#witch!billy

Billy licks his lips, a slow drag over his plush cupid’s bow. His chin is red from kissing, lips slick with saliva. Billy has such a pretty mouth that it should be illegal. Steve’s been fixated on it - the curve of it, the pink from the cold, that full bottom lip. Kissing that mouth has been heaven. Watching Billy do sinful things with it has stolen Steve’s soul right from his body.

“How would you know?” he asks, reminding Steve that before Billy arrived in Hawkins only four months ago that Steve had no idea of magic, or spells, or witches. Billy was born a witch on his mother’s side, enough magic running in his veins to cast curses, summon rain or have flowers grow right up out of the ground. Steve never would have had any idea of it, would have kept on living his mundane life, had he not seen Billy that night at the Halloween party. Shortly after that, he and Nancy had imploded. A relationship doesn’t work when both parties want other people.

It had taken weeks. Billy wasn’t quick to trust - not as a gay witch in a small conservative town - and especially with a father that despises everything that you are. To everyone else Billy dates around, a different girl after every basketball game. He’s the jock, the asshole, just the same popular guy you get in every high school.

But in the quiet of Steve’s bedroom, when they lie together on Steve’s bed and Billy casts glittering lights that dance on the ceiling, Steve can see who Billy really is. Something wild and magical, someone beautiful who wants to grow vines around his fingers and makes it snow in Steve’s bathroom while they lounge in a steaming tub. 

————————————-

“Billy, you do realize you can’t have a tiger  as your familiar, right?” “And why not?” Billy said unconcernedly as he continues to mix the potion. The liquid shifted from one color to another inside the Vasquez’s stewpot, now acting as a cauldron. Billy’s eyes were focused on the brownish color pages of his spellbook.

“Because..” Freddy snatched the small leather book from Billy ’s lap in attempted to catch the other’s attention. “How are we going to feed him? And in case you haven’t noticed we don’t have enough room in our house for a tiger!”

Billy turned to glare at him “ First of all, I already set up a portal for him. So anytime he wants to go hunting he can leave.”

The raven-haired boy stopped there and muttered something. Before Freddy knew it the spellbook flew out of his grip and into Billy’s hand. “Secondly the Vanquez already had a horde kids live in their house yet the dragged me home did they? So I’m sure the house can handle a tiger living in it. Sides, if this thing works then Tawny should pass as a house cat to everyone.”

“ Well Tawny…” Freddy stretched out, waving at the tiger who’s munching on a pickled free hamburger.“ belongs to the zoo.”

“That’s cheating!” she shouts - as though she’s not wandering Hawkins Cemetery at night and therefore easy pickings for whatever undead/vile/demonic creature that happens to be lurking.

Billy smirks and easily extinguishes the flames from his fingers. The light fades, leaving them in darkness once more. Hawkins Rose Street cemetery is lacking in any sort of working lights, ensuring that they’re walking around in the dark. Which would be great for an ambush, if they weren’t hunting the nocturnal sort of demon. 

“I was quicker,” he says smugly. Robin grits her teeth and stows the stake away in her jacket once more.

“You cheated,” she says, grumpily. “At least let me get my stake out.”

“One of these days, I’ll do that and you’ll be dead,” Billy says pointedly. She sticks out her tongue.

“I’m the Slayer,” she says wearily, unimpressed by Billy’s showing off. Billy’s only been learning magic for the last year, since he fell into the whole ‘Hawkins is sitting on a Hellmouth truthers gang' but it’s still a rush, still his favorite thing in the world to feel the flicker of magic under his skin. He feels warm. He feels strong. It’s a power that no one can take from him.

“Slayers die,” Steve adds somberly. He’s leaning against one of the larger mausoleums, watching the two of them fight over vampires. He’s tucked into his favorite navy coat, with the collar pulled up around his ears and a bright red beanie pulled down. Steve hates patrolling in the winter.

“Not me,” Robin says resolutely, her eyes already scanning the empty graveyard for more early risers. It’s barely even curfew and yet they’ve already had a busy evening - three vampires rising from their graves and one lizard demon have crossed their paths.

“You died sophomore year,” Steve says bluntly. He pushes away from the wall and wanders over to Billy. “Remember? Vecna?”

Robin makes a face. “I don’t intend on repeating it,” she says, churlishly kicking at a clump of grass. As though her death at the hands of the Master of all vampires was nothing more than a hiccup. It was only because Steve was there with his magic to help revive her, that there wasn’t a funeral.

