Threadbare Gypsy Soul
Title: Threadbare Gypsy Soul (17/?)
Rating: NC-17 over all (PG-13 most chapters)
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Warnings: Sequel to BTS, AU, angst. In this universe, Dom is a NYC social worker. The nature of his work may be a touchy subject for some people.
Feedback: is loved.
Summary: It’s human nature to bury our secrets. The fear lies in digging them up.
Chapter Notes: ...and counting.
A/N: Once again, dates and ages will seem off to the remarkably observant.
Chapter 17
Friday, December 8th
“Oh, I finally heard from your brother today. He said he ought to be here for the holidays, as long as the weather isn’t too rough through France.”
“Yeah?” Dom strode slowly down the sidewalk as his mother’s voice carried over the line, people passing him on either side in their rush for the subway.
“I just cannot believe he went and got himself a motorbike, Dommie. I swear he’ll be the death of me one day. As if that smelly old car wasn’t bad enough, I have nightmares of scraping him off the pavement as well…”
“He can take care of himself, Mum,” Dom consoled, “He’s held up this long.”
“Whatever, you’re not his mother, are you? And don’t you even dare think about following along in his footsteps,” Aureen sighed down the line, “Anyway. How are you? How’s work?”
“Work is work, it doesn’t change much,” Dom evaded the question, switched hands on his phone, tucking the cold one into his pocket. He peered through the chain-link surrounding a school playground on his way to the Metro station. School was long out for the day, though several boys shot hoops on one of the half-courts, their breath puffing in the cold air.
“How is Billy?”
He glanced at his watch and paused, leaning against a building just outside of the subway entrance, “He’s good.”
“That’s all?” she prodded, “You know, I know nothing about this man aside from the fact you’re dating him, and living together already. So mysterious, Dommie. I have no idea what to get him for Christmas.”
“You don’t have to get him anything,” Dom told her. “You don’t have to get me anything either, come to that.”
“Tosh, I’ve invited him, of course I have to get him something. I’d look a fool otherwise.”
“He just… he’s the sort that doesn’t do presents,” Dom said, dithering before blurting out the one niggling thing that had been on his mind, “Has Dad said anything about this? I mean, should I be booking a hotel or anything? Because I don’t know if I-“
“If your father has things to say, he’ll say them to you under his own roof, and the two of you will sort this out,” she cut him off. “And you’ll say your bit as well, I hope. You’re my baby boy, Dommie, and I will not have this pettiness keep our family apart anymore.”
He could hear her voice swell up across the line and bit his tongue, sorry he’d brought it up.
She sniffled, and muttered, “Of course, you’re not a little boy anymore, are you? Thirty years, I can’t believe it. I hardly know what you look like, and you never send pictures.”
“Rub it in,” he teased, putting a smile in his words for her benefit. “Anyway, I haven’t got a camera anymore, the old one broke. Sorry, Mum, but I’ve got to go, or I’ll miss the train home,” he started down the stairs, seeing that he had only minutes to spare.
“All right, I ought to get up to bed anyway, it’s late. You email me some gift ideas, then, hmm? Happy birthday, love.”
He said goodnight and rung off as the mobile's signal was lost, weaving between commuters and slipping through the closing doors of the car just in time. It was packed and he ended up standing with a tight grip on a hand loop and another on his briefcase, trying to keep it from bumping an old lady in the knees for the seven minute ride to Forest Hills.
As the train announced his stop, he pushed forward and hurried out the doors with the rest of the six-thirty throng. He’d tugged his tie and collar loose in the heat of the train, but as he climbed the stairs the wind blew cold and fetid, exhaust from the cars and buses clinging close to the pavement, already several degrees colder and darker than it had been when he’d descended into the underground. Shivering, he buttoned his coat and started towards home. Home and Billy and a blessed weekend and the possibility of not thinking for a few minutes, in that order. A few minutes were all it seemed like he could spare these days.
He tried remembering birthdays that had been better, but that only led him to particular memory, shattered glass and splintered balsawood, his father’s silence, and the trip loomed once again. A trip where he not only was going home to a parent who didn’t want him or any other disgraceful queer there, but a holiday where he was expected to work out that miniscule yet enormous disagreement and put the world all back in order. He gritted his teeth and walked faster among the crowd.
“It’s a bit early for a midlife crisis, Dommeh.”
Dom looked sharply toward the speaker. Out of thin air, Billy strode calmly along with him. “I… what are you… what?”
