiting for him wasn’t totally mortifying, your sure he’d find a way to tease you. One of those jokes about how he didn’t realize the two of you hadn’t gotten so serious and since when were you such a ball and chain? 

So instead of saying anything like that, you tilt your chin up, “You snuck up on me on purpose and we both know it.” 

“I’ll make it up to you later.” The suggestive wink earns him an eye roll. 

“Sure,” you mumble pointedly, “Guess what?” The question is rhetorical enough that you don’t even have to wait a full beat to answer, “We got our tests back!” 

You lift your paper, careful not to cover the red A+ circled on the first page. Stu’s mouth falls open briefly in a look that’s just a little too amazed for a reaction to a math exam. “Wow,” he takes the packet from you, leafing through it without taking it in fully, “This is some complex shit, too.” 

He sets the test back down over your folder before ruffling your hair in a way that’s nearly too affectionate, harsh enough to make your head move at an angle that strains your neck. “Harvard bound.” 

You brush him off with a barely contained smile, softly pushing against his hands before attempting to smooth out the mess he made. “Okay--knock it off, I actually liked how my hair looked today.”  

“It’s not fair that you’re the smartest person in the room and the prettiest.” The blatant compliments without their usual layers of implication and subtle-not-so-subtle innuendos are enough to get you to pause. 

Stu briefly squeezes you to him before taking the textbook from your hands. It’s easy to let go now that the habit’s been established. You rarely carry anything in between classes anymore, Stu either making up a silly excuse to take your textbooks or doing so silently. "Someone’s too smart to carry things.” He forces mock irritation into his voice. 

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” It’s half accusing, but you make no move to take your books back. 

“Uh-huh,” he hums dismissively, “Whatever you say, smarty.” 

----

You can’t remember the last time Stu’s house felt so hot, maybe it has to do with how overly humid the outside world is today, but you’re struggling to feel fully comfortable despite your contentment.

Stu’s talking, reiterating everything wrong with some low budget horror film he stumbled onto last night. You’re listening a little less than you’d like to and you honestly feel bad about it, but you can’t help the way the heat on the back of your neck distracts you. 

Billy sits up a little more, “I’m not surprised, your movie instincts are awful.” It sounds like the start of one of their debates that are better off without your interference, and you’re okay with that. This week has been long and this is the first moment that’s allowed you to really breathe. You don’t mind absorbing that for a second and just taking in their presence and the easiness it brings you. 

“They’re not worse than yours.” 

“Even Y/n picks better.” 

Something about the way Billy’s eyes focus on you makes you feel like it’s a genuine attempt on Billy’s part to bring you in a little more. Even though you don’t feel insulted, you still sit up a little more, “Thanks.” 

“Ouch, man.” The fact that Stu’s basically dropping the argument in order to add to the jab at your taste is enough to get you to turn your head. 

You glare, shoving his shoulder. “My taste is not bad.” They exchange a look that has you feeling like you’re on the outs of some joke. “You guys are the worst, I have no idea why I hang out with you.” 

“’Cause you love us.” Stu nudges his foot against yours, bumping your knees in the process. 

The additional closeness reminds you of the warmth of the room. To avoid crossing your arms or doing anything that would get them to accuse you of pouting, you begin to pull your hair away from your neck. The hair tie against your wrist smacks against your skin. Loud and stinging a little too noticeably. It’s not painful, but surprising enough to make you drop your hair. “Stu.” 

He ignores the harshness of your voice, instead choosing to chase after your wrist with one hand. “Give it.” There’s something about the way he says it that stands out to you. It’s reminiscent of a child noticing a brand new toy and instantly deciding that they want it. 

Before you realize what he’s asking for, Stu pulls the hair tie off of you and takes a second to stretch it between his fingers. What he’s trying to do finally sinks in when Stu slides the band up his wrist. You’re not in the mood to redefine how tender scalped you consider yourself to be, but there’s no way to say that in a way that won’t make Stu moody. 

“Turn.” It’s a command so gentle you listen instinctually despite your reservations.

You barely have a second to adjust before Stu’s pushing your hair back. “Are you--” His touch is surprisingly focused, not tugging on the strands in the way you’d expect him to. “Are you putting my hair up?” 

“Yep,” he pops the ‘p’ casually, like there’s nothing weird about this. 

He drags his palms against the top of your scalp a little clumsily. It’s not that weird. Not really, you decide, just different. Any type of ponytail or loose bun would have never taken you this long and it’s clear that Stu doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but it doesn’t hurt. He’s being restrained, gentle.

“You’re letting him do your hair?” 

You shrug at Billy’s comment, feeling a little awkward as Stu finally reaches your scalp. “The good thing about hair is that it always grows back.” Stu tugs at your hair pointedly. “Ouch.” 

"Rude.” 

“Billy started it.”

Billy half scoffs. “Just asked a question.” 

A pointed question. You’re about to point that out, but then you hear the tell tale snap of a hair tie being pulled off of a wrist. Stu twists it around your hair carefully and you ease. He lingers, fingertips brushing against your neck before releasing you.

You tilt your head slightly, surprised at how well your hair is pulled off your neck. Not tight enough to feel pulled or like the start of a headache but not loose enough to be annoying. Even though there was some hesitance, he did a lot better than you thought he would. Better than most boys would have done. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have assumed he had never done anything like this before. You know about his older sister, and while she’s a sore subject now, maybe there was a time when she wasn’t. And even if that’s a stretch, Stu’s a total flirt that’s been circling around a relationship with Tatum for a minute now. 

 Your fingers brush against the end of your hair. “You did good.” 

“Give me some credit, babydoll.” You wrinkle your nose at that and Stu grins. “I’ve had a lot of practice. When a girl gives he--” 

“Ew.” And just like that, the moment ends. “You’re gross, I hope you know that.” 

“He knows,” Billy mumbles, tone extra casual to compensate for his slight smile, “Gets off on it, too.” 

You snort, an ungracefully sharp laugh as you sink further into the couch. Stu lets out a sound of protest, shooting a glare in Billy’s direction. “Fuck off.” You laugh again. “Both of you.”

Stu scoots away from you. With a sigh, you reach forward. He plays up his pain for a second but eventually relents, letting you tug his hand into the space between you two. 

