Book 4, Chapter 2: Somewhere Only We Know
Title: Somewhere Only We Know
Authors: kiltsandlollies and escribo
Characters: Dominic/Billy
Word count: 5850
Summary: Another morning after.
Index
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; the recognizable people in the story belong to themselves and have never performed the actions portrayed here. I do not know the actors nor am I associated with them in any way. If you are underage, please do not read this story. I am not making any profit from these stories, nor do I mean any harm.
It’s too early when Billy wakes up after what had been a fitful night to begin with; he lies in the dark and listens to the sounds of Dominic’s breathing and the old alarm clock working in harmony to try to lull him back into sleep, knowing that it’s a lost cause at this point. He doesn’t turn to look for the time, certain that all it’ll do is make him count seconds instead of minutes until he can make his way to the chemist’s, maybe first to fill the car, because who knows if there’s enough petrol in it to get Billy anywhere but down the street. Wondering about that leads Billy to wonder other things, such as whether he should just wake Dominic and drive him back to a hospital closer than Edgerton to have that cut seen to properly, whether he can continue to safely ignore the stack of essays on his desk next to the draft of a test he hasn’t finished creating and he’s positive Dominic wouldn’t pass even if he’d managed to get to class recently, whether it’s worth leaving this bed and Dominic at all until he has no choice to do so.
Choice has nothing to do with it, though, and Billy knows it. He turns to his side and lets his hand travel to Dominic’s waist again, pulling Dominic close. Dominic’s safer here than he has been in some time, Billy decides with only the limited knowledge he has of what’s happened to Dominic-knowledge Billy has to accept has come as much from Elijah as from Dominic himself-but safety’s never had much to do with their relationship, either. Billy wants Dominic where he is, but seeing beyond the next hours, the next days, is terrifying, and so Billy focuses on what he has to do in the immediate future, listing and categorizing, prioritizing and itemizing in his head until the world beyond his bedroom window begins to brighten just enough for Billy to call it a decent enough hour to wake.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Billy rubs the back of his neck roughly and reminds himself that the morning requires another trip, too; there’s been nothing fit to eat in this house for days, nothing that would offer either of them any strength. And strength is what they’ll need, possibly more than anything else, Billy supposes; it’s easier to think about caring for Dominic physically at the moment than to consider everything else that needs fixing, if fixing’s the word, which Billy definitely knows it is not.
In the shower, Billy lets his thoughts clear and settle, unconcerned that Dominic might surface from his dreams anytime soon. He clearly needs all the sleep Billy will let him have, and now, away from the warmth of Dominic’s body and the heaviness of the responsibility Billy has thrown on himself, Billy finds he’s not eager to wake Dominic anyway; the longer he has to figure out what they need to do, the better, the easier it will be for Billy to explain to Dominic what must be done. For a moment, Billy’s thoughts fly back to every time he’d sat across from Dominic in his office, working them point by point through academic challenges, conquering every one. This shouldn’t be any different, Billy reasons, but it will; it’ll be the hardest thing they’ve had to deal with, and it’ll break them both if they don’t get it right.
On the way out of the room, Billy reaches for the shirt he’d helped Dominic remove the night before. Billy likes to think he’s seen every article of clothing Dominic owns, usually from the vantage point of tugging it off him, but even if he hadn’t, he’d know this shirt wasn’t Dominic’s; it’s too large, the pattern still bright from few turns in the wash, the tag from a shop well beyond Billy’s budget, much less Dominic’s. Billy flinches at the sight of rusty smears of blood on the shirt’s collar and shoulder and lighter streaks of it on the shirttail. He gathers it and an armful of towels, knowing he’ll toss the shirt before it has a chance to be cleaned; it’s evidence of something Billy doesn’t want to acknowledge might have happened, and while disposing of it is a risk, he’s taken worse and will do so again; better to be rid of the thing before it forces him to ask Dominic about it and then follow the question with others he doesn’t really want answered. It’s in the mudroom trash before he can think any harder about it, the surrounding towels thrown toward the washer as an afterthought now that they’ve served their purpose.
Back in his bedroom, Billy gets dressed silently, his eyes moving over Dominic’s body still mostly covered by the bedclothes. He’s hardly stirred from where Billy left him, and after some time Billy sits again on the edge of the mattress, pushing his fingers gently through the back of Dominic’s short hair. The conversation he’d had with Elijah moves back into Billy’s thoughts, and though he works to ignore it, he can’t; other questions he doesn’t want to ask demand to be spoken, and Billy lets his hand fall to Dominic’s neck, massaging carefully until Dominic’s eyes open.
"What are you taking, Dom?" Billy asks, the echo of his voice as it had been in the office days ago much quieter. Dominic hadn’t told him then, and he’s not sure now that Dominic will either. Dominic struggles to keep his eyes open, turning his face away from the window and the weak light coming from it. Billy can see that Dominic’s bled through the bandage on his forehead again, and he presses the edges of the bandage down, grateful that the bleeding seems to have stopped. "Tell me, Dom. What did you take?"
"Weed," Dominic finally answers, and Billy’s exhale is sharp and painful, as if it’s been held in too long. Dominic doesn’t react as if he’s heard it, and he continues, his voice quiet and half-hidden in the pillow beneath his head. “Ale, that bottle of whiskey. Some pills."
"What kind of pills?" Billy asks. “Dom. What kind?”
"I don't know. Little blue ones at first."
"At first,” Billy sighs. “Do you not know what they were? What did they do, Dom? How did they make you feel?"
"They made me feel nothing."
You can do better than that, Billy thinks with a flash of anger, then takes another deep breath. "And after. You said at first; what came after?"
"Just in these past few days and just the once. Something, I don't know.” Dominic’s voice sounds stronger now, but still hesitant. “I was already well gone by then, Billy. I don't know what they were, but I felt-good. Fantastic. Better than I had for days, but scared, too. Like I was falling off a cliff."
Billy’s hand moves lower, sliding between Dominic’s shoulder blades and resting warm there. "When did you take them?"
"I don't remember."
"You’ve got to try, Dom. Try to think. Where did you get them from?"
Dominic releases a little noise, half-frustrated, half exhaustedly amused. "Which?"
"Any of it," Billy says heatedly, then strokes Dominic’s back, tempering his words. “Tell me.”
"Elijah, mostly.” Billy’s hand stops moving again, and Dominic curls up tighter around his pillow, closing his eyes and going still. “Except the whiskey. I took the bottle from you."
Billy stares up at the ceiling for a moment, his questions retreating into a silence he can’t call surprised. He’d scoffed at the petty theft Dominic had made of the bottle when he’d first discovered it, but now it feels heavier, uglier, implicating Billy in more crimes than he’d committed on his own.
“Billy-” Dominic says finally, barely above a whisper, and Billy shakes his head and leans down, hushing Dominic and curving one hand around Dominic’s shoulder.