Billy chuckled, “I’ve been beside you since you crossed Queens Boulevard.”
“You have?” Dom gaped. “But I thought we were meeting at home.”
“I figured I’d meet you instead. Hungry?”
“Starving. Where are we going?”
Billy stopped where he was, pulling Dom out of the way of the crowds. He looked around speculatively, up and down the street, and then pointed to a little Bukharian place across the traffic. “That all right?”
Dom shrugged and nodded, “Never one to plan ahead, eh Bills?”
“Actually, I thought about leaving you clues, leading you to the Waldorf or somewhere equally ridiculous, but that went all to shite,” Billy grinned as they crossed the street, “I don’t have near as many accomplices to do my dirty work here.”
“I don’t know if I have the energy for that tonight,” Dom smiled apologetically.
“Feeling our age, are we?” Billy teased, holding open the door to the restaurant, “C’mon. I’ll ask if they do discounts for the elderly.”
“Shush, you,” Dom grumbled, “Maybe they have a two-for-one geezer special.”
The restaurant was warm and the air thick with spices as they were taken to a cozy half-circle booth where they could scoot together, rather than be across from each other. They were given a basket of steaming, chewy bread almost before they were settled. Dom let Billy order beer for the both of them, looked through the menu and decided on kebabs, then leaned back with a long sigh.
“So, how was your day?” Billy asked.
Dom cringed inwardly and didn’t look up. “You don’t want me answer that.”
“I asked because I want to know,” Billy countered. “You don’t talk about it voluntarily anymore.”
“Fine,” Dom snapped, “Today I took a baby from a house where his mother was murdered in front of him, and he sat in his playpen looking at her on the floor for who knows how long before anyone found him. And then, I talked to a fifteen year old kid who’s been in the system since he was four. He got picked up and taken to juvie for being involved in some heroin ring that his foster parents have apparently been part of for years. People I’ve trusted to look after these kids. And he wouldn’t say a word to me, aside from a few I don’t think you want to hear. And then I came back and did reports and got yelled at for being ten minutes late this morning, because the train had a glitch. That was my day, Bill. How was yours?”
Billy looked struck and said nothing. Dom tore a piece of bread apart, chewing without really tasting it, trying to simply let the day go. He knew how to detach from it all, and that counted on not bringing it all home with him, on not seeing pain of any kind on Billy’s face. He washed down the bread with a swig of beer, and reached for Billy’s hand. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Billy squeezed his fingers, “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“You shouldn’t have to not ask,” Dom frowned, then shook his head at his own words. “That didn’t make sense. But you shouldn’t have to… I shouldn’t be… I can’t.”
“Easy, Dommeh,” Billy murmured soothingly, “I get it.”
Dom took a deep breath and raised Billy’s knuckle up to his lips, seeking warmth and comfort as much as trying to salvage the evening. “How was your day?”
Billy smiled, “Today, I went to work. I sold three guitar tab books and a harmonica to a bloke with dreadlocks down to his knees. And then I watched Alejandro cut a new fretboard for this amazing Gibson owned by somebody who used to be in the Steve Miller Band. And then I swept the floor. And it went along like that until about three, and I totaled my till and found out it was three dollars and forty-nine cents short.”
Their food arrived, and they had to shift a bit apart for elbow room. Dom’s lamb kebabs were still sizzling, and the spicy flavours were delicious. Even as he ate, though, the dread was a lead weight in his stomach. Soon, even the refuge he had in time with Billy would be threatened. What would his father say? Dom had imagined every scenario, from his dad outright ignoring the elephant in the room to having an all-out screaming row about it with his mother somewhere in the middle trying to be sweet to everyone, like she always was, and Matt choosing a side that might not be his own for all he knew, and none of them were situations he felt even halfway ready for.
He felt Billy’s hand drop to his knee and squeeze. “Quit that. And here, try this,” he held out of forkful of pilaf for Dom to taste.
While Dom chewed the savory mouthful, Billy rubbed his thumb over the crease between his brows. “You’re thinking too hard, Dommeh. I can practically hear the wheels going in there.”
“I just want it to work out,” Dom fretted, “I just… I need something to go right for a change.” Dom felt his facade cracking.
“All right,” Billy put his fork down, and took Dom’s from him as well. “Listen. All the world has gone to hell. I get that, trust me, I really do. So close your eyes.” Dom just peered at him suspiciously. “Close them, Dommeh.”