---- 

It’s twisting--the world, your mind, the blank spot of the wall you’re tying to focus on. All of it. Swirling at a rate that’s practically nauseating as emotions you can’t fully label in your current state spur on the feelings. They’re a fog, disorientating and complicated. You don’t want to figure out each hue of your feelings so you label them under one umbrella: bad. 

You take a breath that’s meant to settle you, but it does the opposite. Your unsteadiness leaves you instinctually wanting to reach over, to grab Stu’s arm and stabilize yourself. But he’s standing there with that same illegible, yet clearly irritated expression. You’re not sure if it’s the beer on an empty stomach or what happened five minutes ago or the silence, but the yellowish tinge of the bathroom’s light adds something to Stu’s features. Something bordering on eerie. 

Part of you wants to speak, the rest of you feels like the best thing you can do is just keep standing there. You’re not convinced that Stu’s anger is fully directed at the third party. He’s at the very least annoyed at you. 

Leave it to Stu to think that you’re taking the side of the guy that kept hitting on you despite how visibly uncomfortable you got just because you didn’t want things escalating. It wasn’t worth it. Was the guy an annoying asshole? Yes. But you had it under control and Sidney and Tatum were right there. It wasn’t exactly dire. 

The quiet is ebbing at your patience. There’s probably some perfect thing to say to shatter the tension, but you can’t think of anything clever or tactful and the last thing you can handle right now is a fight. Your mind tunes into the music that’s softened by the closed space. The thumping base is both terrible and familiar. “I hate this song.” 

Stu blinks, gaze shifting towards you. He doesn’t quite ease, but he lets out a breath that could be considered a form of lighthearted acknowledgment. You’ll take it. “Last one was worse.” 

You let yourself smile. “Definitely competition.”

He pretends to gasp. “No argument,” he shoots his reply back so quickly you nearly get whiplash, “Color me shocked.” 

The theatrics do little to take away from the lethal levels of aggression pressed into his words. That did seem too easy. “I--I didn’t--” You don’t want to explain. You shouldn’t even need to. You were keeping his ass out of trouble. “I just didn’t want you to get in trouble. It wasn’t worth it.” He’s silent for a second, which you can’t make your mind up about. “He wasn’t worth it.” 

Stu scoffs, pushing himself away from the wall. “You’re defending hi--” 

“I am not.” Ugh. Can he not hear you? If there’s anyone in this situation that you’re trying to defend, to protect it’s Stu. You try to swallow, but your throat still feels overly dry. 

“You heard the shit he said about you.” 

Okay, speaking calmly is not working. “I don’t care about the shit he said about me, I care about you.” The blowup immediately fills you with regret. “It wasn’t that big a deal. You’ve said worse while we were literally in class.” 

Stu straightens in a way that makes his full height unignorable. You doubt that it’s intentional--he can’t help that he’s objectively tall, but noticing it now...And the way he’s looking a little beyond you with a hardened stare that feels more sober than it did a second ago. “The way he was looking at you and then he grabbed your arm.” Stu’s voice changes with no warning, taking a dark edge that nearly startles you. 

You blink, biting your tongue to keep from admitting that you had barely noticed. That sounds like purposefully playing oblivious, but it’s true. You had hardly looked at the guy until his clammy fingers were around your forearm. That had been scary. Even Sidney and Tatum had reacted. “Thanks for getting him off of me, by the way.” It feels awkward, but saying it takes a weight off of your check. “Even though the weird, testosterone match the two of you had after was totally unnecessary, it was nice of you.” 

Stu tilts his head, taking in your inability to look him in the eye. A flash of genuine shyness despite what you’ve had to drink. He can imagine your thoughts, the running of different words together to make sure you don’t say anything that he could turn into something embarrassing. It’s cute. You’re all fidgety and still a little tipsy. A rush of fondness strikes him with no warning. It’s dangerous, distracting when paired with the little alcohol he did let himself drink. 

It’s too much and he’s not used to it. The feelings are a web and his mind tangles around all he could say. A mix of the obscene kind of jokes that always make you role your eyes fondly and genuine comments that all burn down to the same, general meaning: “I’d kill for you.” 

Great. The words come out at the exact second Stu recognizes the truthfulness of it. He scrambles for some kind of joke he could make to change the subject before you can think about it too much. The more you know, the more at risk you are. And this is the exact kind of slip up Billy always gives him shit about. 

You smile, either unaware of the intensity behind his words or just choosing to ignore it. “Then it’s a good thing I wouldn’t ask you to. You’re too pretty for jail.” 

Your casual acceptance makes it easy. Stu lets himself smile for just a second before letting his mouth fall open in mock hurt. “I wouldn’t get caught, babe. I’m slasher material.” You raise your eyebrows in a silent challenge. “And you’ve seen these guns.” He flexes one arm, waiting for your attention to settle on that before reaching for you with his still free hand. Your yelp is more of a laugh than anything else. “I’d be fine.” 

Stu pulls you away from the bathroom door and towards his chest. You halfheartedly fight against him, twisting your wrist back in a way that’d be more efficient if it wasn’t for your laughter. “Stu.” 

“What?” You push back, Stu’s fingers tighten just slightly. “Just proving my point, sweetheart.” Another laugh as his first hand finds your waist. “Practicing what I preach.” 

After a second of play fighting, Stu gets you close enough that there’s no point in resisting. It’s somehow farther and closer than a hug, especially when Stu angles his head downwards. 

You like the closeness more than you should. It makes your head feel too jittery, but the rest of you so warm you almost don’t mind the awful music. “This party sucks.” Stu’s eyes focus on the slight pout of your lips. “Want to go and watch a movie or something and then pretend that we stayed here until later so Billy never has to know that he was right about how much this party would suck?”  

Stu tugs on your arm, placing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Trying to get me back to your place?” You bite your tongue to avoid giggling again. The last thing he needs is encouragement. “Trying to take advantage of me? Because I promise you won’t have to work that hard at it.” 

You roll your eyes, half debating pulling away. “I’m taking back my offer.” 

“Hey--no take backs,” he squeezes your arm slightly and you resist for the sake of it, “C’mon, I’ll let you pick the movie if you sleepover.”

The offer surprises you as much as it doesn’t. Stu invites you more and more the longer his parents are out of town. He never says it, but you feel like it’s his way of keeping people around, reducing the quiet in his almost perpetually empty house. 

“Deal.” 

