THERE WAS SOMETHING ABOUT THE TURN OF THE SEASONS, something about summer in particular, that brought him to life and put that extra pep in his step. Like the heat and the sun could finally charge his batteries to full, instead of leaving him feeling like he was always running on half empty. He had more energy for things, now, and while he quite enjoyed drinking, partying, lounging like a cat in warm spaces, the list of activities available only grew more appealing once the ice melted away and the earth began to grow green and new again. He could hardly be contained, once the warmth of late spring took root. But, now that he could roll his windows all the way down, and let the warm wind roar through his fingers, his hair, and whip its way over his skin? There was no keeping him in, or holding him down.
Shouldering Neil's shit couldn't seem to snuff him out, either, for the moment at least, but there were plenty of reasons for that, as well. His hair trigger temper wasn't quite so sensitive as it was, when he'd moved here in the fall. It meant is dad was slightly less up his ass if he so much even breathed the wrong way (that peace was tenuous, at best, he knew better than to think he was done with him). Maybe that could be chalked up to a mix of settling in, making new friends, turning over a new leaf, so to speak, but there was so much more. School was at an end, high school put behind him for good, and the ritualistic burning of all his paper work over the year symbolized his first step toward freedom. School was done, for him, unless he decided to jump on his scholarship fund and put it to good use in college or university, but he certainly wasn't going to do that while he was under the Hargrove-Mayfield roof. He'd move out, first, live a little, breathe. He planned on doing a lot of living, come July, maybe take a few of his friends cross country, show them his home, the sea, his old connections. He had some savings now. He could do it, and the idea of feeling sunbaked sand under his feet again filled him with something that his foolhardy heart could almost call hope.
There were a lot of reasons that this day could have him feeling so playful, that could have his crooked smiles coming so easily, but today, he could really feel it. The summer. The sun sinking into every pore of his exposed skin, warm enough that he could finally forego his leather jacket and go sleeveless. He could look and feel his best, soaking in the rays, white tanktop, dirty blond hair and sunkissed skin leaving him practically glowing from the inside out. And - not least of all, was the boundless depths of the affection he felt for her, his impossible little lady friend, shining through, too.
He couldn't quite put to words, just what Ontari made him feel just by being near. Her very existence defied every attempt he ever made to define them. She chose him, out of everyone, to stand beside, to talk to, to laugh with. Even long after the rest of the school grew disillusioned with the shiny new toy, the pretty, hot headed Californian. Sure, he was popular enough, went through enough girlfriends to keep his dad off his case. He was King of Hawkins High until everyone tossed their graduation caps and split ways to hit the pavement onto the next chapter of their lives, but he wasn't stupid. He knew he didn't have much in the way of real friends, here. People saw him exactly how he wanted them to, but Billy knew that he was hard to like, in the genuine sense, if anyone got close enough. He was a pretty face, but underneath, was an ugly mess of anger and attitude that most were pretty put off by. He had Caed, though, and he had her. The only two foolish enough to stick with him, the only two he knew wouldn't turn their backs on him for the world. The truest friends that he was beyond lucky to have, and to call his own.
What he had with Ontari was a whole other world different from the kind of friendship he had with Caed, though. They weren't lovers. Not at all friends with benefits, they hadn't even kissed, despite thinking about it every now and then. They definitely weren't fucking, but-- god, did he love her. A first, he thinks. That he could actually even formulate that word in his head and use it in association to someone else, especially a girl that wasn't just his mom. The first time he knows that he means it through and through. Not a lover, not a sister, but she felt like more than a friend. He didn't know how to define each other, or even if such a word could exist, but he knew one thing. He loved her. That was that.
Colour him surprised when their usual, playful banter, and harmless back and forth 'flirting' seemed to take on a bit of a different edge, today. He all but froze in place entirely, watching her dainty fingers pluck the cigarette from his hand, to put to her lips instead. Leaned in as close as he was, he could almost feel the cherry coal of the tip grow warmer on her inhale, and the colour of it reflected in her almost unsettlingly pale grey eyes.
The tips of their noses brushed, only just, and not for the first time with her, he felt his his heart do a funny little somersault in his ribs, as temptation struck again. He could move closer. He'd played games like this before. He could kiss her, taste those pale lips, find out if she tasted just as exotic as her accent. Only... He couldn't. She wasn't like them. The other girls. The ones he didn't give a fuck about, except to fuck. She was more - she was everything they weren't, she was his in a way that no one else could ever be. He couldn't disrespect her. He couldn't taint her. He wouldn't dare cross that line and ruin it all, leave a stain on her that might not wash out. His cocksure grin faltered for all of a moment, as the dark and gloom he fought so hard to keep on the backburner of his mind tried to force its way forward and overshadow them, like a thunderhead.
It's only a matter of time. It's only a matter of time until you wreck her like you wreck everything.
Billy bites his cheek, letting his eyelids come to a half close in a form of surrender. He moves closer, but only to tip his forehead to touch so delicately to hers. Nose to nose, forehead to forehead, where their lips safely couldn't touch, but the curls of his hair could caress her angelic little face in the ways his hands never would. A smile begins to reassert itself back on his mouth, a moment later, as if that moment of falter were swept away as quick as it came.
โ How 'bout now, huh ~ ? โ
It's only a matter of time until I wreck her. Just - not today.