“S’alright. Go back to sleep, yeah? I’ve got to get something for your head, Dom; mine, too, I think. Just-go back to sleep and stay where you are.” He watches Dominic argue silently with himself for several seconds, but the fight’s not a hard one, and before Billy’s risen to stand Dominic’s asleep again, as comfortable as he’d appeared the first morning Billy had seen him here but looking worlds more shattered. Billy has to turn away before the temptation to remain where he is becomes too great and his plan comes apart, but the image of Dominic sleeping stays with him as he finds his keys on the front room floor.
He’s halfway to the shops before Billy even looks down at the petrol gauge, relieved to see that he’s in better shape than he’d thought, at least in this one respect. The rest of his plan now exists in the form of a list scratched on lined paper in fading green ink, tucked inside the pocket of a coat he now wishes he hadn’t worn. It’s cold out, yes, but Billy’s nerves are keeping him warmer than he’d like, and in the chemist’s aisles he finds that he’s sweating like some addict desperate to not get caught, and the ridiculousness of it all makes him roll his eyes and blow out a hard breath and refocus, reaching for stronger bandages, tighter plaster tape, and salves that’ll make Dominic’s life temporarily miserable before they make it better. Billy pauses in the middle of an aisle promising relief from all kinds of pain, and it takes everything he’s got to not gather one of everything; the explanation he’d have to make at the counter stops him, and instead he tells himself he can make do with what he has back at home, and Dominic likely doesn’t need much more of anything in his bloodstream. What Dominic feels, he’ll remember, Billy decides; and he’ll choose not to have to feel it again. It’s a simplistic conclusion, and not the kindest one, but others Billy comes to as he wanders more than make up for it.
He’d known for some time that he’d fallen in awkward, heated and rattling love with Dominic, in a way that made Billy’s past relationships look even worse in retrospect. He’d mistaken a lot of things he’d felt and done for love, even when he’d tried to be careful, with himself and with his partners. Billy thinks himself lucky-in a hideous, empty way, but lucky nonetheless-that he hadn’t known anything exactly like this before, because he’d never have been ready for the weight of it, the responsibility that he wants now or has maybe chosen him, for whatever mad reason. Dominic’s said it aloud, offered himself to Billy on yet another level, and much of Billy aches to return those words, that feeling.
That he doesn't have to right away occurs to him as he swerves around other shoppers taking their time through the market aisles. No one spares him a second glance, and Billy doesn't do much to reciprocate either; he's lost in thoughts instead of choices, reaching blindly for things he can't cook but Dominic can, things he doesn't bother preparing for himself when there's a world of takeaway at his door, things that offer more than immediate sustenance. It's been a long while since Billy's spent any real time or money at this, and when he finds himself with a half-packed car and a lighter wallet, he also finds a strange, detached joy in what he's done, in the feeling that this is what people do when they're looking after each other.
By the time he's parked the car again outside his home, Billy's determined that he can do more than just look after Dominic; once Dominic's rested and eaten and can tell Billy more than the little he'd managed to murmur earlier, Billy feels like he'll be able to better sense whether he can share his own secrets, too. You're not the one in danger here, some part of his mind argues still, and Billy shakes that off, too, more than aware of how very wrong that part of his mind can be.
The house is still quiet when Billy enters. It's gone later than he thought, and Billy stops himself from wondering if he'd actually fallen asleep again beside Dominic earlier and not noticed it; the sun slants heavily now through the windows of his front room, signaling warmth in a space that needs it now. Billy carries his bags into the kitchen but doesn't bother to unload them before he heads back down the hall to his bedroom. Dominic is still where Billy left him, curled around Billy's pillow, though the sheets and duvet are pushed down low now, exposing Dominic's back. Billy looks around the room rather than simply stare at Dominic, and then he sets his shoulders and begins to pick up some of the books and clothing littering the floor, not bothering to be quiet, but trying to let Dominic wake himself up so he doesn't have to do it again.
"I've missed class again," Dominic finally says after watching Billy for several minutes from beneath his lashes. He's not ready to wake up yet but he's not prepared to say so to Billy. His thoughts are still muddy and, as Billy had promised, he's sore, in pain from the various hits he'd taken in the accident. He's also nervous, anxiety streaking up his spine the longer Billy says nothing in return and Dominic begins to remember that they'd spoken about the pills earlier--about Elijah and everything else--and he's suddenly wide awake.
"'s a holiday," Billy answers after another few moments of silence, though Dominic can see that it wasn't what he was thinking. "What would it have been? German literature lecture and a tutoring section, yeah?" Dominic nods but says nothing. "How long has it been since you've been to either?"
Dominic shrugs but turns his face to the window, not ready to talk about his coursework yet, at least not until he's sure where Billy plans to take the discussion. He doesn't have the energy for another argument about his classes, and he'd hoped that Billy's we'll sort it out hadn't just meant his marks. And if it does? Dominic asks himself. He shakes his head in answer to his own question, his mouth flattening into a hard line. He's not willing to have that discussion yet either, even just with himself, and he's more than grateful when Billy lets it go, too.
"I've brought some food." Billy's nearer now, his long fingers dancing over the debris accumulated on his nightstand. "You've missed breakfast."
"Dinner, too, last night," Dominic says and faces Billy again. Billy sits heavily on the side of the bed, leaning to pick up the pens that had clattered to the floor the night before. Once they're tucked away again, he turns to Dominic and Dominic can see the sadness etched on his features, the heaviness that he'd been too wrapped up in himself to notice before. "I'm sorry, Billy. About everything."
"Dominic--"
"The pills. Elijah. All those things I said before. In your office." The words I'm sorry now sound inadequate, and Dominic tries to find something better--more appropriate--but there's nothing. He feels his cheeks grow warm as Billy peers at his forehead, and he stumbles through the rest of his apology. "I didn't mean them. I didn't mean any of it. Most of it. Except what I said last night."
"We'll talk about it, Dom. After we've eaten. After I've--" Billy smoothes down the edge of the bandage again, and Dominic waits for him to finish but nothing more comes.
Dominic nods, biting back the rest of what he wants to say. It's harder now to remind himself of the promises he'd made at the hospital and in the cab. Warm and safe, his mind clearer for all that he still can't remember much of what he's done in the last month much less the last few days, he can admit to himself that his thoughts toward Billy haven't changed. He's in love with Billy, not because Billy's allowed him back here and not because Billy's willing and able to help him find his feet again, but because of those things and everything else. When Billy's fingertips press a touch harder than before, Dominic closes his eyes and feels the room spin a little, tilting him to one side along with it until Billy's hands fall on his shoulders.
"No, up," Billy says, dragging Dominic to sit. "I need to look after that cut and you need to eat something."
Dominic's nodding and swinging his legs over the side of the bed even as he's mumbling not hungry. He'll do what Billy asks, especially if it means he's granted a reprieve from talking. Billy's hand is on his back now, pushing him toward the bathroom, and Dominic goes willingly, nodding when Billy tilts his head and asks if he's alright and watching as Billy then disappears.
