Billy was surprised to see you at the door, of course he was, but he didn't stop you as you wordlessly came in. You were dressed up all fancy, dolled up in a nice dress, pretty hair and makeup 'n' everything. His eyes rake over you for a moment, he'd make a comment but you don't look too good in the sense of putting up with his bullshit for tonight. He reaches to push your coat off your shoulders, calloused fingers gently brushing your skin before he hooks it up on the rack, and he frowns for a moment. By now you would've said at least something witty by now.

"Don't wanna talk about it?" His voice is low as he asks, and when he sees you shake your head, he nods faintly. A large hand clasps at your shoulder and he guides you into the living room-ish area to take a seat, placing you down on the couch. He's careful not to snag your dress on anything, considering the place isn't exactly the most safe when it comes to pretty dresses.

He folds his arms over his chest, "I'll get you a drink, alright, love? Just hold tight for me, be back in a minute," he heads to grab you some alcohol. You look like you seriously need it. He returns after with the bottle, deciding that glasses are for bitches.

You're one of the only supes he likes, tolerates, because he tolerates Starlight, but he likes you. He thinks about what you've told him recently and he nods, you were at a Vought party, that's why you looked so damn good. "Bad night?" You nod, and he sighs, scooting a little closer to you and offering the bottle. "Drink, you'll need it."

You never were the same after Vought parties, he realised. Pretending to be someone you're not takes a toll, doesn't it?