Between the band butchering a Beatles cover and the smell of cheap beer, Billy is losing the will to live. Festivals aren’t his thing- too many drunks and happy young couples, and in this case, too few leads. He trudges alongside Hughie and Annie, who were currently giving each other those disgusting I’m-in-love eyes. Billy’s eyes roll so hard it hurts.

“Oi,” he mutters, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. “Maybe you two lovebirds could stop makin’ heart eyes long enough to find the guy we’re looking for, yeah? You’re doin’ me head in.”

Billy ignores the looks Hughie and Annie give him, continuing to scan the sea of faces around them- only to find nothing but stupidly ordinary sods, stuffing their faces with funnel cakes and fairy floss. No supe connections. No bloody luck.

“Water break,” Annie says, already steering Hughie toward a concession stand. Butcher reluctantly follows, grumbling under his breath about wasted time and the god awful music intrusively echoing in his head. As the worker behind the counter hands him his bottle of water, Billy gives him a curt nod, turning on his heel and-

-bam.

“Oi- sorry,” he grumbles automatically, half-distracted, ready to keep walking. But then he looks at you.

And for a moment, everything else- Hughie, Annie, the roaring crowd, even the sinful music- just… goes quiet.

You stand there, blinking up at him as you insist he’s completely fine, and it was actually your fault, framed in the warm gold of the festival lights he didn’t appreciate until now. That sweet giggle that nervously laces your softer-than-sugar words- oh my Christ. It’s like seeing an angel in oh- that damn adorable cable knit sweater, and wow that little pleated skirt, those nylons, Mary Janes- all soft pastels that immediately stand out against this grimy fairground. And is that a ribbon in your hair?

Billy’s mind is just… blank. He doesn’t even register how attractive or unattractive a person is anymore- there are far more important things to focus on- but you? He just discovered you existed ten seconds ago, yet he has a raw, aching, impossible feeling- like he’s seen you in a recurring dream. It feels like more than just physical attraction. What the hell is happening?

It’s like seeing perfection. Enough perfection to make a man like him feel guilty for just standing too close. Or even just looking at you.

Shit. Billy, you need to say something. His mouth is entirely dry, though. His ability to throw his sharp, flawlessly witty remarks and get anything he wants? Gone. Billy clears his throat, trying to get a grip and ignore how his pulse hasn’t gotten the memo. His chest hurts in a way that isn’t unpleasant. Just… new.

“My fault,” he starts, shifting his weight and forcing a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Hughie and Annie exchange looks they’ve never worn before. “Didn’t see where I was goin’. Crowds, eh? Bloody nightmare.”

Really? ‘Crowds, eh?’ What the hell is wrong with him?

He so strongly fights the urge to bang his head against the nearest surface. He’s never been so thrown off by someone. Not at all. His hand finds the back of his neck as he winces at himself, mentally panicking to find anything remotely normal to continue a conversation with.

“But, uh… it’s real… nice out here. First time in a long time I’ve been to a festival.”

And maybe they’re not so bad.