Leaning against the sink, Dominic looks for but doesn't find the shirt he'd worn last night. He's not surprised that it's gone; rather, he's relieved. He forces himself to remember one boy's name--Declan-and then another's, the one who was driving, Martin. How Dominic ended up in one or the other's shirt is still a mystery to him, but he doesn't dig too hard for that memory. Instead, he begins the slow process of washing up, almost deciding against shaving until he reaches for Billy's razor and just does it, taking long strokes through lather on his cheeks and chin, focusing on the work of it instead of the thoughts that demand his attention. Every second that passes Dominic feels a little better, calmer, and once he’s rinsed his face and begun to recognize himself again in the mirror, he listens for and hears Billy’s footfall, returning from wherever he’d gone to-the kitchen, Dominic supposes, and finds it confirmed when Billy reaches him and leans against the bathroom doorway, a mug in his hand. Billy watches Dominic finish washing up, not speaking until Dominic leans closer to the mirror and touches the bandage, considering whether to rip it off and destroy another piece of evidence.
"It looks like the bleeding's stopped,” Billy says quietly, and Dominic swallows.
"Still hurts."
"’s bruised. You’re going to feel it for a while, Dom. Could’ve used some stitches as well, it looks like." Dominic nods but doesn't say anything else, and Billy looks down at the floor and their bare feet before looking up again and extending the mug to Dominic. “Thought you might do with some tea.”
Another nod, but this time Dominic murmurs in thanks before he takes the tea, holding the mug gingerly and letting its warmth move over him. Dominic follows Billy back to the center of the bedroom, in front of Billy’s dresser and the tilted mirror Dominic’s seen himself in so often. He doesn’t look this time; instead he leaves the mug of tea on the dresser and advances on Billy slowly, closing up the small space between them. Billy doesn't move away, but rests a hand on Dominic's shoulder and then turns Dominic's face from side to side with a gentle touch to his chin and appraises him, as he’d done last night, Dominic thinks, but there’s less determination in Billy’s stare this time; Billy’s looking for more than can be discovered through a surface level of concern. Dominic puts his hands on Billy's waist, fingering the thin material of Billy's shirt, and waits him out, letting his shoulders drop when Billy finally speaks.
"Your eyes look better."
"Yours, too."
Billy frowns and flushes scarlet and looks at their feet again, but Dominic holds his gentle ground, nudging his cheek against Billy’s until Billy pulls back just enough to curve his hands around Dominic’s face, his thumbs tracing Dominic’s cheekbones. For a moment Dominic thinks this is it, that Billy’s going to give in and kiss him and the world will settle back onto his axis for both of them. He’s confused when it doesn’t happen but works hard not to show it, swallowing again.
"Dom, I haven’t got--” Billy starts, then stops again, thinking it through. “You can grab something of mine to wear, yeah? We’re not going anywhere for a bit, I don’t think.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Dominic says, and Billy nods.
“Good thing, too. Y’do need to get dressed, though.” Billy’s hands fall to Dominic’s waist now, and his frown returns, smaller, before Dominic watches his face turn impassive but still soft. “You’re going to get better, Dom. Healthier. You’ve lost weight, I’d know even if you weren’t-like this, here.”
Dominic steps out of Billy’s grip, nodding in acknowledgment of what Billy’s said but not wanting to offer or listen to any further elaboration. He hears Billy’s restrained sigh of frustration, but doesn’t acknowledge that, instead grabbing Billy’s pyjama trousers from a loosely folded and abandoned stack of clean laundry and sliding them on carefully. The weight of Billy’s stare is easier on him now that Dominic’s found something to do, crouching unsteadily as he looks for a shirt he can comfortably wear. Once he’s dressed, standing still as if waiting for Billy’s approval until Billy finally tilts his head and forces a smile and gestures to the door, Dominic feels a little more strengthened, somewhat confident that he can stall serious discussion a little longer but prepared for it in case he actually can’t.
They stop again in the front room, Dominic coming up short behind Billy as Billy focuses on the rucksack Dominic has no recollection of having brought inside the house with him. Dominic’s ready to thank Billy for doing so when Billy turns to face him, his eyes keener, determined again, even as his voice remains kind.
"Have you got your papers, Dom? Your passport, your identification--"
Dominic blanches and then for several seconds is all confusion, pushing past Billy and falling to his knees on the carpet, pulling things from his bag and dropping them onto the floor--his journal that he hadn't touched for weeks, his passport and wallet, the German translation of Aristotle’s Poetics given to him by Billy so long ago. He remembers packing all of it now, intending to leave, to go back to Manchester and his mother. For a moment Dominic can't decide how to feel about never having made it there, but pushes firmly from his thoughts what her reaction would have been to finding him home. "I should call her," he murmurs, sitting now on the floor and emptying his bag completely.
"Who?"
Dominic looks up at Billy, surprised to find him so close. "My mum. I was--that's where I was going before--after I left your office. I thought I had another bag with my clothes and things. I don't know where it is."
"Alright," Billy says, his voice quiet as he kneels down on the floor beside Dominic. "We'll replace it. Whatever you need, yeah? Just--you have your passport in there, right?"
Dominic nods, lifting it up and opening the cover to show Billy the picture inside. "I'd just turned eighteen there." The picture is all ears and nose to Dominic, and he almost wants to laugh, but the sound never makes it from him. Billy takes the passport, flipping through its pages, and then hands it back to Dominic as if he’s been caught at stealing it. Dominic runs his hands over the rest of the contents of his rucksack, pushing things this way and that, and then he hears Billy’s low exhale and follows Billy’s glance in the direction of a little bag that’s surfaced from underneath Dominic’s journal.
“It’s not mine,” Dominic says quickly, reaching for the bag but then pulling his hand away. “I didn’t buy it--”
“Elijah?”
Dominic blinks and feels his face grow hot again. “Everything was his. Almost everything.”
“Almost.”
Dominic sets his jaw hard to keep from begging forgiveness for one thing he can honestly call not his fault. Billy’s expression is calm, but his eyes are steely, and Dominic can’t meet them. “It’s his, Billy. He just stashed it with me before he-went away. Or I did. I forgot about it.”
“Sort of the wrong thing to forget, Dom,” Billy says quietly, and Dominic watches him lean down and run his own fingers through the mess of papers and books on the floor between them now. “Nothing else?”
“No. I don’t-I don’t know, Billy. I don’t think so. I just--” Dominic forces himself to look up again. “I took everything. I wouldn’t have--” He throws a hand desperately, then pushes it through his hair.
“Let anything go to waste.” Billy finishes the sentence for him, and nods when Dominic says nothing. “Christ, Dominic,” Billy breathes, but he moves closer, tilting Dominic’s chin toward him. “I can’t fucking believe he gave you those things and then left you. He should’ve been in that fucking car.” Dominic opens his mouth to speak, but Billy shakes his head sharply. “Look, that bag is going t’disappear. Don’t go looking for it, d’you understand? And get clear, Dom-if I find anything-anything else, we’re back to hospital faster than you can fucking blink, hmm?”
Dominic nods, his eyes wide, and then Billy takes a breath and touches his forehead to Dominic’s for a long time before they both relax again. “Think you can manage some breakfast?”
“I think-“ Dominic’s voice feels rough, and he clears his throat hard before he tries again. “That’s about the only thing I can manage, Billy.” He feels Billy’s laughter rather than hears it, and then he’s being lifted, Billy’s hands around his arms again.