First Rule

A/n this is my first time writing for The Last of Us and for Joel Miller and i have not played the game!! i’ve only watched the show so far (might have to watch someone playing it on youtube or something to know what happens next sooner 😭) so if the characters feel a little off i’m sorry!! 

writing new characters and finding their voice/securing their vibe is a process :)) 

Summary: Literally just a drabble, i debated making it longer but bc it was so impulsive i didn’t want it to get lost in the drafts and it’s pretty late rn,, i have a clear idea for a part 2 bc it was going to be longer (part 2 is the only way the title makes sense 😭) so if you’d be interested in that let me know :)) feedback sustains me 

this is basically just reader meeting joel and it’s set after the pandemic/outbreak 

----

It’s hard to watch. The stranger did everything right enough to get by until he didn’t. Not to say that his operation was flawless, you picked up on it almost instantly, but in his defense, you know how to look. It’s as much a skill as the ability to turn a blind eye, only a lot less evolutionarily appropriate. 

Because seeing often leads to thinking (or, in your case, not thinking), which leads to doing, which usually leads to the worst result of all--involvement. 

So now you’re here, watching someone that’s likely a smuggler doing their best to act like they’re anything else while dealing with a FEDRA officer. You know better than most that FEDRA’s iron exterior is a poorly constructed allusion. Some like catching smugglers because of the promise of a bribe. Hell, you know some of them are regular customers. 

But the man you don’t know is tense, rigid in his steady stance. And the officer’s uniform is too polished, too new and ready to be stained in blood. He’s untrustworthy. 

This has nothing to do with you. The two men are in their own standoff, and you’re tucked away between two buildings, You could disappear further into the shadows, or you could just walk forward, onto the street behind them. You’re not used to being in a situation in which you really haven’t done anything wrong. Nothing to lie or feel cagey about. 

You’re untethered. 

With a low sigh, you give into the itch that you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist by reaching into your bag’s front pocket. The contraption feels small between your fingers, perfect for the type of distraction you’re going for. A dramatic person would call it an explosive; you like to think of it as a small set up of gun powder and a few other things. A glorified version of those snap things children used to throw at each other’s feet on Fourth of July. 

You twist your body, bending your knees slightly before heaving the small cylinder over your head and far to the right. You duck down before it makes contact. The bang is effective. A sharp, crackling boom that makes your body tense.

The officer snaps his head back, looking above you. You can practically feel his thoughts. Your opinion on the Fireflies are pretty set in stone, but you can’t complain about the cover they’ve provided. Every crack, pop, and boom has anyone with authority abandoning whatever they’re doing in a second. And it’s not like you’re a monster about it. You don’t take the easy way out if you think there’s any chance that it’ll hurt someone. 

After a second of weighing their options, the FEDRA officer turns sharply and runs off. You hear his footsteps disappear somewhere away from you, but you still hesitate to stand straight again. A minute passes and you decide you’re safe enough to move. You walk forward slowly, planning on running in the opposite direction of the man. 

You’re out just enough to round the corner before it happens. One second you’re walking, stepping forward like normal, and the next there’s a hard touch on your arm and the wall shifts to from beside you to against your back. You thrash instinctually, stepping on the man’s foot hard enough to bruise. He curses under his breath and pushes you a little harder. 

“What--” A voice that’s cutting in its irritated indifference. “What was that?” 

Mind running a mile a minute, you struggle to form a sentence. You didn’t think you’d have to talk to him. It was a good dead. A hushed fuck you to one of those asshole officers. 

The man pauses long enough to take you in. You imagine he doesn’t see much, because blending in and seeming harmless enough is what you know. And you’re not much--not now, cursing your recklessness and just standing there with wide eyes. His hold doesn’t exactly loosen, but his touch on your arm becomes less intense. Less demanding. 

You push your back against the wall firmly and he lets you. It’s a small shift that makes no real difference, but it’s space, it’s the illusion of independence. Your eyes flit forward, meeting his. There’s a sharp crease between his eyebrows and an unforgiving focus behind his dark eyes. His features are amplified by an ingrained tiredness, but that doesn’t take away from his attractiveness. 

Wow--okay, that last thought is enough to scare you out of your analysis. You tilt your chin downwards, snapping yourself out of whatever manipulative trance was. The man notices the subtle motion and drops his arm but makes no move to step away. It’s clear that you’re still caged in. 

“You with the Fireflies?” The shake of your head is instinctual. “So you just have bombs you like throwi--” 

“No,” It’s too defensive and you shrug within your limited space. “And that thing wasn’t a bomb. It had less gunpowder than a firework and less than a tablespoon of silver fulminate and even less ammonium nitrate.” 

The explanation feels awkward and you have no idea why. It’s a fair explanation. He takes in the information and waits a beat before replying, “Why did you have a bomb?” 

A correction bubbles in your chest--not a bomb. The distinction matters to you more than it should, but something about the gruffness in his voice feels more like an accusation than a question. 

“Y’know I did a nice thing when I saved your ass from getting busted. A reasonable person would have just accepted that and not asked any questions.” You frown, the amount of allotted kindness in your body suddenly running low. “Actually a reasonable person would offer me a cut of whatever they’re smuggling or what they’re getting for it.” 

Your statement is relatively bold. You don’t know this man, you don’t know if he’ll perceive what’s meant to be a sad attempt at a deterrent as a threat. But something in you tells you that you’re still on steady ground. That this stranger knows when there’s an actual fight. 

It works, the man’s posture straightens in what you assume is his version of a bristle. Though small, the motion creates enough space for you to narrowly slip past him. 

You’re free now. Free enough to run off, though some gut feeling tells you he’d keep at it if he had any reason to want to chase you. He won’t, though. Some gut feeling in your chest is sure of it. It’d be bold to call it trust, but it feels more stable than optimistic intuition. It’s an understanding.

One step backwards, you don’t turn around. Not yet. Assumed understanding or not, you’ve done enough without thinking today. He watches you back, equally silent. And then you end the standoff with a tilt of your chin.

You turn on your heels, walking forward with even paced steps. He’s given you no reason to run, and sudden, panicked movements might trigger a break in the uneasy peace. 

“You make them.” 

He’s not asking, but you turn just enough to shrug at him anyways. 

