Chapter 2
America does not, in fact, murder him via phone call. That’s not to say she won’t tomorrow when he sees her again, but at least he gets another day or so. Small victories and such.
Speaking of small victories, he accomplishes a few more things before he hears the shower turn off, finally getting the washing machine to start after like, five straight- bi, ha -minutes of struggling. And he crammed the blankets back into the shelf under their shitty television. He is killing it right now.
On the other hand, as the opposite of a small victory- a shitty and disgusting loss -his macaroni is grossly cold by the time Billy reappears, damp hair sticking to his forehead and adorned with a fresh stolen hoodie from his boyfriend, purple this time with their band’s logo on the sleeve.
“Teddy owns our merch?” Tommy asks, abandoning his cold bowl of vile pasta in favor of flopping over the back of the couch to watch as Billy picks at the embroidered logo with a blank expression.
“Yeah. Guess so.”
“Wow,” he remarks, trying to spark a bit more of a reaction out of his brother, “wouldn’t have pegged him to be the self-centered one of the band.”
His dastardly plan works, because Billy’s dazed eyes flick to him- or at least in his general area -before darting away. “Oh? Who would you have, then?” he asks quietly, hoisting himself up to balance on the kitchen counter. Damn gay brothers, never able to sit normal. And after he just cleared it, too!
“Me, obviously,” is his reply, flipping over to stare at Billy upside down. “Duh.”
“You’re an idiot,” Billy sighs, with slightly more life in his eyes. Score.
“Yeah, well, that isn’t news,” he replies flippantly, waving a hand through the air.
“Hm.” Billy swings his feet, letting his heels thump against the cabinets in a repetitive rhythm as he glances around the kitchen. “You did the dishes.”
“Yep.”
Billy shrinks in on himself, tugging the hood of Teddy’s jacket up over his wet curls. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
“I wish you’d stop saying that,” Tommy huffs, rolling back over.
Billy picks at his nail polish, eyes trained on the floor. “I... I know.”
“Then why do you keep saying it?” Tommy asks, sharper than he meant to. The words cut through the air- Billy flinches.
“S-“ he starts, then stops again. The silence sits, heavy between them, before Tommy sits back on the couch, pulling his knee up to his chest as he grabs his phone to check the like, thirty TikToks Kate has sent him in the last five minutes.
“I stuck your mac ‘n cheese in the microwave. So it wouldn’t get cold.” He shrugs, an attempt at carelessness. It probably doesn’t succeed.
“Thank you,” Billy says quietly. Tommy can hear as he slides off the counter, then hears the microwave pop open before Billy appears at the edge of his vision, standing unsure at the other side of the couch.
“Well?” he asks, when Billy doesn’t sit. “What are you waiting for, an invitation?”
“A little,” Billy mumbles, grip tight on the bowl in his hands.
Tommy scoffs, leaning back. “Why the hell would you need permission to sit on your own couch?”
Billy’s throat bobs, his words choked as he manages, “Yeah. Sorry. I’m just- being stupid.”
Something twists, in Tommy’s chest, a sense of failure in his lungs, making it hard to breathe right. “That’s not-“
“Forget it,” Billy insists, tucking himself against the arm, like he’s trying to get as far away from Tommy as possible.
Fuck.
He watches his brother for a second, the pale tracks of tears down his cheeks, before he moves closer, resting his hand in the space between them.
“Okay,” he asks softly, “what did I do?”
Billy tugs his hoodie tighter, messing with the zipper. “Nothing.”
“You’re a shitty liar, did you know that?”
Billy ducks his head, curls falling across his face. “...yeah. My, uh. Mom says the same thing.”
“Rebecca curses?”
“Makes the same point,” Billy amends.
“Maybe if everyone tells you that,” Tommy says dryly, “it’s true?”
Billy digs his teeth into his lip, and Tommy sighs.
“Billy. What did I do?”
“I don’t want you to be mad at me,” Billy whispers, and Tommy blinks.
Okay, not what he thought. Not at all. Huh?