“If you die again, do we get another Slayer?” Billy asks and shrugs when Steve turns to glare at him. “I was just asking!” 

“I don’t know,” Robin says, drifting between the cobblestones like a ghost in cargo pants and a duster. “Ask Murray.”

“Probably not, right?” Steve says, and as they follow Robin’s path Steve reaches out to link Billy’s fingers with his own. “I mean you died and we got Nancy. If you die again and we get another Slayer and then another Slayer wakes when Nancy dies, that’s still two Slayers. I thought there was only supposed to be one?”

“So say the mystical old guys who wanted a girl to fight their battles for them,” Robin points out. 

“Right, so another Slayer will only happen when Nancy dies. Not you,” Steve continues. Robin stops and screws up her face.

“So does that mean Nancy is like…the Prime Slayer now?” Billy snorts in amusement, eyes flicking across the graveyard for any more company. Vampires are crazy good at skulking around in darkness and Billy would like the chance to flambé them before they rip his throat out.

“That’s the thing you’re worried about?” he asks in disbelief. Robin shrugs.

“I don’t know,” she says, slowing her pace so that they can fall into line with her. “For so long I was the Slayer. The one and only, the Chosen One. Now there’s two of us. I’m feeling a little less special.”

“Not to us you’re not,” Steve says gently, because if Billy ever has to feel like he has to compete for Steve’s attention with anyone it would be Robin. “Nancy can get her own Scoobies.”

“I don’t think she wants any,” Billy says, somewhat rudely. He never got on with Nancy even before she turned out to be the next in the Slayer line. She’s annoying, a priss and always thinks she’s right. By the time Billy joined the gang she was already a part of it - going on patrol with Robin, lounging in the library with Eddie and Chrissy, keeping watch over Argyle for those three nights a month when he’s extra toothy. She’s also Steve’s ex-girlfriend from the start of junior year for just that little extra knife twist.

“Yeah, well,” Robin says, with a shrug. “She helps out with Slayer stuff. I don’t mind her hanging out.”

“I do,” Billy mutters mutinously and Steve squeezes his hand tightly.

Steve shouldn’t be so understanding of Billy’s jealousy but he is. It just makes it that much worse when he catches the two of them sharing an inside joke from before Billy arrived. Sometimes, he wonders that if they’d moved from California sooner, would he and Steve spent the last four years together? 

A hand erupts from the nearest grave, freshly buried dirt cascading down as the pale fingers scrabble around for purchase. They stop and wait patiently.

“Must be tiring,” Steve comments, watching a second hand reach out into the open air. 

“I almost feel sorry for them,” Robin says dryly, pulling her stake from her coat. She shoots a warning glance at Billy. “This one is mine this time, do you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Billy says obediently, saluting her. There’s a dark head emerging from the thick layer of dirt, and Billy winces as it becomes clear that it’s a familiar one. Shit. He forgot about the announcement at school last week. 

“Shit.” Robin echoes the sentiment as they watch David from the school paper haul himself free of his grave and shake off the debris. He looks up and sees them, face morphing into one of surprise. 

“Hey,” he says, brushing a splinter off his sleeve. Steve shrinks into Billy’s shoulder, horrified at being faced with someone they’d seen at school alive, only just last week. He always hated this bit the most, so Billy soothingly rubs his thumb across the soft cashmere of Steve’s gloves.

“What a surprise,” he says, as though they’d run into each other at the mall. Wasn’t expecting to see you guys here. Quick question. Am I…”

“Dead,” all three chorus at once. 

“Ah,” David says regretfully. He tugs at a strand of limp dark hair, smeared with mud. “That is unfortunate.”

“Sorry, mate,” Billy says, because no one should die and rise again at eighteen. David nods thoughtfully. He looks like he’s about to scurry after Nancy, asking for her opinion on the placement of Jonathan’s pictures on the front page. 

“I suppose you’ve come to kill me?” he asks and Billy raises his free hand - the one not entwined with Steve’s - and prepares to summon a fireball.

“We have to,” Robin explains quietly, face full of sympathy. “Or you’ll go kill, like you were killed.”

“Yes,” David agrees. He nudges at a small pile of dirt still covering his coffin. “You’d think I’d care about that…I mean, I certainly used to care but…the thing is I don’t anymore. Isn’t that odd? I know I should but I just can’t quite seem to bring myself to. Actually, all I really care about is that I’m quite thirsty.”