Purpose

“This is the fic I talked about here

Summary: Episode 3 was too beautiful for me not to write a fic where bill’s letter makes joel think about reader 

anyways this isn’t an exact recreation of the episode,, it’s more about location and the vibes of the episode

----

The words won’t stop echoing in his head. Again and again, a round of bullets bouncing around in his mind, desperate for a target to pierce. Bill’s letter was written in anything but malice, yet it still manages to pry into Joel, get under his skin the way nothing has in a long time. 

Purpose. Saving, taking care of who’s worth it. The mention of Tess. The way his mind keeps floating to you. 

He shouldn’t. You haven’t been around long enough to even scratch at the surface of what Bill and Frank had. He knows that, but his mind won’t stop weaving the sentiment in Bill’s words to all the bits of you he knows. The tempo of them matches the sound of your laugh, the emotion behind them tethers itself to the tugging feeling that lingers in his chest whenever you tilt your head and look at him with those eyes when pitching something he’d instinctually say ‘no’ to.

It’s never a form of manipulation, either. It’s always teasing, always pushing in good humor, always innocent. You never take advantage, never try to. He doesn’t even think you know that you have that specific look. One person worth saving. 

There’s a soft creaking of floorboards. Joel turns his head instinctually, body stiffening in an instinctual preparation for the worst. Oh. His eyes find you and his stance instinctually eases. “Guys.” You’re more excited than you want to seem, completely unaware of the thoughts in his head. “They have hot water.” 

Ellie recovers faster than he can. For a brief second, Joel feels a pang of something oddly close to jealousy at her ability to interact casually. “No, shit--really?” 

“Really,” you confirm, “Does anyone want the first shower or can I steal it?” 

Turning her head, Ellie briefly looks like she’s considering asking for it instead, but then her eyes flit back to Joel. He’s staring, a little more out of it than she’s yet to see him. There’s something bordering on awkward in the way that he’s watching you. 

Oh. The realization finally hits Ellie. A hot shower would be amazing, but putting it off for a little will definitely be worth this. “I’m okay with that.”

You nod in her direction with a quick mumble of appreciation before turning your eyes to focus on Joel. You’re not doing the plead-y thing. His thoughts swell. Of course you’re just waiting patiently for an answer, genuinely willing to give up the first shower spot that you could have just taken. 

“Joel?” 

Shit. He hasn’t responded. “Ye--” It’s a small sound that’s not quite a word that Joel quickly disguises by clearing his throat. “Yeah, go ahead.” 

Ellie’s eyes are burningly obvious. Even if you didn’t notice, Joel’s never hearing the end of it from that kid. 

You lean against the doorway. “You good?” 

“Fine,” now he’s replying too quickly, “Just--Bill said a lot more to me than he ever has.” Great. His second mistake. The last thing he needed to do was hint at emotion, the one thing guaranteed to sway you away from the promise of a hot shower. “If you ask me about my feelings you’re losing your first shower spot and I’ll run the sink until it’s icy.” 

You cross your arms in front of your chest. “You wouldn’t, Miller.” 

“Try me.” 

He can feel your eyes burn through him, can sense the way you see through his shit. You don’t push, you just straighten your stance, “Fine, you’ll only have that threat until I’m out of that shower.” 

Joel keeps his expression flat. “Plenty of time for me to think of a new one.” 

“Looking forward to it.” 

 When you disappear out of his line of sight, his breathing improves and worsens all at once. Joel curses the ridiculousness of it. Sure, there were certain thoughts when he was around you before the letter, but this is something else. Something he needs to get over fast.

He lets his eyes drop towards Ellie and he takes her grin as the gut punch it is. “I’ve never seen you shy--it’s cute.” 

“Don’t.” 

She doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to be influenced by the gruffness of his voice. “Don’t what?” 

The false innocence in Ellie’s tone isn’t worth engaging with. Joel glares, turning to leave the room before anything else can be said. 

----

Leave it to the end of the world to teach someone how to appreciate the little things. A lifetime of warm showers with a guarantee of water that could hold the temperature long enough for someone to really feel clean and Joel doesn’t think he’s ever understood the world of good a shower could do someone until now. 

You had been diligent, worried about taking up the time and heated water from anyone else, but when you stepped out of the bathroom, hair still wet, Joel practically forgot how to look you in the eye. It’s not that the shower changed you completely, though clean and safe is a good look on you, it’s that it made things feel normal. The kind of normal that would take nothing to slip into and turn to habit.

He had practically ducked out of the room when Ellie told him to go ahead since he so clearly needs a shower more than she does. It felt like the beginning of some kind of scheme, but there was nothing he could say with you in the room. So what if Ellie makes a comment or two? That doesn’t mean she knows anything. It’s not like Joel...he doesn’t. He can’t. Not with you. 

As he showers, he thinks of not thinking. Focuses on dislodging those thoughts from his mind. The echo of Bill’s words hold firm as they merge with memories of you. 

What makes a person worth taking care of so completely? Does the worthiness come from kindness or personal attachment or some natural, intrinsic quality? 

It doesn’t matter. No matter how many times he runs through all the potential categories, Joel knows who always fits it. 

“Well, don’t you look pretty.” Ellie’s voice snaps him out of that train of thought. Before Joel can reply, she turns, “Don’t you think so?” 

You blink, Joel briefly debates locking Ellie in some other room until it’s time to go. You take your time glancing over at him. “Yeah.” It’s been too long since things that mattered in the past have come up for him. He isn’t used to being overly aware of his appearance. The strangeness of it is daunting. “Joel’s the prettiest.” 

A cop out enough answer. It’s an easy way to appease Ellie and keep from turning something casual into something weird. Joel mentally scolds himself for being surprised. What else could he have expected? That you’d immediately jump to describe your opinions on his appearance? 

There’s no way that would have been a particularly good thing. He may not be as aware of his appearance as he was before the world changed, but he knows that he’s both older than you and made up of tattered edges more akin to shards than anything else. 

Ellie starts to approach the doorway. “I’m gonna take a shower.” Maybe that will help Joel regain control of whatever ill timed spiral this is. Removing Ellie’s comments and sideways glances definitely won’t make things worse. “For at least 30 minutes.”

It’s said with a deliberate slowness and Joel can feel heat settle in his face. “Just go.”

She holds her hands up in mock defense before turning and finally leaving. Joel frowns at the realization that his mental tension doesn’t immediately vanish with her. 

