Billy kept waiting for the switch to flip. It had happened so suddenly last time that he thought it would come like a lightning bolt from clear skiesâhe more than anyone knew how often that happened.
The first time Teddy had come to Billyâs apartment (clothes everywhere and dishes in the sink because there was no one to tell him otherwise) he had brought pizza and movies. They sat on the couch and talked oh, so easily about the physics behind spaceships of that design and the way the actors responded to the green screen; Billy hadnât even felt Teddyâs hand slip into his own.
It had been a ploy. Of course it had beenâit was too nice, something that could never be just. (And here Billy was, expecting a hand on his knee next or an arm around his shoulder.) But all Teddy asked for was another soda.
Teddy went home and left Billy looking for thunder clouds.
Maybe Billy was overthinking it, and maybe the smiles and the hand holding and the fancy dinners that led both Teddy and Billy sneaking out the back because why is pasta that much money really was just Teddy being chill.
And then Teddy showed him the comic shop and Billy was certain that there was to be sex or a long conversation (about responsibility and parents and the distant future that was apparently just around the corner) coming but Teddy just offered to buy Billy a comic book and stalled at the apartment door and left with a charming and awkward smile.
(And, of course, Billy was thinking of before. He thought about video games and debates about the integrity of the comic world that led to fits of giggles even though they were vehemently disagreeing and Nate telling him that it was okay.)
The thing with Teddy was that he never told Billy it was okay. Billy knew it was okay, because even when he started yelling about movies and games, Teddy would just grin and talk him down or let him rage and then lean in close and whisper something that set Billy off talking again because volume one was better.
Teddy didnât care if he won the debate. Sometimes, Billy became aware that Teddy was watching him move or talk.
âKiss me.â
Billy said those two words, and Teddy looked up from dinner-pancakes with shock across his features. Billy doesnât take them back.
Afterwards, Teddy smiled (and it terrified Billy that there wasnât a sharp edge to it. No leer. Terrified him that no one had won because, Billy guessed, relationships werenât supposed to be about who outmaneuvered who.)
Billy felt like a man waiting for the guillotine. (Waiting for the day he felt resentment instead of butterflies, of snippy comments, of having to think ten moves in advance and blowing all that fucking planning and ending everything in arguments.)
It didnât come, and Billy was beginning to think (hope) it never would.