“Keep them closed,” Billy reiterated, shifting on the seat, “Now tell me, without looking: what is good, right now?”
Dom kept his eyes closed. He felt Billy’s arm go behind him on the cushion and tensed, expecting some unpleasant surprise. “Bills, I don’t understand-“
“Shh,” warm breath tickled his neck, and Billy murmured low in his ear, “What feels good, right now?”
Dom jumped a bit, feeling Billy’s slightly cool nose brush behind his ear, the flutter of eyelashes on his cheek. The hand behind him curled and rubbed at his neck, short fingernails scratching lightly from his collar up into his hair. “You. That.”
“What sounds good, Dommeh?” A smile laced his words.
“Your voice.”
“No peeking,” something warm and moist brushed his lips. “What tastes good?”
He opened his mouth for the buttery bit of food Billy had given him. “That, whatever that is.”
“What smells good?”
“Garlic. Bialy bread. Lamb kebabs.” Dom inhaled, catching amongst the heavy spices a familiar woody smell, “You.”
“Open your eyes. What is good, Dommeh?” Billy asked, “Right now.”
Dom blinked, looking around at the dim hubbub of other diners, the low sound of the music and the rolling tones of Bukhori spoken by the staff, the rich smells of the food, the bitter tang of beer, the warmth of their little booth, a full stomach, Billy’s knuckles sliding slowly up and down the back of his neck, the sawdust smell on his clothes, the heat of his thigh. Billy had taken him out for his birthday dinner and he was so busy worrying and harping that he couldn’t just stop… and be still.
“Rowboats.”
“Rowboats,” Billy parroted, eyebrows knitted in bemusement, “Shite, but you need a vacation, love.”
“Exactly,” Dom laughed, “That day in Fiji, in the rowboat, with the cicadas. That’s what you mean.”
“Aye,” Billy smiled, the intensity in his eyes growing more serious, “We’ve come a ways from there, haven’t we?”
They had, and yet everything Dom had worried about that day in the mangroves still mattered. “I still need that rowboat sometimes.”
“So do I, Dommeh,” he gave Dom’s hair a final tug and moved his hands to Dom’s. “But even in the worst places, you can stop, look around and take stock of things. Sometimes it’s all that gets you through, and makes you believe the next day won't be so bad.”
“Tell me one,” Dom asked hesitantly, “From before we met. Tell me something that got you through the next day.”
Billy sat back, his eyes searching over Dom’s face thoughtfully. He reached for the last piece of bread and tore it in half, giving one to Dom. He dabbed his own half with a bit of oil and chewed a bite before answering.
“The night Gavin found me,” he said, “I was so stupid. This lad I was up against, he was thin as a beanpole but he hit like a hammer, and he was so fast. And I asked for it too, I got cocky. I put every pound I had down, which wasn’t much. He beat me fair and square, and then he beat me some more.
“Anyway, I lay there, and I just remember looking up at the moon. It was a full moon, and I watched it until my eyes swelled closed. Everything went sort of fuzzy, so I don’t remember actually saying it, but Gavin said that when he picked me up, I smiled at him and said, ‘I still have all my teeth’.”
It was meant to make him laugh, but Dom could only wince at the thought of Billy, broken and lying in the filth of the street. Billy shook his head at the memory, but smoothed Dom’s brow again with his thumb apologetically, “You asked me.”
“I know.”
Billy shrugged. “It was a long time ago. And it’s not something I’ll take up again, I promise you that.”
Dom nodded, accepting the promise. Billy didn’t make them lightly.
“Do you want pudding?” Billy changed the subject, “Or do you want to go to a film? It’s your birthday, your decision.”
“I’m tired, Bills. I just want to go home.”
“Home it is. Let’s stop all this ruminating and celebrate how ancient you are, hmm?”
Billy paid for dinner without allowing Dominic to even look at the check, and ushered him out into the frosty night and down the block.
“Mum called,” Dom recalled on the way, “Asked me what she should get you for Christmas.”
Billy’s answer was quick and expected, “She doesn’t have to get me anything.”
“She will anyway,” Dom told him, punching in the entry code at their building and holding the door open for Billy, “She’s like that.”
“Just like you,” Billy shot back wryly, pausing by the mailboxes and fishing his key ring from his pocket.
“I don’t know about that,” Dom muttered quietly, already halfway up the first stairwell. He waited at the landing for Billy to catch up, but after a minute and no Billy, he started back down, “Bills?”