"Go on then, into the kitchen. I need to--" Billy doesn't finish his thought, but he's looking down at the spilled contents of Dominic's bag, and Dominic understands, nodding and leaving him to it.
In the kitchen, Dominic takes stock of the mess and the bags of groceries still on the table. This, at least, he knows he can do right and well, and he fills the sink with hot, soapy water before he begins to remove things from the sacks. It's easier to think of making an omelet now and planning a stew or roast for later rather than wonder what Billy's thinking now, what Dominic knows he's doing. Easier, too, to relax into familiar domestic tasks, ones he's always loved to perform. There's order here that he can instill and control, and he's had far too little of that in his life lately. It's some time before Billy comes in, leaning his hip against the counter that Dominic is scrubbing as if he'll be graded on it.
"I don't know that I'm going to make it through this term, Billy." Dominic surprises himself by bringing it up when he'd been convinced his coursework was the last topic of discussion he wanted to share with Billy. "I've made a complete fucking mess."
"You're not going to fail," Billy says, his voice quiet but firm, encouraging Dominic on.
"You asked me when was the last time I had gone to my German literature lecture. It's been at least two weeks. I haven't turned in any of the translations." Dominic rinses the rag in his hands, squeezing out the hot water before reaching for the cutting board, meaning to scrub it next. "That’s not the worst of it, either. Biology-I don’t even know what the readings were. I’m going to fail out. It’s just done, Billy. It’s over.”
"You are not going to fail. “ Billy’s echo is harder, but he remains where he is, only folding his arms over his chest. “We’ll find a way."
“You can’t fix this--”
“Please don’t assume what I can and can’t do.” It’s said kindly, and Dominic stops what he’s doing and faces Billy, finding strength and not anger in Billy’s eyes. "Even if you weren’t here under these … circumstances, Dom, if you weren't with me, I could make this work. I was your advisor well before any of this, and you trusted me with your progress. You'll have to trust me again--"
"I do."
“Not just with that. I want you to trust me with all of it. Whatever you’ll let me give you.” Dominic looks for some response to that, but Billy moves suddenly, his hand drifting across Dominic’s back as he passes him and sits at the table, moving back into his own thoughts. Dominic returns to his tasks of washing down the counters before he begins to chop the onion and pepper, adding them to the skillet before he turns to put the rest of the groceries away, retreating back into the familiar by turning bacon and tomatoes in the pan and replacing their tea with Billy’s preferred coffee, setting larger mugs down on the table. Digging through the cupboards, he pulls down plates and finds forks, waiting for the toast to brown in the oven. It's better like this, he decides, caring for Billy rather than always the other way around. He likes the role and wishes he could take it more often; maybe now, or after this dust has settled better, he can and will.
They eat in silence, though it's not strained, and Dominic lets his shoulders drop and his thoughts clear. It could be like this, he thinks, without grand declarations or any more promises made. He and Billy could be like this, both carrying on with their work, and then in the summer, if Dominic’s able to graduate as planned, it could be more. Better. Dominic forces down a few bites, aware that Billy is watching him. In the end, though, there's more than half the omelet left on his plate, and most of the bacon. Dominic pushes the food around before he gives up to rest his chin on his fist.
"A little more, I think, Dom."
"I'll save it."
Billy puts down his fork, too, and reaches across the table to squeeze Dominic's fingers before he stands and carries their dishes to the counter.
"I couldn't live without you, Billy. I tried to, but it was terrifying." Dominic surprises himself again with his burst of speech and the ugly truth behind it. "Everything hurt. I felt like I was being torn in two. It was so much easier with Elijah. Less painful."
"Not easier."
"No." Dominic bites at his thumbnail, remembering nights when it hadn't been easier at all to be with Elijah. Just less lonely, he supposes. "Orlando told me-I was warned, okay, but it didn't seem to matter. It wasn't until--I thought I could have died, Billy. When I was at Edgerton, I just realized how stupid I'd been and all I could think about was you, and about how you'd find out if--"
For a moment Dominic watches Billy's back stiffen and his hands curl around the edge of the counter as if he's holding himself up. Dominic stands and goes to him, his hand outstretched, though he hesitates for a moment before resting it on Billy's shoulder. “What's going to happen now?" Dominic asks. "Where do we go from here?"
“You need rest, Dom,” Billy says quietly. “And not what you can get from some fucking pills. I’ve done that bit, the walking around half-dead, thinking you can handle whatever’s thrown at you when you’re running on nothing. It doesn’t work. It never did.” The admission comes hard from Billy, Dominic can tell, and he holds his breath, waiting for Billy to say more. “I want you to talk to someone else if you feel like you need to, Dom. If there's something you can't tell me--”
“I’ll tell you anything.”
“You think that now,” Billy says urgently, turning to face Dominic again. “It’s not true, though, is it? You can’t tell me what you don’t remember yet. It’ll come back to you, Dom, when you least expect it and when you most want it to have gone away forever. I don’t need to know everything now. It’ll come, and when it does, we’ll just--”
“Sort it out.” Dominic offers a weak smile, and Billy mirrors it, nodding as he strokes his hand down Dominic’s cheek again.
“Sort it out. There, haven’t seen you do that for weeks. What do you want, Dom? What do you want to happen?”
“I want to stay here,” Dominic says quietly. “I want you to let me. I want to be with you, Billy; that’s what I wanted the whole time. I just-it’s not just me, I know it isn’t. You were happy, Billy; I made you happy. I want to do it again.”
“Tall order,” Billy says, but he doesn’t deny any of what Dominic’s said. “You know what you’re offering me, Dom. You didn’t call me in the middle of the fucking night just because you thought I wouldn’t send you off home or run you in to the police. And it wasn’t just because you’re-in love with me. I’m a miserable fucking bastard, Dom; you’re better off not bothering, and you know it--”
“Stop,” Dominic whispers, and Billy does, pushing his fingers through Dominic’s hair. Dominic nudges against him, craving more of the warmth of Billy’s skin against his own, and this time he’s surprised by the kiss, gentle at first but then searching, not unlike those he and Billy had shared that first time in Billy’s office. It’s curious and careful, but demanding, too, both of them pulling back and advancing again as if this is the only thing they’ll have to remember to make this work again. It’s Billy who finally pulls away, smiling again before he meets Dominic’s eyes and speaks more haltingly.
“Point is, Dom, you know something I don’t. Didn’t. Or something I knew and didn’t want to-accept, like, or let happen, as if I had a fucking choice in it.” Billy lets out a huff, and Dominic nearly laughs at the idea of Billy being at such a loss for words, even when they both need to hear them. “We’re going to find a way to fix this, all of it. It’s not going to happen unless we’re just--honest, I think. That’s how it starts, yeah? Honest about what we want, what we’re going to need. I hate that fucking word, Dom. I hate it because it’s real and it’s honest and it’s fucking hard to look yourself in the face and admit it when you need something, whatever it is.”
"What do you need, Billy?" Dominic asks, leaning in so their foreheads touch again. Billy shakes his head as if he holding back his answer, but Dominic smiles, and Billy finally gives, his voice soft but certain, familiar and warm.
