#torfol

the eye-roll is mirrored right back to elliot as billy shuffles in his bed, allowing space for the other slender teen. a huff of half-feigned amusement leaves his lips, but even billy bloom - master of the charade - cannot hide his smile once elliot is next to him.  “ oh my dear.  whatever you need to tell yourself to feel better.  as if this isn’t just about me being kind to your poor back. ”

“ but you’re more than welcome to believe that this is all for my benefit.” billy moves a touch closer, grinning as he does.  “ here, i’ll even help.  --  i detest being alone in this house and in this bed and i like you.”  the how's and why's of the last statement will not be delved into just yet.   head flops onto elliot’s shoulder, the smell of freshly washed, bergamot scented hair wafting gently in his direction as he looks up. the remains of today’s makeup smudged and soft, making his eyes look an even brighter blue. 

“besides, my only other friend here kicks in her sleep so... you’re a more suitable candidate.”

“ did you know that being blonde is actually a genetic mutation.  it’s one letter in about three billion that mutates and bam - natural blonde. that’s why it’s so rare or at least, comparatively rare. i just find that pretty fascinating. ” 

“You don’t sign the contract, you don’t go in. Rules of the house.”

      Ah, the classic weekend barbecue. And what’s a good barbecue without grilled meat, a perfect sunny day, a swimming pool and... fifteen small kids screaming bloody murder, with their judgy housewife mothers sipping fruity cocktails and doing nothing about it?

he stands still and idle.  close enough to the edge of the pond that the tips of his shoes are almost poking into the water.  simply staring to the other side as if he can see something that no one else can.  the burnt hand that holds onto his skateboard clenches and loosens a few times.   his expression remaining stony and unflinching, even as he hears someone behind him  “just fuck off.”   -- he turns, then realises his mistake.  “ oh -- thought you were someone else.  you don’t have to fuck off. ”

“here’s my idea. we dress up as zelda and francis scott fitzgerald. make it less about the great gatsby days - that’s so overdone - more about their tumultuous relationship and how her burning to death is symbolic of the era. in an ideal world i’d play her but if you really want to i do have a dress that would fit you.” he’s mostly teasing. at least about the last part. but from where he lays on his front on the soft faux fur rug, he smiles up at elliot, batting his lashes at him as he does.