AT LAST, I COULD BREATHE | billy hargrove

too late to apologize.

chapter song: Right My Wrongs - Bryson Tiller

too late to apologize.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed when Billy's fingers began to twitch against mine. I looked up from my place in The Count of Monte Carlo and noticed his sporadic movements so I turned my full attention to him.

I always admired Billy the most when he was sleeping. It was the only time when I was ever able to see him without a care in the world. He was so blissful, just breathing steadily in and out with his normally intimidating facial expressions at ease. His long, black eyelash-studded eyelids that I envied so much were tranquilly resting closed and he didn't have even a single sign of anguish or ill-will. The peaceful expression on his face slowly became more tensed and his eyes shot open abruptly.

"What the fuck?" He yelled hoarsely, sounding winded with his labored breathing.

"You've been out for a while, Billy. Just breathe, you're okay," I reassured. Apparently my whole initial game plan of being a heartless bitch to him when he woke up just went right the fuck out the window. Something about his stressed and almost-frightened actions made me soften inside.

"What happened?" He queried, leaning forward to a sitting position with difficulty, face scrunching in concentration. My left hand reached out to steady his shoulders so he didn't fall sideways on the bed and he gave me a grateful look. I figured the tranquilizer hadn't completely worn off yet.

"You were kicking Steve Harrington's knocked-out ass and I got you off of him. Then I had Max sedate you because something told me you were too pissed off to stop and you passed out," I summarized, staring at him worriedly.

He took a breath and then his face twisted angrily. "You had her...sedate me?"

"Yeah," I answered honestly, not backing down from his clearly vengeful glare. "And I'd do it again. Steve was out cold and you kept swinging. You could have fucking killed him. You know that?"

As he took in my words, the anger faded away and regret replaced it. Genuine regret. I almost felt bad.

"Billy," I started with a sigh. "I dunno what happened tonight. And I'm not going to ask 'cause I have this sneaking suspicion you won't tell me either way. What I do know is that this week has been one of the worst of my life and I'm so fucking done. So you have two options here, okay?"

His eyes met mine again as a form of recognition to my words.

"Either we erase the past week completely and just go back to the way things were when we were great fucking friends and had the time of our lives together. Or, this is it. We cut it off here. I'm sick of living in the middle, it hurts too much," I told him honestly.

I followed his gaze down to our intertwined hands and I pulled away momentarily before he caught my grasp and held my hand in his gently. Almost like he was afraid of what his hands would do if he held too tightly, but he held on hard enough to tell me not to let go. I smiled lightly and took his hand fully back in mine, pulling him up off the bed to stand next to me. I led him down the stairs slowly and into the bathroom, sitting him on the toilet and turning the nozzle on the shower.

"What are you doing?"

"You need to wash all that blood off of you and I happen to be in a forgiving mood. I'll grab you some sweats and a towel—be right back," I announced, twisting the handle on the door to leave before he stopped me.

"Bo?"

My eyebrows were up at his question and he looked from his hands to me and back again. "What's up?"

"Uh...I—um..." He stuttered, trying to form a coherent thought.

I grinned and let go of the handle, striding back over to him and gently cupping his face with my hands so he looked up at me. I brushed some of his curls out of his face and examined the cuts and marks I was sure would turn into bruises. His blue eyes bored into me and he just seemed so off. Something was wrong but he wouldn't tell me.

"Thank you," he whispered, the enunciation making the stubble along his jaw scratch my fingertips.

"Are we cool?"

He nodded firmly and I let out a breath I'd been holding for at least a week. I leaned in and kissed his sweaty forehead and I felt him physically relax into me, wrapping his arms around my waist to simply hold me there. I detached my lips from his skin but he insisted that I stay for a few more seconds, so I allowed him to lay his head flat against my chest while I embraced him back. It was silent and intimate and extremely vulnerable of him—especially after the shit he just pulled not more than two hours ago. But after the interdimensional shit I had to deal with before that, this was exactly what I needed. This made me think—I know it's naive—but maybe things would be okay for at least a little while.

"Let me go get your towel, I don't want you to run out of hot water," I suggested, pulling away slightly.

He glanced up into my eyes and had one of the most boyish expressions I'd ever seen on him and that beautiful smile on display. "Will you join me?"

"There he is," I giggled, pecking him on the top of his beautiful dirty-blonde head before exiting the bathroom and grabbing a towel from the linen closet. I was considering grabbing some of Shawn's clothes for him, but I remembered I had a bunch of Shawn's shirts and sweatpants I stole so I grabbed a pair of those and headed back to the bathroom.

I knocked lightly. "Come in!" Billy shouted over the loud stream of water coming from the showerhead. I entered and silently thanked God he was fully in the shower and not just standing there naked. I couldn't tell you why, but I was sure that's something he would do.

"What'd ya bring me?" He asked while popping his sudsy head out from behind the shower curtain.

I held up the items as I listed them off: "Shirt and sweatpants, towel, and face cloth so you can clean the blood off your face."

"Aw, c'mon, babe, you know I like it when you do that for me," he flirted and I shook my head with a laugh. I tossed him the small cloth and he grabbed it, disappearing behind the curtain again. "Thanks...Again, I guess."

"You're welcome, my love. Do you require anything else of me?" I asked him sarcastically in a British accent.

"Well," his head came back into view again with a hopeful expression. "If you're offering, I'd probably die for you to help me reach all those places I can't reach to wash because I'm so sore."

"Suck my dick," I scoffed playfully while putting all the rest of the items he needed on the sink— within reach once he exited the shower.

"That would work, too," he chirped back and I belly-laughed, which he reciprocated.

Remember what I said about our friendship? That it was effortless? Well, I'm pretty fucking excited to announce that nothing's changed and we're officially back to our regularly-scheduled programming. At least, nothing's changed on my end: I can't really speak for Billy. But from what I've gathered, he feels the same.