Billy stood frozen in the foyer by the open mailbox, staring down at an envelope in his hand.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rating: NC-17 over all (PG-13 most chapters)
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Warnings: Sequel to BTS, AU, angst. In this universe, Dom is a NYC social worker. The nature of his work may be a touchy subject for some people.
Feedback: is loved.
Summary: It’s human nature to bury our secrets. The fear lies in digging them up.
Chapter Notes: ...and counting.
A/N: Once again, dates and ages will seem off to the remarkably observant.
Chapter 17
Friday, December 8th
“Oh, I finally heard from your brother today. He said he ought to be here for the holidays, as long as the weather isn’t too rough through France.”
“Yeah?” Dom strode slowly down the sidewalk as his mother’s voice carried over the line, people passing him on either side in their rush for the subway.
“I just cannot believe he went and got himself a motorbike, Dommie. I swear he’ll be the death of me one day. As if that smelly old car wasn’t bad enough, I have nightmares of scraping him off the pavement as well…”
“He can take care of himself, Mum,” Dom consoled, “He’s held up this long.”
“Whatever, you’re not his mother, are you? And don’t you even dare think about following along in his footsteps,” Aureen sighed down the line, “Anyway. How are you? How’s work?”
“Work is work, it doesn’t change much,” Dom evaded the question, switched hands on his phone, tucking the cold one into his pocket. He peered through the chain-link surrounding a school playground on his way to the Metro station. School was long out for the day, though several boys shot hoops on one of the half-courts, their breath puffing in the cold air.
“How is Billy?”
He glanced at his watch and paused, leaning against a building just outside of the subway entrance, “He’s good.”
“That’s all?” she prodded, “You know, I know nothing about this man aside from the fact you’re dating him, and living together already. So mysterious, Dommie. I have no idea what to get him for Christmas.”
“You don’t have to get him anything,” Dom told her. “You don’t have to get me anything either, come to that.”
“Tosh, I’ve invited him, of course I have to get him something. I’d look a fool otherwise.”
“He just… he’s the sort that doesn’t do presents,” Dom said, dithering before blurting out the one niggling thing that had been on his mind, “Has Dad said anything about this? I mean, should I be booking a hotel or anything? Because I don’t know if I-“
“If your father has things to say, he’ll say them to you under his own roof, and the two of you will sort this out,” she cut him off. “And you’ll say your bit as well, I hope. You’re my baby boy, Dommie, and I will not have this pettiness keep our family apart anymore.”
He could hear her voice swell up across the line and bit his tongue, sorry he’d brought it up.
She sniffled, and muttered, “Of course, you’re not a little boy anymore, are you? Thirty years, I can’t believe it. I hardly know what you look like, and you never send pictures.”
“Rub it in,” he teased, putting a smile in his words for her benefit. “Anyway, I haven’t got a camera anymore, the old one broke. Sorry, Mum, but I’ve got to go, or I’ll miss the train home,” he started down the stairs, seeing that he had only minutes to spare.
“All right, I ought to get up to bed anyway, it’s late. You email me some gift ideas, then, hmm? Happy birthday, love.”
He said goodnight and rung off as the mobile's signal was lost, weaving between commuters and slipping through the closing doors of the car just in time. It was packed and he ended up standing with a tight grip on a hand loop and another on his briefcase, trying to keep it from bumping an old lady in the knees for the seven minute ride to Forest Hills.
As the train announced his stop, he pushed forward and hurried out the doors with the rest of the six-thirty throng. He’d tugged his tie and collar loose in the heat of the train, but as he climbed the stairs the wind blew cold and fetid, exhaust from the cars and buses clinging close to the pavement, already several degrees colder and darker than it had been when he’d descended into the underground. Shivering, he buttoned his coat and started towards home. Home and Billy and a blessed weekend and the possibility of not thinking for a few minutes, in that order. A few minutes were all it seemed like he could spare these days.
He tried remembering birthdays that had been better, but that only led him to particular memory, shattered glass and splintered balsawood, his father’s silence, and the trip loomed once again. A trip where he not only was going home to a parent who didn’t want him or any other disgraceful queer there, but a holiday where he was expected to work out that miniscule yet enormous disagreement and put the world all back in order. He gritted his teeth and walked faster among the crowd.
“It’s a bit early for a midlife crisis, Dommeh.”
Dom looked sharply toward the speaker. Out of thin air, Billy strode calmly along with him. “I… what are you… what?”
Billy chuckled, “I’ve been beside you since you crossed Queens Boulevard.”