“That happens,” Steve says, from Billy’s side. He’s also ready for a fight, if it comes down to it. Steve’s a badass at fighting vampires, after three years at Robin’s side, although he’s always been slightly queasy about staking former classmates. Billy doesn’t have that - if you’re a bloodsucker, he’ll stake you, doesn’t matter if he sat next to them in Math the day before or not - but he loves that about Steve. 

“Should have guessed it would be you three,” David sighs, heavily. The change isn’t quite on him yet but there’s just a tint of yellow to those eyes, a pulsing in his throat as he fights to retain any part of David against the overwhelming thirst that’s now consuming him. “You were always odd and no matter what weirdness went on, you were always there. What about Eddie? And Chrissy?”

 “Them too. Chrissy’s psychic actually,” Robin explains patiently, as though they have time for a long description of their group dynamics. Billy vaguely remembers a similar conversation after being attacked outside the Bronze. “Argyle’s a werewolf. Nancy’s another Slayer. She’s not on patrol tonight, sorry.” The benefits of so many in their party means off nights. They all trade off. Tomorrow, it’s Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle’s shift, which means Billy intends to take Steve out. It doesn’t fucking matter where, so long as there’s no vampires. 

“Out with Jonathan, I expect,” David says ruefully. “Shame. I’d have liked to say goodbye to her.”

And then it happens, so quickly that you could almost put it down to the faint moonlight, the flicker of shadows. His face changes into that terrifying mask of ridged skin and long, sharp teeth. It doesn’t do him any good, however. Robin has had her stake tucked away since David rose and now her arm strikes out, fast as lightning. She hits her mark and David only has time to look down at the wood lodged in his heart before he crumbles into dust. 

“We should…” Steve says, heavily, gesturing at the grave. “He was just buried today. His family might mind.”

Billy withholds a few sarcastic comments and bends down to help Steve push the dirt back, forming a neat mound once more. Robin watches their backs, cautious of anyone else sneaking up behind them. 

“Fucking sucks,” Billy mutters, brushing dirt off his gloves. He’d be quite content leaving the gaping wound of a grave open but Steve has lived here all his life, knows basically the entire school and their families to boot. 

“I’m sure it was an inconvenience to David too,” Robin says dryly. She looks down at the freshly cut flowers and sighs. “I’ll have to tell Nance.”

“The joys of the Hellmouth,” Billy says, with a shrug. He doesn’t mean to be blase - it’s just that's how life is here. Moving from California two years ago had come with the unexpected bonus of finding out that the yearbook has a pretty sizable ‘In Memorandum’ section. He just didn’t know why until midway through Junior year when Robin saved him from a vamp one night, after too many beers at Tommy Hagan’s party. She’d staked the vamp as easy as breathing, dragged his drunk ass up and called Steve to give them both a ride. That was how he’d ended up as part of the group, part of the secret. 

Steve’s casual comment about teaching Billy magic had been a genuine promise that Billy had been hesitant to accept. Magic, as if the school stoner turning into a huge werewolf three nights a month, and the crabby school librarian was in fact part of a council that protects the world from demonic forces, and that the head cheerleader having visions and dating the Dungeon Master weren’t all weird enough. But it had all been worth it. The first time that Billy had made a pencil float had been the first time the feeling of being helpless had eased in his chest. The night where Steve had leaned over and kissed him for the first time was the day when Billy finally felt like Indiana was home.

He tugs on Steve’s sleeve, pulling the other witch to a stop.

“Billy?” Steve asks, brown eyes huge with concern. Fuck, Billy loves those eyes. He may call Steve Bambi as a joke, but all Steve has to do is look at him with those big trusting eyes and he’ll do anything Steve asks. 

Billy cradles Steve’s cheek, red from the cold, and leans down for a kiss. It’s soft, tinged with cool skin and the faint taste of Steve’s chapstick. Billy slides his hand up, under the beanie, just to feel Steve’s hair. He can burn vampires with a flick of his hand, blast down doors and shatter glass panes with one strong gust of wind but all he ever really wants to do is hold Steve like he’s the most precious thing in the world. Steve grabs hold of the front of his coat, tilting his chin up and when Billy bites gently on his full bottom lip, the sound Steve makes - like a whimper pulled from the back of his throat - is enough to have Billy hard in his jeans.

Steve is also a power that no one can take from him.