“Everything you’ve got, Dom. Everything you’ve got.”
Authors: kiltsandlollies and escribo
Characters: Dominic/Billy
Word count: 5850
Summary: Another morning after.
Index
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; the recognizable people in the story belong to themselves and have never performed the actions portrayed here. I do not know the actors nor am I associated with them in any way. If you are underage, please do not read this story. I am not making any profit from these stories, nor do I mean any harm.
It’s too early when Billy wakes up after what had been a fitful night to begin with; he lies in the dark and listens to the sounds of Dominic’s breathing and the old alarm clock working in harmony to try to lull him back into sleep, knowing that it’s a lost cause at this point. He doesn’t turn to look for the time, certain that all it’ll do is make him count seconds instead of minutes until he can make his way to the chemist’s, maybe first to fill the car, because who knows if there’s enough petrol in it to get Billy anywhere but down the street. Wondering about that leads Billy to wonder other things, such as whether he should just wake Dominic and drive him back to a hospital closer than Edgerton to have that cut seen to properly, whether he can continue to safely ignore the stack of essays on his desk next to the draft of a test he hasn’t finished creating and he’s positive Dominic wouldn’t pass even if he’d managed to get to class recently, whether it’s worth leaving this bed and Dominic at all until he has no choice to do so.
Choice has nothing to do with it, though, and Billy knows it. He turns to his side and lets his hand travel to Dominic’s waist again, pulling Dominic close. Dominic’s safer here than he has been in some time, Billy decides with only the limited knowledge he has of what’s happened to Dominic-knowledge Billy has to accept has come as much from Elijah as from Dominic himself-but safety’s never had much to do with their relationship, either. Billy wants Dominic where he is, but seeing beyond the next hours, the next days, is terrifying, and so Billy focuses on what he has to do in the immediate future, listing and categorizing, prioritizing and itemizing in his head until the world beyond his bedroom window begins to brighten just enough for Billy to call it a decent enough hour to wake.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Billy rubs the back of his neck roughly and reminds himself that the morning requires another trip, too; there’s been nothing fit to eat in this house for days, nothing that would offer either of them any strength. And strength is what they’ll need, possibly more than anything else, Billy supposes; it’s easier to think about caring for Dominic physically at the moment than to consider everything else that needs fixing, if fixing’s the word, which Billy definitely knows it is not.
In the shower, Billy lets his thoughts clear and settle, unconcerned that Dominic might surface from his dreams anytime soon. He clearly needs all the sleep Billy will let him have, and now, away from the warmth of Dominic’s body and the heaviness of the responsibility Billy has thrown on himself, Billy finds he’s not eager to wake Dominic anyway; the longer he has to figure out what they need to do, the better, the easier it will be for Billy to explain to Dominic what must be done. For a moment, Billy’s thoughts fly back to every time he’d sat across from Dominic in his office, working them point by point through academic challenges, conquering every one. This shouldn’t be any different, Billy reasons, but it will; it’ll be the hardest thing they’ve had to deal with, and it’ll break them both if they don’t get it right.
On the way out of the room, Billy reaches for the shirt he’d helped Dominic remove the night before. Billy likes to think he’s seen every article of clothing Dominic owns, usually from the vantage point of tugging it off him, but even if he hadn’t, he’d know this shirt wasn’t Dominic’s; it’s too large, the pattern still bright from few turns in the wash, the tag from a shop well beyond Billy’s budget, much less Dominic’s. Billy flinches at the sight of rusty smears of blood on the shirt’s collar and shoulder and lighter streaks of it on the shirttail. He gathers it and an armful of towels, knowing he’ll toss the shirt before it has a chance to be cleaned; it’s evidence of something Billy doesn’t want to acknowledge might have happened, and while disposing of it is a risk, he’s taken worse and will do so again; better to be rid of the thing before it forces him to ask Dominic about it and then follow the question with others he doesn’t really want answered. It’s in the mudroom trash before he can think any harder about it, the surrounding towels thrown toward the washer as an afterthought now that they’ve served their purpose.
Back in his bedroom, Billy gets dressed silently, his eyes moving over Dominic’s body still mostly covered by the bedclothes. He’s hardly stirred from where Billy left him, and after some time Billy sits again on the edge of the mattress, pushing his fingers gently through the back of Dominic’s short hair. The conversation he’d had with Elijah moves back into Billy’s thoughts, and though he works to ignore it, he can’t; other questions he doesn’t want to ask demand to be spoken, and Billy lets his hand fall to Dominic’s neck, massaging carefully until Dominic’s eyes open.
"What are you taking, Dom?" Billy asks, the echo of his voice as it had been in the office days ago much quieter. Dominic hadn’t told him then, and he’s not sure now that Dominic will either. Dominic struggles to keep his eyes open, turning his face away from the window and the weak light coming from it. Billy can see that Dominic’s bled through the bandage on his forehead again, and he presses the edges of the bandage down, grateful that the bleeding seems to have stopped. "Tell me, Dom. What did you take?"
"Weed," Dominic finally answers, and Billy’s exhale is sharp and painful, as if it’s been held in too long. Dominic doesn’t react as if he’s heard it, and he continues, his voice quiet and half-hidden in the pillow beneath his head. “Ale, that bottle of whiskey. Some pills."
"What kind of pills?" Billy asks. “Dom. What kind?”
"I don't know. Little blue ones at first."
"At first,” Billy sighs. “Do you not know what they were? What did they do, Dom? How did they make you feel?"
"They made me feel nothing."
You can do better than that, Billy thinks with a flash of anger, then takes another deep breath. "And after. You said at first; what came after?"
"Just in these past few days and just the once. Something, I don't know.” Dominic’s voice sounds stronger now, but still hesitant. “I was already well gone by then, Billy. I don't know what they were, but I felt-good. Fantastic. Better than I had for days, but scared, too. Like I was falling off a cliff."
Billy’s hand moves lower, sliding between Dominic’s shoulder blades and resting warm there. "When did you take them?"
"I don't remember."
"You’ve got to try, Dom. Try to think. Where did you get them from?"
Dominic releases a little noise, half-frustrated, half exhaustedly amused. "Which?"
"Any of it," Billy says heatedly, then strokes Dominic’s back, tempering his words. “Tell me.”
"Elijah, mostly.” Billy’s hand stops moving again, and Dominic curls up tighter around his pillow, closing his eyes and going still. “Except the whiskey. I took the bottle from you."
Billy stares up at the ceiling for a moment, his questions retreating into a silence he can’t call surprised. He’d scoffed at the petty theft Dominic had made of the bottle when he’d first discovered it, but now it feels heavier, uglier, implicating Billy in more crimes than he’d committed on his own.
“Billy-” Dominic says finally, barely above a whisper, and Billy shakes his head and leans down, hushing Dominic and curving one hand around Dominic’s shoulder.
“S’alright. Go back to sleep, yeah? I’ve got to get something for your head, Dom; mine, too, I think. Just-go back to sleep and stay where you are.” He watches Dominic argue silently with himself for several seconds, but the fight’s not a hard one, and before Billy’s risen to stand Dominic’s asleep again, as comfortable as he’d appeared the first morning Billy had seen him here but looking worlds more shattered. Billy has to turn away before the temptation to remain where he is becomes too great and his plan comes apart, but the image of Dominic sleeping stays with him as he finds his keys on the front room floor.