“You have?” Dom gaped. “But I thought we were meeting at home.”
“I figured I’d meet you instead. Hungry?”
“Starving. Where are we going?”
Billy stopped where he was, pulling Dom out of the way of the crowds. He looked around speculatively, up and down the street, and then pointed to a little Bukharian place across the traffic. “That all right?”
Dom shrugged and nodded, “Never one to plan ahead, eh Bills?”
“Actually, I thought about leaving you clues, leading you to the Waldorf or somewhere equally ridiculous, but that went all to shite,” Billy grinned as they crossed the street, “I don’t have near as many accomplices to do my dirty work here.”
“I don’t know if I have the energy for that tonight,” Dom smiled apologetically.
“Feeling our age, are we?” Billy teased, holding open the door to the restaurant, “C’mon. I’ll ask if they do discounts for the elderly.”
“Shush, you,” Dom grumbled, “Maybe they have a two-for-one geezer special.”
The restaurant was warm and the air thick with spices as they were taken to a cozy half-circle booth where they could scoot together, rather than be across from each other. They were given a basket of steaming, chewy bread almost before they were settled. Dom let Billy order beer for the both of them, looked through the menu and decided on kebabs, then leaned back with a long sigh.
“So, how was your day?” Billy asked.
Dom cringed inwardly and didn’t look up. “You don’t want me answer that.”
“I asked because I want to know,” Billy countered. “You don’t talk about it voluntarily anymore.”
“Fine,” Dom snapped, “Today I took a baby from a house where his mother was murdered in front of him, and he sat in his playpen looking at her on the floor for who knows how long before anyone found him. And then, I talked to a fifteen year old kid who’s been in the system since he was four. He got picked up and taken to juvie for being involved in some heroin ring that his foster parents have apparently been part of for years. People I’ve trusted to look after these kids. And he wouldn’t say a word to me, aside from a few I don’t think you want to hear. And then I came back and did reports and got yelled at for being ten minutes late this morning, because the train had a glitch. That was my day, Bill. How was yours?”
Billy looked struck and said nothing. Dom tore a piece of bread apart, chewing without really tasting it, trying to simply let the day go. He knew how to detach from it all, and that counted on not bringing it all home with him, on not seeing pain of any kind on Billy’s face. He washed down the bread with a swig of beer, and reached for Billy’s hand. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Billy squeezed his fingers, “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“You shouldn’t have to not ask,” Dom frowned, then shook his head at his own words. “That didn’t make sense. But you shouldn’t have to… I shouldn’t be… I can’t.”
“Easy, Dommeh,” Billy murmured soothingly, “I get it.”
Dom took a deep breath and raised Billy’s knuckle up to his lips, seeking warmth and comfort as much as trying to salvage the evening. “How was your day?”
Billy smiled, “Today, I went to work. I sold three guitar tab books and a harmonica to a bloke with dreadlocks down to his knees. And then I watched Alejandro cut a new fretboard for this amazing Gibson owned by somebody who used to be in the Steve Miller Band. And then I swept the floor. And it went along like that until about three, and I totaled my till and found out it was three dollars and forty-nine cents short.”
Their food arrived, and they had to shift a bit apart for elbow room. Dom’s lamb kebabs were still sizzling, and the spicy flavours were delicious. Even as he ate, though, the dread was a lead weight in his stomach. Soon, even the refuge he had in time with Billy would be threatened. What would his father say? Dom had imagined every scenario, from his dad outright ignoring the elephant in the room to having an all-out screaming row about it with his mother somewhere in the middle trying to be sweet to everyone, like she always was, and Matt choosing a side that might not be his own for all he knew, and none of them were situations he felt even halfway ready for.
He felt Billy’s hand drop to his knee and squeeze. “Quit that. And here, try this,” he held out of forkful of pilaf for Dom to taste.
While Dom chewed the savory mouthful, Billy rubbed his thumb over the crease between his brows. “You’re thinking too hard, Dommeh. I can practically hear the wheels going in there.”
“I just want it to work out,” Dom fretted, “I just… I need something to go right for a change.” Dom felt his facade cracking.
“All right,” Billy put his fork down, and took Dom’s from him as well. “Listen. All the world has gone to hell. I get that, trust me, I really do. So close your eyes.” Dom just peered at him suspiciously. “Close them, Dommeh.”
“Keep them closed,” Billy reiterated, shifting on the seat, “Now tell me, without looking: what is good, right now?”