“Can you fucking stop macking and help?!” Robin screeches from behind them and they break apart to see several vamps stumbling towards them. They’re all fresh, grave-dirt still clinging to their clothes, attacking with the awkwardness and desperation of the newly thirsty. Billy flashes Steve a grin, the kiss stirring up his blood just enough to prepare him for the fight. 

“Bet I can get more than you,” he challenges, watching for the moment that Steve’s gaze clears.

“Please,” Steve scoffs, swiping a tongue across his red lower lip. Dirty cheating tactics. “You’ve been doing magic for a year. You’re a baby who has a fireball and thinks that’s real magic.” 

Man, Billy wants to bite that petulant bottom lip again.

Steve lights up the first vampire creeping towards them with barely a hand gesture and Billy can feel the warmth of the flames from here. They watch the ash float on the breeze and Steve turns to Billy. Billy grinds his teeth, unbelievably turned on. Steve has so much power hidden in that long, lean frame and every time he shows his hand, it’s like catnip for Billy. 

“Still think you can beat me?” Steve asks smugly and Billy does pull him in to bite down until Steve’s lip is red. A promise for later, when they tumble in out of the cold and the fighting, and make love in Steve’s empty house. 

Author: Storybelle

Rating/Warning: General

Chapter Count: 1/1

Description:

Chrissy holds her breath as she drops the final rose petal into the potion. It fizzes the second the petal lands and to Chrissy’s joy, the entire contents of the cauldron turns into a soft, shimmering pink.

She collapses back onto the floor, her knees aching from bending over her steaming cauldron for well over an hour now. She’s done it. It worked.

It's been a week.

Hopper's been in and out of the trailer, always calling first, moving all his things out to the cabin.

Billy holds his breath every time the phone rings. He expects the other shoe to drop at any moment. Hopper will realize who he really is, and he'll kick him out.

He could still rent that shitty studio apartment he looked at, and it would be fine. Less space, but fine.

As a child of the earth, Billy hears the the whispers when he least expects them, the exasperated trees in the forest, the hum underneath his feet. The wind curls around his ears and sings him songs about the birds, how seasons will be changing, and when the storms will roll in angry.

Mostly, he’s never minded. Never cared because it connected him to his abilities that singed his veins like molten lava. Billy could hear the earth awaken, could hear it sleep, and one day, he knew his bones and the rotting flesh of his body would join her.

But until then, she indulged him, gave him reminders of her powers, felt the moist air of her tears on a humid day, felt the heat of her blush during those long summer California nights. It provoked the changes in him, sent his head reeling with magic and butterflies that dusted his ribs with fluttery feelings of power.

Billy could do a lot of things, but then again he couldn’t. He could lick his wounds and cast light upon the smallest of organisms, breathing life into them like a twisted version of a god. His favorites were always the flowers, the bloom of energy stretching for their mother’s embrace.

He didn’t have that anymore, though, tried as he might, kicked the ground and heard the earth scream, asked her to take care of the ossein and the ashes that stood in the way of Billy and his mother’s happiness. At least she’d find it somewhere, for Billy might’ve been angry over what had been taken, but at least he knew that the green, the dirt, and the curl of a tree branch caressing his jaw, meant she would be in safe hands.

However, he was not.

His abilities blossomed like the flowers he once saved, but only in the privacy of his room. When Billy moved to Hawkins, he let himself go, tampered down the noises, refused to listen because he’d wished he could join his mother, too.

But the earth had her own plans, said not yet, my child, and Billy wondered what was left to lose, what other things were planned for him when his spark faded and the snap of his fingers no longer elicited the magic he’d been born with. He’d make his mother cry if she knew, though he supposed she already did. Dead in the ground, but a soul claimed by much more than the universe.

Billy didn’t much believe in ghost stories nor fairy tales, even when he saw prince charming. The earth might’ve whispered, told him he’s the one, but it dealt him shitty blows like the back of his father’s hand.

If anything, Max was safe. Billy’s magic could, at the very least, do one thing right.

But on a night when the earth screams, when he wakes up in bed drenched in sweat, when Max is shoving at his shoulder in the middle of the night, eyes frantic with fear and worry, Billy snaps to attention, gives a hard, good listen and realizes he’s missed the messages.

They find Steve and a gaggle of kids in the forest two miles out of town, armed with bats and bruises, mud and sweat. Billy doesn’t understand, the ringing in his ears a constant. It’s not until he feels the itch, the claws of something unholy mangling the beating heart of a reigning ecosystem, that he thinks that he gets it, the stench so unlike the earth he’d grown used to.