He’s halfway to the shops before Billy even looks down at the petrol gauge, relieved to see that he’s in better shape than he’d thought, at least in this one respect. The rest of his plan now exists in the form of a list scratched on lined paper in fading green ink, tucked inside the pocket of a coat he now wishes he hadn’t worn. It’s cold out, yes, but Billy’s nerves are keeping him warmer than he’d like, and in the chemist’s aisles he finds that he’s sweating like some addict desperate to not get caught, and the ridiculousness of it all makes him roll his eyes and blow out a hard breath and refocus, reaching for stronger bandages, tighter plaster tape, and salves that’ll make Dominic’s life temporarily miserable before they make it better. Billy pauses in the middle of an aisle promising relief from all kinds of pain, and it takes everything he’s got to not gather one of everything; the explanation he’d have to make at the counter stops him, and instead he tells himself he can make do with what he has back at home, and Dominic likely doesn’t need much more of anything in his bloodstream. What Dominic feels, he’ll remember, Billy decides; and he’ll choose not to have to feel it again. It’s a simplistic conclusion, and not the kindest one, but others Billy comes to as he wanders more than make up for it.
He’d known for some time that he’d fallen in awkward, heated and rattling love with Dominic, in a way that made Billy’s past relationships look even worse in retrospect. He’d mistaken a lot of things he’d felt and done for love, even when he’d tried to be careful, with himself and with his partners. Billy thinks himself lucky-in a hideous, empty way, but lucky nonetheless-that he hadn’t known anything exactly like this before, because he’d never have been ready for the weight of it, the responsibility that he wants now or has maybe chosen him, for whatever mad reason. Dominic’s said it aloud, offered himself to Billy on yet another level, and much of Billy aches to return those words, that feeling.
That he doesn't have to right away occurs to him as he swerves around other shoppers taking their time through the market aisles. No one spares him a second glance, and Billy doesn't do much to reciprocate either; he's lost in thoughts instead of choices, reaching blindly for things he can't cook but Dominic can, things he doesn't bother preparing for himself when there's a world of takeaway at his door, things that offer more than immediate sustenance. It's been a long while since Billy's spent any real time or money at this, and when he finds himself with a half-packed car and a lighter wallet, he also finds a strange, detached joy in what he's done, in the feeling that this is what people do when they're looking after each other.
By the time he's parked the car again outside his home, Billy's determined that he can do more than just look after Dominic; once Dominic's rested and eaten and can tell Billy more than the little he'd managed to murmur earlier, Billy feels like he'll be able to better sense whether he can share his own secrets, too. You're not the one in danger here, some part of his mind argues still, and Billy shakes that off, too, more than aware of how very wrong that part of his mind can be.
The house is still quiet when Billy enters. It's gone later than he thought, and Billy stops himself from wondering if he'd actually fallen asleep again beside Dominic earlier and not noticed it; the sun slants heavily now through the windows of his front room, signaling warmth in a space that needs it now. Billy carries his bags into the kitchen but doesn't bother to unload them before he heads back down the hall to his bedroom. Dominic is still where Billy left him, curled around Billy's pillow, though the sheets and duvet are pushed down low now, exposing Dominic's back. Billy looks around the room rather than simply stare at Dominic, and then he sets his shoulders and begins to pick up some of the books and clothing littering the floor, not bothering to be quiet, but trying to let Dominic wake himself up so he doesn't have to do it again.
"I've missed class again," Dominic finally says after watching Billy for several minutes from beneath his lashes. He's not ready to wake up yet but he's not prepared to say so to Billy. His thoughts are still muddy and, as Billy had promised, he's sore, in pain from the various hits he'd taken in the accident. He's also nervous, anxiety streaking up his spine the longer Billy says nothing in return and Dominic begins to remember that they'd spoken about the pills earlier--about Elijah and everything else--and he's suddenly wide awake.
"'s a holiday," Billy answers after another few moments of silence, though Dominic can see that it wasn't what he was thinking. "What would it have been? German literature lecture and a tutoring section, yeah?" Dominic nods but says nothing. "How long has it been since you've been to either?"
Dominic shrugs but turns his face to the window, not ready to talk about his coursework yet, at least not until he's sure where Billy plans to take the discussion. He doesn't have the energy for another argument about his classes, and he'd hoped that Billy's we'll sort it out hadn't just meant his marks. And if it does? Dominic asks himself. He shakes his head in answer to his own question, his mouth flattening into a hard line. He's not willing to have that discussion yet either, even just with himself, and he's more than grateful when Billy lets it go, too.
"I've brought some food." Billy's nearer now, his long fingers dancing over the debris accumulated on his nightstand. "You've missed breakfast."
"Dinner, too, last night," Dominic says and faces Billy again. Billy sits heavily on the side of the bed, leaning to pick up the pens that had clattered to the floor the night before. Once they're tucked away again, he turns to Dominic and Dominic can see the sadness etched on his features, the heaviness that he'd been too wrapped up in himself to notice before. "I'm sorry, Billy. About everything."
"Dominic--"
"The pills. Elijah. All those things I said before. In your office." The words I'm sorry now sound inadequate, and Dominic tries to find something better--more appropriate--but there's nothing. He feels his cheeks grow warm as Billy peers at his forehead, and he stumbles through the rest of his apology. "I didn't mean them. I didn't mean any of it. Most of it. Except what I said last night."
"We'll talk about it, Dom. After we've eaten. After I've--" Billy smoothes down the edge of the bandage again, and Dominic waits for him to finish but nothing more comes.
Dominic nods, biting back the rest of what he wants to say. It's harder now to remind himself of the promises he'd made at the hospital and in the cab. Warm and safe, his mind clearer for all that he still can't remember much of what he's done in the last month much less the last few days, he can admit to himself that his thoughts toward Billy haven't changed. He's in love with Billy, not because Billy's allowed him back here and not because Billy's willing and able to help him find his feet again, but because of those things and everything else. When Billy's fingertips press a touch harder than before, Dominic closes his eyes and feels the room spin a little, tilting him to one side along with it until Billy's hands fall on his shoulders.
"No, up," Billy says, dragging Dominic to sit. "I need to look after that cut and you need to eat something."
Dominic's nodding and swinging his legs over the side of the bed even as he's mumbling not hungry. He'll do what Billy asks, especially if it means he's granted a reprieve from talking. Billy's hand is on his back now, pushing him toward the bathroom, and Dominic goes willingly, nodding when Billy tilts his head and asks if he's alright and watching as Billy then disappears.