Dom kept his eyes closed. He felt Billy’s arm go behind him on the cushion and tensed, expecting some unpleasant surprise. “Bills, I don’t understand-“
“Shh,” warm breath tickled his neck, and Billy murmured low in his ear, “What feels good, right now?”
Dom jumped a bit, feeling Billy’s slightly cool nose brush behind his ear, the flutter of eyelashes on his cheek. The hand behind him curled and rubbed at his neck, short fingernails scratching lightly from his collar up into his hair. “You. That.”
“What sounds good, Dommeh?” A smile laced his words.
“Your voice.”
“No peeking,” something warm and moist brushed his lips. “What tastes good?”
He opened his mouth for the buttery bit of food Billy had given him. “That, whatever that is.”
“What smells good?”
“Garlic. Bialy bread. Lamb kebabs.” Dom inhaled, catching amongst the heavy spices a familiar woody smell, “You.”
“Open your eyes. What is good, Dommeh?” Billy asked, “Right now.”
Dom blinked, looking around at the dim hubbub of other diners, the low sound of the music and the rolling tones of Bukhori spoken by the staff, the rich smells of the food, the bitter tang of beer, the warmth of their little booth, a full stomach, Billy’s knuckles sliding slowly up and down the back of his neck, the sawdust smell on his clothes, the heat of his thigh. Billy had taken him out for his birthday dinner and he was so busy worrying and harping that he couldn’t just stop… and be still.
“Rowboats.”
“Rowboats,” Billy parroted, eyebrows knitted in bemusement, “Shite, but you need a vacation, love.”
“Exactly,” Dom laughed, “That day in Fiji, in the rowboat, with the cicadas. That’s what you mean.”
“Aye,” Billy smiled, the intensity in his eyes growing more serious, “We’ve come a ways from there, haven’t we?”
They had, and yet everything Dom had worried about that day in the mangroves still mattered. “I still need that rowboat sometimes.”
“So do I, Dommeh,” he gave Dom’s hair a final tug and moved his hands to Dom’s. “But even in the worst places, you can stop, look around and take stock of things. Sometimes it’s all that gets you through, and makes you believe the next day won't be so bad.”
“Tell me one,” Dom asked hesitantly, “From before we met. Tell me something that got you through the next day.”
Billy sat back, his eyes searching over Dom’s face thoughtfully. He reached for the last piece of bread and tore it in half, giving one to Dom. He dabbed his own half with a bit of oil and chewed a bite before answering.
“The night Gavin found me,” he said, “I was so stupid. This lad I was up against, he was thin as a beanpole but he hit like a hammer, and he was so fast. And I asked for it too, I got cocky. I put every pound I had down, which wasn’t much. He beat me fair and square, and then he beat me some more.
“Anyway, I lay there, and I just remember looking up at the moon. It was a full moon, and I watched it until my eyes swelled closed. Everything went sort of fuzzy, so I don’t remember actually saying it, but Gavin said that when he picked me up, I smiled at him and said, ‘I still have all my teeth’.”
It was meant to make him laugh, but Dom could only wince at the thought of Billy, broken and lying in the filth of the street. Billy shook his head at the memory, but smoothed Dom’s brow again with his thumb apologetically, “You asked me.”
“I know.”
Billy shrugged. “It was a long time ago. And it’s not something I’ll take up again, I promise you that.”
Dom nodded, accepting the promise. Billy didn’t make them lightly.
“Do you want pudding?” Billy changed the subject, “Or do you want to go to a film? It’s your birthday, your decision.”
“I’m tired, Bills. I just want to go home.”
“Home it is. Let’s stop all this ruminating and celebrate how ancient you are, hmm?”
Billy paid for dinner without allowing Dominic to even look at the check, and ushered him out into the frosty night and down the block.
“Mum called,” Dom recalled on the way, “Asked me what she should get you for Christmas.”
Billy’s answer was quick and expected, “She doesn’t have to get me anything.”
“She will anyway,” Dom told him, punching in the entry code at their building and holding the door open for Billy, “She’s like that.”
“Just like you,” Billy shot back wryly, pausing by the mailboxes and fishing his key ring from his pocket.
“I don’t know about that,” Dom muttered quietly, already halfway up the first stairwell. He waited at the landing for Billy to catch up, but after a minute and no Billy, he started back down, “Bills?”
Billy stood frozen in the foyer by the open mailbox, staring down at an envelope in his hand.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN