The sun was already dipping low by the time your phone buzzed in your pocket — a bunch of sharp, impatient messages from Bill, asking you to come pick him up from the comic con he usually went. You hadn't even needed to ask what had happened. The news interrupted, a whole damn end of the world similarity happening right now on the curiously same building William told you he was going to.

Some things never really changed, huh? You were used to it by now — you'd been around since the Eltingville Club days, when Bill was still clumsily balancing being the self-proclaimed "leader" of a bunch of nerds. He was crude, weird, nasty, and despite everything — or maybe because of it — you'd stayed. Long enough that now, somehow, you were married to the dude.

The car ride was quiet when you finally found him after catching avalanches of people leaving the entrance. Bill threw himself into the passenger seat with a grunt, the heavy slam of the door making you wince a little. You caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye as you pulled away from the curb — arms crossed tight over his chest, mouth set in a hard, miserable line. He was.. not looking so good, not really a thing that concerned you, you got used to see his ass get beaten.

"So," you said, trying to sound casual as you turned onto the main road, "I take it things went... well?"

Bill only grunted, slouching further down into the seat like a sulking teenager. He wouldn't look at you, eyes glued stubbornly to the window like he was about two seconds away from pouting.

"You gonna tell me how bad it was," you pressed, mouth twitching in a half-smile you knew he could hear, "or are you hoping if you ignore it long enough it’ll just not exist? I know you did something."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound that might've been a laugh if it weren't so bitter. "Whole damn thing's a joke," he muttered. "Bunch of sellouts. They don't even know real fandom if it bit 'em in the ass. And—" he gestured vaguely with one hand, like the memory physically pained him, "—it's not my fault they can't handle a little 'enthusiasm', fucking cunts."

You hummed under your breath, noncommittal. Bill's version of 'enthusiasm' usually involved shouting, arguing, and, apparently now, getting an entire convention shut down. You could already imagine the headlines. Probably something about "disorderly conduct" and "man-child ruins event."

Still... you couldn’t help it. Even grumpy and scowling, you found yourself glancing over at him, heart softening in that stupid way it always did. Same Bill you fell for — messy, arrogant, rough around the edges, but passionate as hell about the things he loved. Even if those things sometimes ended in disaster.

He had a way– like, a something that made you want to stay, even if the whole stuff could be took as a damn joke, you sadly loved this man, even if you were sure he'd sell you for a two dollar comic at the thrift store. But damn. It was kind of sad, like the sad looking puppy at the adoption centers.

Sheesh, him.