You turn casually, “That was weird.” 

“She’s a kid,” he mumbles, “Kids are weird.” 

There’s not that much space between the two of you. A casual distance that could be destroyed by a few steps. It’s an impulse that burrows itself deep beneath his skin. Joel straightens to avoid giving into the need to be closer. 

“Yeah.” It’s a breath, casual and flat. Joel finds himself unexplainably grated by the sound. He’s not the kind of person that dwells on others. Especially not in this way. “You know what’d be fun?” 

Joel swallows at the easy transition. You walk past him and towards the wooden table top. He isn’t sure what your goal is until your fingers bend around a neck of a bottle of wine. There’s something particular about the way the corner of your mouth tugs upwards. Mischievous. 

“I-” He clears his throat again. “I’ve gotta drive.” You say nothing, but that touch of an almost pout and the goddamn head tilt. “We need to stay alert.” 

You let out a sigh, turning the bottle in your hand. “You’re going to get out-of-it drunk off of one glass of wine?” 

He can’t afford anything right now. “You might.”

“You’ve never seen me drink.” 

So much indignation. Joel fights against a grin. You’ve spent most of your adult life in a post-outbreak world. There likely hasn’t been much opportunity for you to build your tolerance. And at this point, he feels like he knows you, and nothing about your personality or general being indicates that you’d be able to handle your alcohol. 

Sure, he doesn’t think you’ll genuinely be drunk after one glass, but he also doesn’t believe you’ll stick to that. A light buzz here wouldn’t be the worst thing, but it’d be inefficient. An additional distraction that Joel is doing his best to keep from.

Joel sighs at the accusatory way you raise your eyebrows. “I can still tell.” 

You roll your eyes. “I should go through with it just because you said that.” He watches you set down the bottle.

The lack of protest hits him harder than it should. It was a small thing to ask for and there was such a genuineness in the way you introduced it. You know what’d be fun? Even your defense was framed innocently. You’ve never seen me drink. Like the whole idea was more about the two of you than the actual drinking. Like you’re friends more than you are just friendly. 

Once again, his mind latches back onto the letter. An element he doesn’t need in the air right now. “Y/n.”

“I said we didn’t have t--” Joel grabs the bottle and takes a quick sip before you can finish your sentence. The immediate half-laugh-half-scoff that follows makes it all worth it. “Classy.” 

He does all he can to keep from smiling, but he isn’t sure he’s fully successful. “Always have been.” 

It’s the stupid kind of joke that you and Ellie would have exchanged a look over. You two would have picked it a part, pointing out the evident laziness of it. Instead of that, you laugh again before pushing away from the counter. He’s still as you walk towards him. 

The entire thing is casual until your eyes meet his. Joel’s body instinctually locks into place. It’s a form of defense, of keeping this moment from shattering. Your hand moves forward slowly--or maybe you’re moving normally and everything just feels slow when you’re focusing on him like that--until it finds the bottle. The tip of your fingers brush against the back of his palm. 

For a second, that’s all that exists. All that matters. You squeeze the bottle and Joel lets you take it. “You know it’s hard to measure a single glass without the actual glass.” 

You set the bottle down and turn your attention towards finding any type of cup. Joel keeps quiet as you find the set of long stemmed wine glasses. You set out two of them and fill them each a little less than halfway. A reasonable amount. A controllable amount. 

Turning back to face him, you hand him a glass. 

“One glass.” 

Nodding once, you pick up your own. “One.” Extending your glass with no warning, you quickly clink them together. A soft cheers. 

----

About three glasses later. 

“...That doesn’t,” laughter, “make--make sense.” 

There’s no slurring, but the small giggles pressed sporadically throughout the single sentence cues Joel in on something he should have taken into consideration about two glasses ago. You’re tipsy. Not drunk or fully out of it, but buzzed in some sense of the word. Buzzed enough to not even pretend to follow on his comment that hadn’t really meant anything. 

Joel sighs, forcing a bit of annoyance into the sound. “Maybe not to you.” 

You pout without reservation. “That’s rude.” 

Reaching around him without any tact, you try to find the bottle. “That’s enough.” 

Joel can deal with how you are now, but any further could be risky. It’s not like the three of you are settling in this house. His hand finds its way to your wrist as you try to squirm back. It takes you less than a minute to still. Joel doesn’t pull away. A second longer. Just to be sure. 

He returns your hand to his side gently, easing you back into place by your wrist. “I’m not drunk.” 

There’s no argument in your voice, no protest or anything that gives any indication of your flat observation. The certainty in your voice settles against Joel’s skin like a second layer. It doesn’t feel like it’s coming from the same person that just couldn’t get through a sentence without being interrupted by a fit of laughter. 

Joel’s chin tilts downwards in a barely there nod that he trusts you to pick up on. “Never said you were.” The realization that he hasn’t let you go yet hits him with no warning. His pointer finger and thumb are still grasping your wrist. It’d be so easy to turn over your hand and let your palms meet. “We should keep it that way.” 

“I trust you.” You breath out the words reluctantly, like you’re annoyed by the truth of it. The casualness of your voice has to prove that you don’t mean anything by it. Smiling almost, you breeze past what you just said. “This is fun. I haven’t gotten wine buzzed sin--” The cut off is jarring, but Joel knows better than to push. “Awhile. Since Ruth.” 

A name that has only ever slipped out from time to time. Joel’s picked up on enough pieces to know that it’s sore subject. “You don’t have to.” 

“I know.” Your eyes feel distant, you’re going somewhere else now. “Ruth was like a grandmother to me. Sweetest old lady, tough as nails, too.” You laugh again, the sound sharply bittersweet. “She didn’t like being handled or taken care of, but she was getting a little older and she--she was developing some kind of early memory issue. One day we got into this warehouse and it was full of wine. So we drank and then...” Eyes practically glazing over, you angle your chin downwards. You wipe at your face with the back of your palm. “I don’t know how I didn’t know. She had been talking about not wanting to live in a world where she couldn’t remember her children or-or take care of herself, and she’d been struggling a little more.” Joel swallows once as you pause. “She waited until I fell asleep. Left a note saying she’d never be a burden.”  

Joel relaxes the fingers wrapped around your wrist and turns his palm outwards. You meet him half way, interlocking your fingers with his. It surprises him more than it should. 