Leaning against the sink, Dominic looks for but doesn't find the shirt he'd worn last night. He's not surprised that it's gone; rather, he's relieved. He forces himself to remember one boy's name--Declan-and then another's, the one who was driving, Martin. How Dominic ended up in one or the other's shirt is still a mystery to him, but he doesn't dig too hard for that memory. Instead, he begins the slow process of washing up, almost deciding against shaving until he reaches for Billy's razor and just does it, taking long strokes through lather on his cheeks and chin, focusing on the work of it instead of the thoughts that demand his attention. Every second that passes Dominic feels a little better, calmer, and once he’s rinsed his face and begun to recognize himself again in the mirror, he listens for and hears Billy’s footfall, returning from wherever he’d gone to-the kitchen, Dominic supposes, and finds it confirmed when Billy reaches him and leans against the bathroom doorway, a mug in his hand. Billy watches Dominic finish washing up, not speaking until Dominic leans closer to the mirror and touches the bandage, considering whether to rip it off and destroy another piece of evidence.
"It looks like the bleeding's stopped,” Billy says quietly, and Dominic swallows.
"Still hurts."
"’s bruised. You’re going to feel it for a while, Dom. Could’ve used some stitches as well, it looks like." Dominic nods but doesn't say anything else, and Billy looks down at the floor and their bare feet before looking up again and extending the mug to Dominic. “Thought you might do with some tea.”
Another nod, but this time Dominic murmurs in thanks before he takes the tea, holding the mug gingerly and letting its warmth move over him. Dominic follows Billy back to the center of the bedroom, in front of Billy’s dresser and the tilted mirror Dominic’s seen himself in so often. He doesn’t look this time; instead he leaves the mug of tea on the dresser and advances on Billy slowly, closing up the small space between them. Billy doesn't move away, but rests a hand on Dominic's shoulder and then turns Dominic's face from side to side with a gentle touch to his chin and appraises him, as he’d done last night, Dominic thinks, but there’s less determination in Billy’s stare this time; Billy’s looking for more than can be discovered through a surface level of concern. Dominic puts his hands on Billy's waist, fingering the thin material of Billy's shirt, and waits him out, letting his shoulders drop when Billy finally speaks.
"Your eyes look better."
"Yours, too."
Billy frowns and flushes scarlet and looks at their feet again, but Dominic holds his gentle ground, nudging his cheek against Billy’s until Billy pulls back just enough to curve his hands around Dominic’s face, his thumbs tracing Dominic’s cheekbones. For a moment Dominic thinks this is it, that Billy’s going to give in and kiss him and the world will settle back onto his axis for both of them. He’s confused when it doesn’t happen but works hard not to show it, swallowing again.
"Dom, I haven’t got--” Billy starts, then stops again, thinking it through. “You can grab something of mine to wear, yeah? We’re not going anywhere for a bit, I don’t think.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Dominic says, and Billy nods.
“Good thing, too. Y’do need to get dressed, though.” Billy’s hands fall to Dominic’s waist now, and his frown returns, smaller, before Dominic watches his face turn impassive but still soft. “You’re going to get better, Dom. Healthier. You’ve lost weight, I’d know even if you weren’t-like this, here.”
Dominic steps out of Billy’s grip, nodding in acknowledgment of what Billy’s said but not wanting to offer or listen to any further elaboration. He hears Billy’s restrained sigh of frustration, but doesn’t acknowledge that, instead grabbing Billy’s pyjama trousers from a loosely folded and abandoned stack of clean laundry and sliding them on carefully. The weight of Billy’s stare is easier on him now that Dominic’s found something to do, crouching unsteadily as he looks for a shirt he can comfortably wear. Once he’s dressed, standing still as if waiting for Billy’s approval until Billy finally tilts his head and forces a smile and gestures to the door, Dominic feels a little more strengthened, somewhat confident that he can stall serious discussion a little longer but prepared for it in case he actually can’t.
They stop again in the front room, Dominic coming up short behind Billy as Billy focuses on the rucksack Dominic has no recollection of having brought inside the house with him. Dominic’s ready to thank Billy for doing so when Billy turns to face him, his eyes keener, determined again, even as his voice remains kind.
"Have you got your papers, Dom? Your passport, your identification--"
Dominic blanches and then for several seconds is all confusion, pushing past Billy and falling to his knees on the carpet, pulling things from his bag and dropping them onto the floor--his journal that he hadn't touched for weeks, his passport and wallet, the German translation of Aristotle’s Poetics given to him by Billy so long ago. He remembers packing all of it now, intending to leave, to go back to Manchester and his mother. For a moment Dominic can't decide how to feel about never having made it there, but pushes firmly from his thoughts what her reaction would have been to finding him home. "I should call her," he murmurs, sitting now on the floor and emptying his bag completely.
"Who?"
Dominic looks up at Billy, surprised to find him so close. "My mum. I was--that's where I was going before--after I left your office. I thought I had another bag with my clothes and things. I don't know where it is."
"Alright," Billy says, his voice quiet as he kneels down on the floor beside Dominic. "We'll replace it. Whatever you need, yeah? Just--you have your passport in there, right?"
Dominic nods, lifting it up and opening the cover to show Billy the picture inside. "I'd just turned eighteen there." The picture is all ears and nose to Dominic, and he almost wants to laugh, but the sound never makes it from him. Billy takes the passport, flipping through its pages, and then hands it back to Dominic as if he’s been caught at stealing it. Dominic runs his hands over the rest of the contents of his rucksack, pushing things this way and that, and then he hears Billy’s low exhale and follows Billy’s glance in the direction of a little bag that’s surfaced from underneath Dominic’s journal.
“It’s not mine,” Dominic says quickly, reaching for the bag but then pulling his hand away. “I didn’t buy it--”
“Elijah?”
Dominic blinks and feels his face grow hot again. “Everything was his. Almost everything.”
“Almost.”
Dominic sets his jaw hard to keep from begging forgiveness for one thing he can honestly call not his fault. Billy’s expression is calm, but his eyes are steely, and Dominic can’t meet them. “It’s his, Billy. He just stashed it with me before he-went away. Or I did. I forgot about it.”
“Sort of the wrong thing to forget, Dom,” Billy says quietly, and Dominic watches him lean down and run his own fingers through the mess of papers and books on the floor between them now. “Nothing else?”
“No. I don’t-I don’t know, Billy. I don’t think so. I just--” Dominic forces himself to look up again. “I took everything. I wouldn’t have--” He throws a hand desperately, then pushes it through his hair.
“Let anything go to waste.” Billy finishes the sentence for him, and nods when Dominic says nothing. “Christ, Dominic,” Billy breathes, but he moves closer, tilting Dominic’s chin toward him. “I can’t fucking believe he gave you those things and then left you. He should’ve been in that fucking car.” Dominic opens his mouth to speak, but Billy shakes his head sharply. “Look, that bag is going t’disappear. Don’t go looking for it, d’you understand? And get clear, Dom-if I find anything-anything else, we’re back to hospital faster than you can fucking blink, hmm?”
Dominic nods, his eyes wide, and then Billy takes a breath and touches his forehead to Dominic’s for a long time before they both relax again. “Think you can manage some breakfast?”
“I think-“ Dominic’s voice feels rough, and he clears his throat hard before he tries again. “That’s about the only thing I can manage, Billy.” He feels Billy’s laughter rather than hears it, and then he’s being lifted, Billy’s hands around his arms again.
