#outoft1me

Billy's looking at Jason Miller. Watches the way the question forms around his mouth. Like maybe there's something else. But it's just the question, plain and simple. And that's fucking everything, huh. Because they've talked about it. The beach in another time. One that's not... this time. This hell. And Jason listened.

"Hell yeah." Billy's voice comes out kind of monotone. But his lips curve upward as he speaks. It's simultaneously soft and dangerous. Not dangerous as in mean. Dangerous as in plunging into the deep. Something's coming out to play. And Billy's leaning into it. A spark ignites in his eyes, glistening like sunlight reflecting off ocean waves. It hasn't been there in a long time. And maybe Billy's getting a little ahead of himself. He's always revving the engine. Pedal to the metal. Trying to escape something. There's this ache in his chest that's so deep and complicated. Full of longing and dread about the whole prospect. Like can they really patch up holes with sand and surf? And what happens if he lays it all bare, plunging into salt water? Can it heal the things on his skin? Or will the salt just burn wounds that haven't healed?

Will Jason look away?

Billy wants to get out of his head. Make this less of a goddamn situation. Because really. He wants to go to the beach. With Jason. In another time. And Jason's asking, because Jason's also listening. Which means he knows this is more than just going to the beach. So,

Billy's jacking up Jason's GTI to the beat of the music. Head shaking back and forth until that singular curl breaks loose. It falls down his forehead. Free, like Billy wants to be. Like he is right now, for just a second. He can taste it. The lyrics. Even underneath the bitter taste of nicotine coming from the cigarette than hangs from his lips. Jason's guitar comes through the cassette player and lands squarely on Billy's chest. Sends shockwaves there, resuscitates him from the misery that kills him daily. And it's like Billy's not in this shitty town. It's like his skin doesn't carry the sting from Neil's hand that collided with his face the other day. He's just somewhere else, wherever the hell this music takes him. Makes him shake his hips. Let it the fuck out.

Jason wrote this song for him. And it's kinda blowing Billy's mind.

He kicks the tire with his sneaker. Makes sure he's got Jason's baby at that sweet spot-- the one where the car's lifted just enough, but the tire doesn't move. Billy grins. Hell yeah, he's got the touch. A hand comes to his mouth, fingers pinching the cigarette as he pulls it from his mouth. Billy throws his head back, exhales a line of smoke. Watches the line of smoke with fluttering lashes as he mouths the words to the song.

And then it's like everything happens so fast. So fluid. Billy's like that. Blink, and you just might miss him. He's got the cigarette back in his mouth, and he's kneeling down by the right front tire. There's a tire iron in his hand, and Billy's loosening the first lug nut. Muscles barely flex. He goes through the motions. It's not a hard job, rotating tires. But it does something to his mind. Quiets it. Lets him feel Jason's song even more until he's humming to the music. A little off key, but free.

That's when @outoft1me catches him, saying, 'I don't believe in first impressions.'

Billy tosses his head over his shoulder. Sees Jason standing there, watching him work. Watching him move. And hum. And it's a little fucking embarrassing. But he keeps it cool. So cool. The corner of his mouth upturns slightly. It's a little dangerous. A little daring.

Billy immediately thinks that people don't stay. Because they don't. This isn't a bitter thought. This isn't an angry thought. It's just reality. And reality has always been kind of fucking sad. It makes Billy feel hollow inside. And that would usually do it. Invite the moment. The moment everyone fucking waits for. The arrival of Billy Hargrove. Cool. Smooth. Eyes full of something dangerous, something pretty. Monotone voice. A glint of teeth. Words that roll out like smoke. Sweet and biting. A smile that's playful. Daring. A presence that's intoxicating. Something to drown in. Smelling like cigarettes and something flowery in his hair. It's Billy Hargrove, offering himself up to give people a reason to stay. Which always made him feel fucking sick to his stomach.

But Billy isn't any of that right now. He doesn't have it in him. Can't put the goddamn mask on after everything. He thinks that it might actually kill him if he just rolls back into it.

So Jason tips the world on its axis. Gives Billy the choice so he doesn't have to do what he's always done. Which means he would stay with him, like this. A version of himself that is not what people know. And that's a lot. Billy can feel the tears coming, but he's doing that thing. That thing where he wants to cry, but he holds it back. Won't let them fall. Because Billy can't fall again. He wants to ask why. Why Jason's doing this. But Billy's still parsing through Jason's voice and the heart monitor that blips in his ears like a goddamn phantom.

WOBBLY KNEES are protected by sunshine-yellow safety pads; she knows they will inevitably crack against the boardwalk's rough concrete before the morning is out. birdie is still unsteady on her wheels, only done this once before. but the sky is bright overhead, seagulls crying as they ride the cool breeze rolling in from the bay. a good day to try again ! & she's actually doing pretty well so far, weaving carefully around a tiny dog on its leash & a mother with a stroller, all without causing a collision.