There haven’t been many times in which Joel actively reflected and wished that he could be different in some way. It’s his ability to remain detached and distant from emotions that have allowed him to last. But if he were some other version of himself, he’d be able to say something insightful or sympathetic or maybe even kind. 

But he’s not, so after the second, the only thing he can manage to say is, “Sounds like the kind of person you’d care about.” 

It feels like a wrong reaction, and maybe it would have been for someone else, but you give no indication of being upset. You let out a sad kind of laugh. “You know, now that you mention it you do kind of fill the grumpy, old lady void in my life.” 

The implication of your joke should sting more than it does considering the mess of his train of thought today, but it tugs at something in him instead. “Funny.” 

“Just like Ruth would have said.” 

He sighs, too aware that his expression doesn’t project the right kind of annoyance. You’re smiling again, though, like you’re pressing your lips together to keep from laughing. It’s a reset, knowing that you’re feeling better and that in some way it’s because of him. 

It clicks then. Settles like the world after a storm. Joel understands. It’d be easy to build a life out of protecting someone. He sees how it’s the kind of purpose that can burn away the frayed edges of someone that seems to be made of them. 

“Y/n.” His throat feels dryer than he remembers it being. There’s an uncertainty in where to go next, but you feel the shift the same way he does. Joel sees it in the soft nod of your head. “Y’know what Bill said in his letter?” His eyes flit away from you, “’About purpose and...” 

You were exploring the home when Ellie read the letter, but you had picked it up and read about half of it before Joel took it back. It was a bit petty, but you didn’t press. It’s his business more than yours.

What you had read had gotten to you and you didn’t even know Bill and Frank. It must have Joel, even if he refuses to let it be obvious. “I know it must have been hard to hear, but it--what I did read sounded like a better way to live than most did even before.” The response fits you. Of course you’d see it. “Sorry, that was--that was probably overstepping. They were your...” You hesitate, unsure if friend or associate would be more fitting. “You knew them and--” 

“No,” he breathes, “You’re right.” Joel takes a moment to just look at you, to take in what it feels like to be standing somewhere safe, holding your hand. “It does sound like a good way to be.”

Joel doesn’t know what to take from your reaction. The way your eyes widen just enough to be noticeable. You didn’t expect that level of candor from him, especially not about something so close to feel-y. “You think it’s unrealistic?” 

Your question comes out almost hesitant. It’s the kind of thing you would have never asked if it hadn’t been for the wine. The way you clamp your mouth shut after speaking is evidence enough. 

There’s so much he could say to that, but nothing feels like it’d fit. “Not for you.” 

You smile again but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “It isn’t for you, either.” Eyes briefly dropping, you tact on an almost shy, “If you wanted it. I know you’re...” Tilting your head in that one way that always gets under his skin, you settle on, “Most comfortable with what you know.”

Joel presses his lips together before correcting his expression into something more neutral. The sensation that he’s teetering on something twists at the air in his lungs. “You sayin’ I’m set in my ways?” 

Your amusement feels genuine again, free from whatever had been eroding at it before. His words are another step forward, an attempt at meeting you in the middle. “It’s not a bad thing.” When Joel raises his eyebrows, you let out a sigh. “You’ve said worse about me.”

He fights down a grin. “Doesn’t sound like me.” 

“Yeah, you’re a damn sweetheart.”

This time Joel lets himself react in the form of what’s almost a laugh. “That’s more like it.” Your eyes soften and there’s a warmth there that Joel doesn’t know how to hold onto. It melts at a part of him he didn’t think existed. It’s dangerous, more risky than the wine. “Do you think you’d--you want that?” 

You blink and Joel can find no way to blame you for your hesitance. The question was blurted out so haphazardly, so unlike what it is and now it’s looming over the both of you. 

Your mind is racing in a way you can’t justify. It’s not the question, but the way it came out of Joel, coated in a layer of hesitance that practically felt nervous in a way that doesn’t suit him. “Yeah.” The single syllable is so low it almost feels like a secret. “I--I think I do.” It’s surprising to you. “You said it yourself--it’s a good way to be. I’m sure for some people, it’d even be peaceful.” 

Joel’s jaw briefly locks at that last part. “And if it’s someone that can’t give you that last part?” 

The hollowness of the question startles you out of your initial reaction. The words alone would have been fine if they felt less raw. Your mind can’t wrap around them this way. “I uh--I’d probably be the unpeaceful one.” You don’t think you can describe it in a way that anyone would understand. “Caring about anyone that openly and trusting them to do the same...I don’t think I’d be a natural at that.” 

You don’t want to dwell on your words or the honesty of them, so you move on the only way you can think to: “What about you?” 

He should have known that you’d ask. He should have thought through some kind of response that wouldn’t leave him exposed. Then again, maybe that was the point of leading you here. Bill and Frank were here one day and now they’re not. 

“Y/n...” You’re silent, waiting patiently for the end of his sentence. There’s so much to say that none of it can come out. It traps itself in his throat. Too much about the day he first met you, the first time he heard you laugh, the first night when Ellie fell asleep with her head on your shoulder, the fact that knowing you’re okay could fix practically anything. “I don’t know why I’m still here and I’m not too sure Bill was right about me, but I...” The words jam in on themselves and Joel takes it as an opportunity to drag his thumbs across your knuckles like this might be his last chance to do so. “I think you might be part of it.”

The lack of immediate response twists at his stomach. Joel moves to take his hand back and at the last second you snap back into reality. You squeeze his hand, pulling him back towards you. “Joel...” You’re watching him so intently Joel needs to do something. He steps forward. “Are you--are you saying--” 

Sometimes action comes more naturally than words. Joel knows that, knows the familiarity of jumping into something when there’s nothing left. He moves his hand up your arm and settles it on your shoulder. His other hand brushes against your cheek. He pauses long enough to give you a chance to protest. You don’t. 

Closing the distance between you is a snap of everything into place. He can’t remember the last time something felt so natural. You melt into him, fitting into place like you’ve always been there. 

You’re warm enough to melt through all of his reservations. Joel places a hand on your side, pulling you even closer. It could be an eternity or it could only be a few seconds. You start pulling back first, Joel chases after you, grazing his teeth against your bottom lip.

You move back only enough to breathe, but you can’t bring yourself to let go of him. “Joel.” You want to tell him you get it now and that you agree. That you’d come back to this again and again. That he’s your purpose. “It’s you.” 