Billy sees the shape of a dog, sees the way it paces upon the forest floor. Billy tilts his head like the breeze is saying hello, produces a flicker with the snap of his fingers and figures it’s now or it’s never; there is no in between.

Possibly he still makes small protective things for Max.  They don’t have a lot of his energy behind them, it’s not like he cares, but somehow they turn out better than anything else he’s doing lately, and that frustrates him.

Also, possibly he’s related at a distance to that family from Practical Magic.  Mama moved clear across the country to get away from the curse, but if it didn’t exactly follow, it still came true- the man she loved died, and became something worse.  Billy doesn’t know if he qualifies for the curse- the whole family aside from him has been girls since Pilgrim days, and if he’s queer maybe that skews him towards it but maybe it means he doesn’t deserve love either.  He certainly doesn’t feel it a whole lot.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!

Here is the final part of "Winning the Witch", and I hope it suits everyone's liking. It's sort of short, but sweet!

Attempt five, painting a picture!

Enjoy!

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Valentine’s Day was supposed to be a happy day, right?

So then why was Billy crying?

Well, he was always crying, but this was different. He was crying over something he’d done, something he’d done on accident. He hadn’t meant to do it, but it’d happened all the same.

When Teddy found him, he was in an apartment in the Upper East Side. Hunched over a picture frame, he kept staring down at the little five-by-seven image in the cracked glass. A single beam on sunlight slipped through the window and reflected off the pane so Teddy wasn’t able to see the picture.

“Billy?” he called, stepping into the room.

The apartment was in shambles, showing signs of carnage and a struggle. He wondered vaguely if the family that once lived here had been murdered in their home or if they’d fled.

Billy, if he’d heard Teddy in the first place, didn’t say anything. Too focused on the picture in his hand, he lifted his fingers—long and tipped with claws are strong as iron—and traced them along the face of a figure in the picture. His eyes followed the image as he ran his finger down it.

Teddy walked into the room slowly. He kept his eyes only on Billy, still in his own little world.

Then Billy’s claws severed the picture in two—an accident, Teddy was more than sure.

The two halves of the frame fell to the floor, and the picture followed seconds later, ripped in a perfect slice down the center. Glass clinked on the part of the ground where carpet once covered. Billy’s claws hovered in the air, stunned by their sudden action. Then they lowered to the picture and touched the damage they’d made.

Teddy watched on in silence. He didn’t know what to say…

Billy was on the ground one second, then up on his feet the next. His head down, he marched right by Teddy and out of the ruined building; Teddy heard the sniffling, however, when Billy rushed by him.

As soon as he was alone, he took in the surrounding room. It was a bit on the small side, but cozy enough for a small family of five. Red curtains fluttered haphazardly on the shattered windows. Slashes tore into the leather of the couch. Lamps had been knocked onto the floor and trampled on.

Teddy made his way over to the picture and knelt down to get a good look at it.

Picking up the pieces of the torn image and setting them together, he saw it was a picture of a small family. A man and a woman with short brown hair stood smiling behind three boys. Two of them had similar faces and dark hair, and in between them with a small grin was a boy who looked like…

“Billy,” Teddy murmured.

The boy in the picture was Billy, as a human. Before the Infection. As a live being. A mortal. Before the Infection turned him into a Witch who had no memories of who he’d been.

And Billy probably knew this. And maybe that was why he was so upset about ruining the one thing that might help him remember who he was.

Teddy pursed his lips and zippered his hoodie tighter. There was a chill in the air.

He knew what he was going to do.

But he had to start looking around.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Come with me.” Teddy kicked up small bits of rock as he came to a screeching halt in front of him.

“Where?” Billy sniffled.

He wasn’t really in the mood for company now. Sure, Teddy gave him that beautiful titanium flower, but that didn’t mean anything, right? It was just a simple gesture—a nice one, but simple none the less.

Teddy grabbed his wrist and jerked him to his feet. “Just come with me,” he said.

“Let go!” Billy jerked his arm back, but Teddy’s grip was strong. He wasn’t going anywhere. “Where are you taking me?”

Teddy grinned. “It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?!”

“Just trust me.”

He didn’t say anything else as he pulled Billy along. The Witches they passed looked on with ill-concealed curiosity. Hunters didn’t usually bother with their kind, and this was something new entirely. Billy put on his most annoyed face and stomped close behind Teddy, whose grip on his wrist still hadn’t released.

