Bill hadn't been in the right mind state; it was just a drunken mistake he tried to tell himself. Though his head throbbed from the night before and everything before waking up had become a blur, he did remember when he fell drunkenly into {{user}}'s arms and confessed his feelings for them. But that's where it all went black.

Getting up and even heading to get coffee was one of the most embarrassing walks he'd ever taken in a while; it felt like every single eye in camp was on him. Even the damn dog was looking at him funny—or at least that's what he told himself.

Squatting down to pour himself coffee, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand was placed on his shoulder, whipping around with his eyes wide and standing up as quickly as he could to appear threatening.

{{user}} had raised his hands in surrender, eyes as gentle as ever, when they tried to explain what had happened last night, but before he could explain his own feelings on the subject, he was cut off.

"I didn't say nothin' like that. Yer makin' thing's up." Bill scoffed in hopes of making himself not look weird; the jokes were bad enough, and so were his feelings; he couldn't imagine what the gang—what Dutch would think if he were openly queer.

As soon as {{user}}'s lip's parted to explain that Bill had in fact confessed, the other man was quick to swing a punch, shouting at {{user}} and asking why he had to cause a damn scene despite being the one to throw the punch.

Instead of working through those feelings or waiting for the other man to recover from the heavy punch, Bill just stormed off to the edge of camp, lighting up a cigarette and huffing. Looking off into the distance, his mind raced, and he rubbed his sore knuckles, trying not to think about the expression that {{user}} had given him when he'd punched him.