It’s the only thing you can say, but that’s okay. You trust him to understand.

----

Taglist: @ciniluv

Hi, I’m sorry to bother you. I’m not sure if your still making them but if you end up making more of the Final Girl fic with Billy and Stu, could you please tag me in it. I was going to try asking in the comments of the post but I wouldn’t let me, no pressure or anything I just wanted to ask in case

thank you

Hi hon! never a bother to receive an ask,, i am for sure still writing final girl...part 8 is just taking way longer than expected but i'm getting there!

i'd be happy to add you to the taglist but since this is an anonymous message idk your username in order to tag you

the commenting thing is weird?? never heard of that on one of my posts, but it's probably just a glitch or something,, you can send another ask off of anon if you can't comment or you can message me to be added (or, if you see this and can comment on this post, i'll know your username!!) anything that lets me see your username and we'll be good!!

Hello, can I have Billy Loomis with a gn!s/o that deals with panic attacks?

A/n i promise i’m working on part 8 of final girl for anyone that’s waiting,, i just really love the series and tend to lose love for projects when i force it a little more and i really want to keep loving it so i’ve been trying to focus on smaller, less consuming fics while also balancing my attempt at writing a book! :) 

but part 8 is coming!! i promise 

anyways as far as this request goes, you’ve come to the right place bc i’ve relatively recently ended a period where my anxiety was super heightened and was having panic attacks over a lot,, so this one is for all my anxious icons 

also i wasn’t sure if you wanted headcanons or a fic,, so i’m doing both!! a few headcanons at the start and then at the end of this post there’ll be a little fic/drabble 

Billy Loomis with a s/o that deals with panic attacks headcanons: 

- He definitely gets better over time!! Like before you, he’s probably experienced bouts of anxiety (i definitely feel like he has abandonment issues and that his father makes him feel anxious) but would never think to refer to it that way or consider it that. 

- At first, he might be wary of the concept of panic attacks and might have even gone as far as to consider them some kind of ‘weakness’, but after getting closer to you, he becomes more aware of how hard it is to go through something like that. 

- He’ll make jokes about how tough you were,, and he does start to feel like it does show how strong you are, but he’ll always take it with a grain of salt. It’s not that he thinks you’re ‘weaker’ than others,, it’s just that he actually cares about you so he’s more protective.

-  In his mind, he might view you as a little ‘sensitive’, or at least more sensitive than him,, but his bar for sensitivity is extremely low. Like just knowing you’re not into murder would make you seem a little ‘sensitive’ bc of how he’s wired/his mindset. 

- This isn’t something he’s cruel about, just something he’s aware of and honestly just makes him more protective. Always being aware of where you are in social settings, not liking when you’re out alone, analyzing how people talk about/to keep them in check if you’re not the kind of person that instantly jumps to confrontation. 

- Billy isn’t always the best at expressing emotions through words, but when he cares, actually cares about someone, it’s easy to tell if you take a second to think about how he treats you because of how observant he is when someone actually matters. 

- He knows your triggers/can sense when a panic attack is about to happen better than you do. It’s a talent, the way he picks up on things and redirects in an attempt to either prevent or limit the extent of the panic attack.

- One time you had just started registering the beginning of that impending sense of doom in your stomach at a party and Billy was already guiding you out, firm yet limited contact in the form of his hand on your back. 

- Because of Billy’s family issues, he is the type to pull away from time to time for a few reasons that all connect back to him wanting to see how much you actually care about him. It’s rarely overly mean, it’s a little impulsive and subtle. Tiny comments, blowing you off from time to time if he felt like you seemed a little too close with someone else (even if it was just friendly--after all, he’s supposed to be your favorite person in all senses). But if this triggered your anxiety, he’d honestly feel guilt. 

- Okay, whether or not Billy’s capable of actual ‘guilt’ is something I go back and forth on, but with the very few people he actually cares about, especially you, he’s capable of feeling something close to ‘guilt’, only it’s a tiny bit warped in his favor. He feels bad about you going through that and feels like his actions causing it is unfortunate and he doesn’t want to hurt you, but there’s a separation between action and consequence that prevents him from feeling terribly responsible, especially if he comforts you during/after. 

- If you were to have a panic attack over him pulling away, it’d honestly feed his ego a little and calm him down. Like an ‘okay, you definitely actually care’ thing. 

- But don’t worry, Billy’s not intentionally causing panic attacks regularly! After he learns about your triggers, he teaches himself to keep his moodiness confined to them. Ideally, he’d never feel the need to pull away, but he is a serial killer with a sense of empathy that is both skewed and limited. You might be the exception to his general apathy towards most other people, but that doesn’t overcome everything. It’s not that he’s choosing to be moody and toxic from time to time, it’s instinctual. But at least he knows what the limits are and makes a conscious choice to not push past that in this case!

- Anyways,, during actual panic attacks, his ability to read your cues is extremely helpful. He can tell if you want space or some kind of reassurance before you ask, but he tries making a point of narrating what he’s doing. It’s so he doesn’t sneak up on you by accident (he’s gotten a little too good at moving in silence) and it’s an attempt to give you something else to focus on. 

- If you want reassurance, he’ll stay by your side as long as you want. Depending on the severity of the panic attack, he’ll stay even longer but never admit it’s to check in on you. 

- “I’m feeling a lot better now and I know it’s been awhile, so if you want to go to bed or something, that’s okay.” “I’m not still up for you, I wanted to watch this movie.” 

- If you want space, he’ll ‘give’ you space. Meaning that he’ll leave your side once you’re in some kind of safe space to get you a glass of water and/or meds if you need/take them. If you still want/need to be left completely alone for awhile he’ll stay outside the room you’re in, but just at the door to make sure you’re safe. 

- Honestly, he doesn’t love that arrangement. Waiting while you have a panic attack with a door between the two of you makes him feel a little uneasy (and at times a tad rejected, but he fights against that bc this is one in a few circumstances that he can at the very least rationally understand that it isn’t personal, but those intrusive thoughts don’t always listen). 

- He prefers when you let him stay around, even if you want no physical contact because just being in the same room feels like a high level of trust. 

- If you want/need physical contact, he’ll be on it in a second,, shedding any pretext of seeming clingy or his angsty persona to comfort you silently. He has a talent for knowing the right amount of contact too, knowing when you just need him to hold your hand or if you need to be pulled into a hug until you calm down. 