“I’m not... mad at you?” he replies, voice pitching up at the end, sounding more questioning than he’d meant it to. He clears his throat, trying again. “I’m not mad at you, Billy.”
“Are you sure?” Billy asks, his voice breaking as he says it. He shoves the bowl on the table, hugging his knees against his chest. “Because you- I mean, you sounded mad, earlier, and-“
“Oh,” Tommy realizes sharply, “when I snapped at you? For apologizing?”
Billy presses his face against his knees, the fabric of his sweatpants muffling his words. “Um. Y- yeah.”
“Ah. I’m a dumbass,” Tommy groans, running a hand through his hair. “That wasn’t- Billy, dude, I wasn’t mad at you.”
Billy doesn’t respond. He pushes on.
“I wasn’t mad at you, bro. I just- gah. I hate it when you apologize for this, y’know? Cause it means you feel guilty because of it. And I don’t- I mean, shit, Billy, I just.” He sighs, letting his head fall in his hands. “I don’t like the fact that you’re like, punishing yourself for this. Or whatever. It’s not- it’s not like it’s your fault. I don’t want you to think that you need to apologize to me for like, not... for like. Needing help. Or whatever.”
It’s a shitty explanation, he knows that, but it’s the best he’s got. He just sits there, for a minute, in the silence, and. Waits.
“Oh,” Billy mumbles eventually.
“Mhm.”
There’s a beat of hesitation, then Billy moves, his hand brushing gently against Tommy’s. “I, uh. Th- thanks.”
Tommy glances at him, but Billy’s face is turned away, his shoulders tense. Tommy can feel the tremor in where his brother’s hand rests against his. “For what?” he asks quietly. It doesn’t feel like Billy should thank him for anything. It feels like he can’t get his thoughts to sound right and it’s hurting Billy in the process.
Billy shrugs. The movement is jerky, uneven. “I dunno. Loving me, I guess. Wanting me to be okay.”
He tangles his fingers with Billy’s, squeezing his hand tightly. “Of course I love you. You’re my brother.”
Billy’s laugh is soft, and sad. “Yeah, but we don’t- I mean, we didn’t... our relationship isn’t exactly the norm. Like-” He stops, dragging his free hand through his curls. “What I mean is that you don’t... have to, y’know? You could’ve just... not, when we met.”
Tommy stares at him for a long moment. “No,” he says finally, shaking his head. “No, I- I don’t think I could’ve.”
Billy’s still, for a second, before he sighs, looking at Tommy. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah. I... me too. I couldn’t have. Not loved you, I don't think.”
Tommy grins softly, scooching closer and knocking his shoulder against Billy’s. “I guess you’re stuck with me, huh?”
“Must’ve lucked out,” Billy jokes quietly, dropping his head on Tommy’s shoulder. Their hands are still together, resting on Tommy’s knee, and Billy squeezes tightly.
“Feeling better?”
His brother nods, his curls brushing Tommy’s cheek. “Yeah.”
“Good.” He hesitates, then adds, “You should, um. You should probably prepare yourself for Kate to come over, later. And Teddy. And maybe Cassie, too- I sorta told ‘em I was sick, ‘n that's why we missed practice, but I couldn’t. Uh. Quite convince them to not come over and like, help. Sorry.”
Billy doesn’t react for a second, before he laughs, hiding his face behind their intertwined hands. “God, fuck our friends. Why couldn’t they just be worse people and leave it alone?”
“Sorry,” Tommy repeats, grinning. “If it helps, I convinced Teddy to pick up takeout from that Thai place you like, as an apology.”
“Convinced?”
“I mentioned it offhandedly and he immediately agreed because he’s whipped for you.”
Billy sighs happily, a dopey smile plastered on his face. “I love him.”
Tommy rolls his eyes, gently shoving his twin away. “Geez, what am I? Chopped liver?”
Billy’s laugh is loud, and real, and it makes him feel all kinds of happy as his brother grabs his hands, holding him tightly. “I love you,” he says, and Tommy grins.
“I love me too!”
“Asshole.”
“Okay, okay, fine. I love you. So much.”
And he means it. He always will.