They walked for a long time, through the vacant streets of New York City.

The brainless Commons were running in circles, but they backed off whenever they spotted Billy. He snarled at them to keep them at bay; it was bad enough he’d been kidnapped by the Hunter. He didn’t have the patience to deal with Commons today.

Eventually, Teddy dragged him into an alley and placed him at the entrance. “Stay,” he ordered, as if Billy were a pet. Then he ran into the alley.

Billy snorted. If he were to run now, Teddy couldn’t stop him. So why didn’t he?

Teddy returned half a second later, looking pleased. “Hey. You didn’t run away.”

“Of course I didn’t,” Billy snapped. “You told me to stay. Now what is this all about?”

Teddy took his wrist and yanked him into the alley. “Here.” Then he put his hands on Billy’s thin shoulders and turned him toward one of the walls. “What do you think?”

Billy gaped.

It was absolutely amazing. The wall was covered in paint---vibrant, stunning colors. Red and blues and pinks and yellows and purples and greens or all shades. And all of the colors blended into a huge reproduction of a familiar picture…and now that he looks at the other two walls of the alley, he sees that there are many familiar pictures.

There’s the woman and the man with the brown hair, the two kids with the same face…the picture his claws tore through and ruined in that apartment. The picture that looked like him—that was him—stared back with a smile in the center.

The other pictures weren’t as large, but were just as beautiful. There was a beautiful woman in red, and that annoying Jockey. He looked as if he were alive. And there were so many others…too many to see all at once.

“It’s amazing…” Billy whispered.

He was speaking more to himself, but Teddy answered. “They’re all of your family…before the Infection.”

Billy looked at him. “Teddy, did…did you do all this?”

“Of course I did. Took me a while to find all that paint.” He grinned; it was meant to be a joke, not a reprimand. “And don’t worry---these walls are solid concrete, and the paint’s permanent. Even your claws can’t scratch through that.”

“I…I…” Billy didn’t know what else to say, so he threw his arms—with his claws at a safe level—around Teddy’s throat. “Thank you! Thank you so much! I don’t know what else to say except thank you! This is the most amazing…no one’s ever…at least I don’t think they…” He realized he was rambling and settled for just smiling. “I don’t know how to thank you enough…”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Teddy said it, but he sounded happy to be thanked.

Billy exhaled and drew back. “You…didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know,” Teddy answered, grinning like an idiot. “But I wanted to.”

The Witch stared at him for a few moments, trying to figure him out; it was easier said than done.

Witches and Hunters never interacted. It just wasn’t right. Witches were solitary creatures, and Hunters…Hunters were so loud and just so annoying. And yet Billy could find nothing annoying about Teddy, no matter how hard he thought. Teddy’d been nothing but kind to him and very generous, going out of his way to make Billy feel as if he were special.

“I don’t know why you’re interested in me,” Billy admitted, narrowing his eyes at Teddy, “but I guess there’s no helping it. If you want to try it…we can.”

Teddy obviously wasn’t expecting that answer. He perked up, his face lit up a darker shade of gray—or maybe it was the shadow of his hood?—and he whispered, “Do you really mean…?”

“I do,” Billy said, then he smiled. “After all, if it doesn’t work out, I can always kill you.”

The Hunter laughed nervously, not really sure if it was a joke or not. It was cut off when a pair of cool lips smothered his own for a brief, heart-stopping (no pun intended) moment. And then Billy stepped back and kept grinning at him. Teddy felt his face light up so bright he thought it might’ve turned back to the pink it did when he was alive so long ago. “Uh…”

“Oh? I’m sorry. That was a mistake…wasn’t it?” The Witch chewed on his lip until it was spotted with black beads of blood. “Sorry. I don’t know much about couple stuff, and I just thought that—mmph!”

Teddy snatched him up halfway through his sentence and pressed his lips to Billy’s. This kiss was considerably longer, and since neither of them needed to breathe, it never had to. But they separated after a few moments and stared into each other’s eyes—glowing orange into brilliant azure blue. Both of them were smiling, just a bit goofily, and Teddy said, “No idea how long I wanted to do that.”

Billy laughed, and Teddy was convinced that there was no sound in the world more perfect.

Billy Kaplan—the boy Witch, the one Teddy had been following for the past two weeks, trying and failing to impress except for when he gave him a titanium flower—liked him too, and he’d never been happier in his Infected life.

He grabbed his Witch and kissed him again. It wasn’t their first, and it was far from their last.