- Also, kind of random, but Billy for sure makes a point of noting who he believes is responsible for your panic attacks. Like if it’s over stress bc of a certain class, Billy will never forget the teacher. If it’s a result of going somewhere that a friend urged you to or someone’s mean to you, Billy will never forget them. 

- This doesn’t necessarily mean Ghostface starts calling them but he’ll find a way to “get even” in one sense or another. Maybe he’s a little meaner to them for a few days or he’ll get Stu to target jokes at them for awhile. It might be petty or crueler than that, but there will be some form of “pay back”. It doesn’t matter how accidental or innocent or vaguely connected that person was, they’ll be targeted in some way or another. 

- Another kind of random headcanon in the same vein is that if anyone ever called you dramatic or implied that you were making it up for attention or tried to make you seem/feel crazy or broken, well,, they’d get way worse than temporary meanness. That’d likely be enough for their number to end up on Ghostface’s radar. It might take some time in order to make it less suspicious, but we all know Billy’s okay with the long game when it comes to revenge!!

Here’s a little blurb of reader having a panic attack (i keep the details of the panic attack vague to avoid triggering anyone and also bc bc panic attacks can present themselves in different ways)

-----

You’re pacing again, steps less rhythmic than before. You make it from one end of the bathroom to the other in a few long strides just to come back in short, uneven steps. It’s different than when Billy first got you away from the crowded noisiness of Stu’s party, when you just sat on the rim of the tub, practically frozen with a far off look in your eye. 

Billy isn’t sure if your ever shifting pacing is an improvement to the stillness, but he decides that it’s easier to be active when you’re moving. “Careful,” he mumbles, vaguely noting your reaction, “You’re one bad move away from slipping on the bathmat.” 

You frown, the expression a little too blunt for Billy to consider it natural. But if you’re together enough to try to humor him, that’s a good enough sign for now. “I’m not gonna--” Your breath hitches, getting in the way of your words. “Gonna slip.” 

Your voice is heavy and your eyes are glassy. “That bathmat’s taken out a lot of people. Last time Stu got drunk, he ran in here and almost hit his head against the sink.” 

At your shaky, scoffed laugh, Billy pushes himself away from the wall. He takes one step towards you, making sure that it’s audible. You’re staring at the ground, body tense and breaths uneven. He notes the tension in your knuckles as your hands become fists. There’s a chance that your nails are digging into the skin of your palm and Billy resists the urge to tell you to ease up before you hurt yourself.

He learned early on that asking you to do something isn’t the best way to get it to happen when you’re feeling like this, heart racing and breathing unstable. A softer approach with firmer guiding.

Billy takes another step forward, monitoring your expression. He extends his hands slowly, hovering them over yours. You nod, the motion rigid but all the approval he needs. He covers your fists with his hands, running his thumbs over both sets of knuckles. “Let me hold your hand?” 

An almost sniffle followed by the slow unclenching of your hands. Billy wastes no time in intertwining your fingers before you can seize up again. This close, the shift of warmth all that anxiety caused is even easier to see. Your undertones are off in a way that make you look like you should be tucked into bed and downing fluids to ward off a fever. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

The question surprises you. It takes you a second to answer. “Um-nothing--nothing.” Your eyes flit from the ground to your intertwined hands and then back to the ground. “Really--I just--” You sniffle, swallowing in an attempt to fight the lump in your throat. “I can’t think, I just--” 

“That’s okay,” he says quickly, voice a little harder than he means it to be. If you think his approach is aggressive, you don’t show it. You just let your angle your chin downwards briefly in what’s meant to be a nod. “Are you feeling better?” 

It’s a bit of an obvious question. He doubts that the feelings have truly been able to diminish. You’re not in the ideal environment. Though the bathroom door dulls the loud party music, the sound is still pounding. The guest bath is also kind of small and the florescent lighting is harsh and blinding compared to the dimly lit atmosphere Billy had shuffled you out of. But you’re no longer far away, divided from him and taken to that place in your head that he can never follow you to. 

“A little,” your words are hushed, hollow. “It just--there’s this feeling in my chest and it--it won’t go away.” 

Billy squeezes your hands briefly, a small pulse of warmth in an attempt to anchor you. “I know.” Your eyes are tearing up again, watery and red rimmed. “We’ll go to your place. You’ll feel better when you’re home, okay?” When you say nothing, he continues, “I’ll tuck you in, we can watch a movie if you want.” You nod again, the motion uneasy. “Your pick.” 

Your eyes meet his at that. The thought fills you with more warmth than you thought possible. It doesn’t melt away that impending sense of doom and dread that’s burrowed itself deeply into your chest, but it gives you something to hold onto. A light at the end of frightening tunnel. 

And then, the guilt sinks in. You’re dragging him away from his best friend’s parties. Sure, Stu does this pretty regularly and more often than not Billy’s happy to turn away early, but you’re taking away his ability to choose. “You know-the--the water helped. If you wanna...” You don’t want him to stay, you don’t want him to leave your side. Not now. Maybe never again. “I know that this is Stu’s party, so...” 

“Stu doesn’t care,” the defense comes out quick, “And if he did, he wouldn’t notice because he’s completely out of it. You saw him.” You don’t ease, so Billy continues, “And if he did, it wouldn’t matter.” 

The words take their time sinking in. “I--” You can’t get the words out. It all feels so dumb now and that overwhelming feeling hasn’t dislodged itself from your chest and you can’t think straight. You’ve had this conversation before--you always feel a little bad when this happens at times like this and then that allows your thoughts to spiral. Thoughts on how much better off he’d be if you weren’t here. 

He lifts your left hand to his lips, softly kissing your knuckles. “You know I--” Billy pauses, taking in the way your eyes widen. “You’re it for me.” The words are sandpaper, but the way you look at him makes it worth it. “And, you know not everything’s about you.” Your eyebrows pull together and Billy continues, “I want to go.” 

You nod, pulling one hand away to wipe the back of your palm across your face. “Okay.” You glance at your expression in the mirror and consider splashing some water on your face. It’d help how you look, but the party is so dimly lit and everyone’s caught up in their own world. “I’m ready.” 

Billy gently pulls on your hand, keeping you close as he unlocks the bathroom door.