#any way point is billy is more obviously weird but srus just as much of a freak 2 me

[dogmatik]

under a readmore bc its long and pretty boring, just a unfinished day in the life type thing with billy and stu. cannot for the Life of me find the fic that inspired stus weird dead-shit photography, but ill keep looking and link it when i do.

There’s a polaroid of a squirrel on Stus messy desk. The thing looks pretty much the same as it would any other time, except its laying on the asphalt with all its little legs spread wide. There's a smear of red next to its nose, but other than that, it looks like the little creature could hop up a tree any second. Billy picks up the picture, finding another underneath. Same squirrel, different angle, same sleeping-with-its-eyes-open look. Billy remembers when he first saw Stu’s weird photography. They’d been around 12, Stu’s parents got him a polaroid for his birthday, and he took pictures of everything. There were some of his family, friends at school, trees at the park, but there were some others too. Stu had this dumb Transformers binder full of images. There were a lot stuffed in the back pocket, and Billy has never been very concerned with the privacy of others.

Stu had come back to his room with some goldfish to find Billy in the middle of his bedroom floor, surrounded by square pictures of dead raccoons and dried up little birds. “You’re such a freak.” Billy had said, eyes trained on an especially unfortunate cat.

“Wanna do Leprechaun 2?” Billy hears Stu ask behind him, the sound of VHS boxes being shuffled. “We’ve watched that like 4 times this week.” “Still got it for a couple days.” more shuffling, Billy sets down the photograph of the squirrel and plops into the chair at Stus desk, watching the other boy rearrange his collection of tapes. “Is that Brainscan?” Stu pauses, tracks Billy's eyes. He holds up the tape. “Yeah, you wanna watch it?” “I thought that was a rental too.” “Nah, bought it. Randy came over to watch it like, fifteen times. Kid loves this movie!” Billy rolls his eyes. “He would.” Stu sets it firmly in the “No” pile, and keeps shuffling. “April Fool's?” Billy thinks for a second. “Sure, I’ll go make popcorn.” Stu starts switching tapes. “Coulda done that while I looked!” Billy doesn't acknowledge him, just heads down the stairs to Stu’s kitchen. The house is quiet, empty but for the two boys. Stu’s parents are always on some trip, or business thing, or generally anywhere but home. Stu doesn't complain much, being so used to it. Billy appreciates it, always good to have a place without somebody's parents around that isn't the mall or school. Stu’s pantry is always full, popcorn and soda and junk, what you’d expect leaving a 17 year old alone with two weeks of grocery money. Billy snags some jiffy pop, sets the stove on and wanders the kitchen. He’s been coming to the Macher’s since grade school, knows where they keep the big popcorn bowls and butter.

He knows where the knives are too, and not for the first time this week, hell not for the first time tonight he wonders what Stu’s face would look like if he came upstairs with a knife instead of snacks. He’d think he was joking, probably. Make some dumb joke about teenagers being left alone making bad choices. He wonders how fast Stu would catch on, how long it’d take for that ever-present grin to slip. Would he fight him? He’d probably try to take the knife, and he just might be able to. He hasn't wrestled Stu in years now, but he's always been bigger. Clumsy maybe, but that wingspan might just be enough to compensate. He thinks that makes it better, more exciting if there's a fight. He’s never drawn blood from a person before, even in scraps with the neighbors’ kids over who’s turn it was to do whatever they spent their afternoons doing. Or jokes about his mom he took too seriously. He’s pretty sure Stu would put up a good fight, the thought makes his pulse quick. Billy realizes he's spent too much time fantasizing about blades and chokeholds when he smells something burning. He whips around to find the popcorn billowing dark smoke, goes to grab the handle just as the fire alarm starts its shril ring. Over it he can hear “Billy?” from up stairs, followed by lots of thumping. The handle sends a white hot pain through his palm, and he has just enough time to throw it into the sink. “What the hell man!” Stu sounds angry, but mostly just looks surprised. “Get the fucking alarm will you?” Billy snaps, and even after Stu clambers onto a chair and turns the damn thing off, Billy can still hear it in his skull. He’s turned on the tap, the fire sputtering and hissing under the spray. “Why'd you burn the popcorn?” “Like I did it on purpose?” Billy leans against the counter, looks at his palm. There’s a streak of white across it, the skin turned bright pink at the edges. “You okay?” Stu asks, softer than Billy thinks he’s ever heard him. Sorta like when he’s talking in the library, but calmer. Stu’s never been able to sit still, never been able to keep quiet. Billy remembers being annoyed by it, but mostly jealous. Jealous because even when he did laugh too loud in the library, or thump into some fragile shelf, people mostly just laughed. They gave him an endeared head shake and sent him off to expend his energy elsewhere. Billy never got to let go like that, always one too many grimaces or scoffs away from being sent to detention or his fucking room.

Billy looks up, watches as Stu’s bright blue eyes shift from his face to his palm. “We should get some ice for that.” Stu pulls open the freezer, pushing aside french fries and nuggets to get to the ice packs at the bottom. “It’s fine, doesn't even hurt.” Billy says, but takes the ice pack once it's wrapped in a dish towel. “Seriously man, what gives. You been like, super spacey.” There’s a popcorn kernel on the floor, half popped, blending into the light tiles. He’s pretty sure he can smell singed skin, but maybe that's just him being morbid again. Billy’s pulled roughly from his thoughts by Stu snapping in his face “Earth to Bill!” He says, and Billy slaps his hand away “Fuck off Macher, I just forgot about it. There wasn't an actual fire, was there? I’ll open the windows and it’ll be like nothing happened”. “Man, that's not the point! You been weird all day. Not even the fun weird. You okay?”

Billy hates that. Such a stupid waste of time question. When's he ever been able to answer honestly?. People like him can't, not unless they wanna get locked up in some padded hole somewhere. “I don't know. Probably.” Billy answered, more honest than he meant. Stu looks at him like he gets it, this serious expression on his face, like the one he gets when he's real focused on landing a trick on his skateboard. Then he grins, all teeth, and turns to leave the kitchen. “I got an idea! C’mon kid!” Stu yells from the garage door, and Billy’s stunned enough to follow.

Stu’s parents are some of the few people on the planet who actually have useful junk in their garage. All power tools and fishing equipment and snow gear. Billy thinks about the rubbermaid bins in his parents shed out back, baby clothes they're never gonna touch again and tchotchkes pushed on them by a dead relative. Billy’s fiddling with a golf club when Stu emerges from further in the garage, some hard case in his hand. “Check it out! My mom got me this for Christmas. Not time yet, but what she don't know won't hurt her.”