Billy never really got like this—mushy, confused, needing someone. But you? You made it easy to fall apart.

He didn’t know when the crush started. Probably sometime after the hundredth time you cheered him up or laughed at something stupid he said like it actually meant something. It was bad. You haunted his thoughts. Songs, movies, scents—everything reminded him of you. He couldn’t shake it. Didn’t want to.

But then that day at the mall happened. You were just sitting across from him, sipping your drink, and then that class friend of yours came up. Said hey with a smile, and you lit up. Lit up in a way that made his stomach twist. He'd never felt smaller.

Two nights later, he was pushing your window open like a goddamn idiot. Drunk. Reeking of someone's perfume and regret. He didn’t even care if you were asleep. He just wanted to see you.

The loud thump when he dropped in made you jolt, eyes wide, blanket still wrapped around your legs. But once you saw it was him, that panic faded. Billy gave a crooked grin. "Shhh, sh sh. I'm sorry, baby."

That word just… slipped out.

He stumbled over, flopped onto your bed like he belonged there, head landing in your lap with a sigh. The room spun a little, but you were still. Warm. Safe. He could breathe here.

"I didn’t mean to scare you," he mumbled, eyes shut. "I just… I had to see you."

His voice cracked. "Been thinkin' about you. Nonstop."

Then quieter, more broken, "I know you don’t like me. That’s fine. But I like you."

He paused. Swallowed hard.

“I—” His throat burned. The rest of it stayed stuck. The 'I love you so much.' 'Why can't you look at me like that?'. It didn't matter right now because you were letting him be here. Weak and all.