"Go on then, into the kitchen. I need to--" Billy doesn't finish his thought, but he's looking down at the spilled contents of Dominic's bag, and Dominic understands, nodding and leaving him to it.
In the kitchen, Dominic takes stock of the mess and the bags of groceries still on the table. This, at least, he knows he can do right and well, and he fills the sink with hot, soapy water before he begins to remove things from the sacks. It's easier to think of making an omelet now and planning a stew or roast for later rather than wonder what Billy's thinking now, what Dominic knows he's doing. Easier, too, to relax into familiar domestic tasks, ones he's always loved to perform. There's order here that he can instill and control, and he's had far too little of that in his life lately. It's some time before Billy comes in, leaning his hip against the counter that Dominic is scrubbing as if he'll be graded on it.
"I don't know that I'm going to make it through this term, Billy." Dominic surprises himself by bringing it up when he'd been convinced his coursework was the last topic of discussion he wanted to share with Billy. "I've made a complete fucking mess."
"You're not going to fail," Billy says, his voice quiet but firm, encouraging Dominic on.
"You asked me when was the last time I had gone to my German literature lecture. It's been at least two weeks. I haven't turned in any of the translations." Dominic rinses the rag in his hands, squeezing out the hot water before reaching for the cutting board, meaning to scrub it next. "That’s not the worst of it, either. Biology-I don’t even know what the readings were. I’m going to fail out. It’s just done, Billy. It’s over.”
"You are not going to fail. “ Billy’s echo is harder, but he remains where he is, only folding his arms over his chest. “We’ll find a way."
“You can’t fix this--”
“Please don’t assume what I can and can’t do.” It’s said kindly, and Dominic stops what he’s doing and faces Billy, finding strength and not anger in Billy’s eyes. "Even if you weren’t here under these … circumstances, Dom, if you weren't with me, I could make this work. I was your advisor well before any of this, and you trusted me with your progress. You'll have to trust me again--"
"I do."
“Not just with that. I want you to trust me with all of it. Whatever you’ll let me give you.” Dominic looks for some response to that, but Billy moves suddenly, his hand drifting across Dominic’s back as he passes him and sits at the table, moving back into his own thoughts. Dominic returns to his tasks of washing down the counters before he begins to chop the onion and pepper, adding them to the skillet before he turns to put the rest of the groceries away, retreating back into the familiar by turning bacon and tomatoes in the pan and replacing their tea with Billy’s preferred coffee, setting larger mugs down on the table. Digging through the cupboards, he pulls down plates and finds forks, waiting for the toast to brown in the oven. It's better like this, he decides, caring for Billy rather than always the other way around. He likes the role and wishes he could take it more often; maybe now, or after this dust has settled better, he can and will.
They eat in silence, though it's not strained, and Dominic lets his shoulders drop and his thoughts clear. It could be like this, he thinks, without grand declarations or any more promises made. He and Billy could be like this, both carrying on with their work, and then in the summer, if Dominic’s able to graduate as planned, it could be more. Better. Dominic forces down a few bites, aware that Billy is watching him. In the end, though, there's more than half the omelet left on his plate, and most of the bacon. Dominic pushes the food around before he gives up to rest his chin on his fist.
"A little more, I think, Dom."
"I'll save it."
Billy puts down his fork, too, and reaches across the table to squeeze Dominic's fingers before he stands and carries their dishes to the counter.
"I couldn't live without you, Billy. I tried to, but it was terrifying." Dominic surprises himself again with his burst of speech and the ugly truth behind it. "Everything hurt. I felt like I was being torn in two. It was so much easier with Elijah. Less painful."
"Not easier."
"No." Dominic bites at his thumbnail, remembering nights when it hadn't been easier at all to be with Elijah. Just less lonely, he supposes. "Orlando told me-I was warned, okay, but it didn't seem to matter. It wasn't until--I thought I could have died, Billy. When I was at Edgerton, I just realized how stupid I'd been and all I could think about was you, and about how you'd find out if--"
For a moment Dominic watches Billy's back stiffen and his hands curl around the edge of the counter as if he's holding himself up. Dominic stands and goes to him, his hand outstretched, though he hesitates for a moment before resting it on Billy's shoulder. “What's going to happen now?" Dominic asks. "Where do we go from here?"
“You need rest, Dom,” Billy says quietly. “And not what you can get from some fucking pills. I’ve done that bit, the walking around half-dead, thinking you can handle whatever’s thrown at you when you’re running on nothing. It doesn’t work. It never did.” The admission comes hard from Billy, Dominic can tell, and he holds his breath, waiting for Billy to say more. “I want you to talk to someone else if you feel like you need to, Dom. If there's something you can't tell me--”
“I’ll tell you anything.”
“You think that now,” Billy says urgently, turning to face Dominic again. “It’s not true, though, is it? You can’t tell me what you don’t remember yet. It’ll come back to you, Dom, when you least expect it and when you most want it to have gone away forever. I don’t need to know everything now. It’ll come, and when it does, we’ll just--”
“Sort it out.” Dominic offers a weak smile, and Billy mirrors it, nodding as he strokes his hand down Dominic’s cheek again.
“Sort it out. There, haven’t seen you do that for weeks. What do you want, Dom? What do you want to happen?”
“I want to stay here,” Dominic says quietly. “I want you to let me. I want to be with you, Billy; that’s what I wanted the whole time. I just-it’s not just me, I know it isn’t. You were happy, Billy; I made you happy. I want to do it again.”
“Tall order,” Billy says, but he doesn’t deny any of what Dominic’s said. “You know what you’re offering me, Dom. You didn’t call me in the middle of the fucking night just because you thought I wouldn’t send you off home or run you in to the police. And it wasn’t just because you’re-in love with me. I’m a miserable fucking bastard, Dom; you’re better off not bothering, and you know it--”
“Stop,” Dominic whispers, and Billy does, pushing his fingers through Dominic’s hair. Dominic nudges against him, craving more of the warmth of Billy’s skin against his own, and this time he’s surprised by the kiss, gentle at first but then searching, not unlike those he and Billy had shared that first time in Billy’s office. It’s curious and careful, but demanding, too, both of them pulling back and advancing again as if this is the only thing they’ll have to remember to make this work again. It’s Billy who finally pulls away, smiling again before he meets Dominic’s eyes and speaks more haltingly.
“Point is, Dom, you know something I don’t. Didn’t. Or something I knew and didn’t want to-accept, like, or let happen, as if I had a fucking choice in it.” Billy lets out a huff, and Dominic nearly laughs at the idea of Billy being at such a loss for words, even when they both need to hear them. “We’re going to find a way to fix this, all of it. It’s not going to happen unless we’re just--honest, I think. That’s how it starts, yeah? Honest about what we want, what we’re going to need. I hate that fucking word, Dom. I hate it because it’s real and it’s honest and it’s fucking hard to look yourself in the face and admit it when you need something, whatever it is.”
"What do you need, Billy?" Dominic asks, leaning in so their foreheads touch again. Billy shakes his head as if he holding back his answer, but Dominic smiles, and Billy finally gives, his voice soft but certain, familiar and warm.
“Everything you’ve got, Dom. Everything you’ve got.”