[the ceiling is sort of monotonous: there’s nothing to count, or to become cross-eyed with. just white paint splayed wide, corner to corner. for a second he thinks the white is hurting his eyes, but no it’s -
it’s the warmth of Eddie’s hand on his that his eyes stinging. it’s the pure, sweet kindness of Eddie Munson that has his eyes wet, has his throat thick with grief. he should tell him not to touch - should scream it, in fact. because here is the truth of it: there is something inside Billy that wants to crawl out of the tender flesh of his scar tissue. he can feel it, how the silver-violet patches burn black when Eddie and Steve are close, how they come alive with sensation and how every neuron of his brain screams at him to crawl inside them and make them - make them what? his?
it’s not the same as wanting them. it’s not the same thing as closing his eyes and thinking of how Steve would kiss him, or how Eddie might have broken him. it’s worse, somehow. it’s primal and terrifying.
he squeezes Eddie’s hand and lolls his head to look at him, glassy eyed and terrified. ] No - no it’s me.
[that’s worse, isn’t it? that the power he got feels so much like how it felt when Vecna was connecting him to Heather, to her parents, to all those people. how sometimes he misses the unity in his head, how that weakness is only making this worse.
he should tell Eddie not to touch him. he doesn’t. ] Sorry - fuck. It’s - I lied. About my power. Because I wasn’t sure, at first? But it’s getting worse, I think. It’s like sometimes I’m okay, and sometimes this thing wants to reach out and, I don’t know. Connect? But it feels like how it did then, when it was him - but this time it’s me. It’s me, E.
[maybe it was him then too. ] I want to crawl inside your head, Eddie. The scars are fucking burning, sometimes it hurts.
no subject
it’s the warmth of Eddie’s hand on his that his eyes stinging. it’s the pure, sweet kindness of Eddie Munson that has his eyes wet, has his throat thick with grief. he should tell him not to touch - should scream it, in fact. because here is the truth of it: there is something inside Billy that wants to crawl out of the tender flesh of his scar tissue. he can feel it, how the silver-violet patches burn black when Eddie and Steve are close, how they come alive with sensation and how every neuron of his brain screams at him to crawl inside them and make them - make them what? his?
it’s not the same as wanting them. it’s not the same thing as closing his eyes and thinking of how Steve would kiss him, or how Eddie might have broken him. it’s worse, somehow. it’s primal and terrifying.
he squeezes Eddie’s hand and lolls his head to look at him, glassy eyed and terrified. ] No - no it’s me.
[that’s worse, isn’t it? that the power he got feels so much like how it felt when Vecna was connecting him to Heather, to her parents, to all those people. how sometimes he misses the unity in his head, how that weakness is only making this worse.
he should tell Eddie not to touch him. he doesn’t. ] Sorry - fuck. It’s - I lied. About my power. Because I wasn’t sure, at first? But it’s getting worse, I think. It’s like sometimes I’m okay, and sometimes this thing wants to reach out and, I don’t know. Connect? But it feels like how it did then, when it was him - but this time it’s me. It’s me, E.
[maybe it was him then too. ] I want to crawl inside your head, Eddie. The scars are fucking burning, sometimes it hurts.