dark star â—¦ billie

late february 2004

By the time Phillip had finished his potions essay, it was well past curfew. He should have been back in the dorms more than an hour ago, but sitting on a window sill, in quite possibly the only quiet corridor in all of Hogwarts, he had completely lost track of time. Typically, the teenager did not care for the subject, but today he was more than happy for the distraction. While he understood the value and could respect the attention to detail needed, he just wasn't impressed by potions in the same way he was arithmancy or charms.

Shoving everything back into his book bag — and not noticing his half-finished history assignment slipping out — Phillip hopped off of the ledge and headed for the Ravenclaw tower quietly. The only thing he missed about being a Prefect was being allowed to walk around the halls at night. It was also the sole use he had gotten out of it; Phillip had ignored all of his other responsibilities, which had, of course, resulted in the badge being revoked. Just in time for Billie to become a Prefect because that was the sort of luck Phillip had.

No matter what he was doing or thinking about, everything always wrapped back around to Billie. Somethings outright reminded him of her, like the Astronomy tower or every time he saw someone with light blond hair. Other things were more abstract, like the sound of a quill scratching against a notebook or the misty spray when the cold waters from the black lake crashed against the stone beach. Though Phillip might get an hour or two of freedom from his thoughts, somehow finding a way to be consumed by something as tedious as a potions essay, it never lasted forever. And sometimes, even when he wasn't lost and thinking about Billie, the universe had other things in mind.

The universe sucked.

Stepping into the common room, Phillip bit his cheek at the swear words he had for the bronze knocker that guarded the entrance. The teenager enjoyed the riddles but hated the cheeky judgment when he returned to the tower after curfew. He'd nearly gotten inside, the doorway closing, before he saw the familiar glow of porcelain skin and pale blond hair: Billie. Phillip's eyes darted around, there was no one else in the dimly lit room, and he froze. In the faint light from the fireplace and a single burning lantern, Phillip could see the glossy lines down her cheeks; she was crying. He swallowed; his chest felt heavy. Phillip knew he wasn't supposed to care; he was supposed to be mad at her and never speak to her again, but how could he not? Silently, he ducked his head, trying to be as small as possible, as he skirted the room on his way up the dorms.

Ten more steps, ten more steps, and he would be clear of the room and in the safety of the dorms. Ten more steps, and he could spend the rest of the night trying to forget the image of her crying alone when he should have been sitting next to her. He couldn't do it, "Shit," He whispered, waking a portrait in the narrow stairwell and turning around to return to the common room. Phillip wanted to forget about Billie and all of the pain he had been feeling the last two months, but no matter where he went or what he did, she was there. She was a part of him that he couldn't shake and try as he might; he couldn't ignore her. Hesitant, Phillip got to the bottom of the stairs, one foot on the common room's carpet, the other lingering on the bottom step.

He cleared his throat and whispered, "You okay?"

@Billie Fay

She was so tired of crying.

Crying from exam anxiety, crying about her hair, crying about nightmares. Other things. It was exhausting, and embarrassing. Her birthday had come and gone two weeks ago; she was sixteen now. Only a year off of adulthood, she thought. Just one more year and she’d have the power in her hands to go wherever she wanted — and the authority to use it. So shouldn’t she feel more grown up? She was sixteen, supposedly, but whenever she felt overwhelmed, a part of her seemed to revert to childhood. As if all of the years wound back and she was just as small and incompetent and teary as ever. She felt very small right now, on the floor of the common room, knees folded up, chin on top. She didn’t feel on the verge of adulthood at all.

When the door opened, Billie only moved a little. It was a small jump; her instinct was usually to stay quite still, even when surprised or scared, so she only caught him out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t really want to be seen crying on the common room floor in the middle of the night. And certainly not by him. Him. She’d only caught a glance, but she recognised every little thing about his form; the way he moved, his posture, what he did with his hands. She felt her heart plummet, her shoulders immediately tense. It was Phillip, of course, because who else would it be? She didn’t move, feeling frozen to the spot as she wondered what he’d do.

He’d stop, she thought.

But she didn’t need him too — and if he didn’t want to then she didn’t want him too. She hadn’t meant to be crying in front of him, again. Maybe she should write him up for being back so late, she thought distantly. Curfew had been hours ago; she wondered how he constantly got away with it. Could she sense him moving quietly behind her, or was she just imagining it? Billie wondered if she’d have to start avoiding the common room late at night, too, just like she was avoiding everywhere else. A part of her hoped he’d go to bed. That he wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t stop.

But he would, he would.

She felt like she was holding her breath, felt like a stupid little girl for wanting, felt like if she cried much more there wouldn’t be much of her left. Her fingernails bit into her palms.

She felt hurt, but not surprised, when he didn’t stop.
She felt hurt, but not surprised, when he came back.

It was as if she’d made enough space in her mind now — for him — that he could do anything. She didn't want to presume to know what he was thinking, or what he might do, anymore. And she wouldn’t let him surprise her. But even so, he basically slept two doors down from her, ate meals at the same table, studied in the same library; it took work to try not to see him every day. And everything hurt, still, it just wasn’t such a shock each time.

Her eyebrows came together at the sound of his voice, and she kept her eyes trained on the fire. She brought up a hand to hastily wipe away tears with the back of a knuckle, then went back to hugging her knees. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she felt the familiar dissonance of being so composed and still on the outside and yet so helplessly, hopelessly in motion internally. “Yes,” she breathed, because it was easy to say. Easy to lie, he might think. The thought made her want to fold in on herself and after a beat she shook her head woodenly, from side to side. Just once. No. She wasn’t.

Phillip felt moronic for asking if Billie was okay when it was clear that she wasn't. She was crying alone in the common room far past when Phillip knew she typically went to bed. It did not take a genius to put the clues together. And yet, he still had to ask; of course, he had to. As much as he wanted to hide in his dormitory and pretend he didn't care, Phillip always would. Despite everything else, this was Billie, and he could not just shut off the part of him that still wanted to be there for her no matter what. Phillip was still hurt, angry too, but one emotion did not cancel out the others. It wasn't like Arithmancy, and there wasn't a good solution.

Reluctantly, Phillip moved his other foot onto the carpet and slouched awkwardly as he waited for her to answer. "Yes, Billie said, and then said nothing else, and Phillip frowned. She was lying, he could tell, and he felt more confused than before. Nothing about this was getting easier for Phillip. Most days, he felt like he was inside out, turned upside down, and scrambling to remember to breathe. Every time he saw her in the hallway, it was like the wind was knocked straight out of him. He was moody, avoidant, and exhausted; somehow even less fun to be around than usual.

Part of him wanted to be offended that she was lying again, but he was too busy not knowing if she wanted him to leave her alone and beating himself up for caring in the first place. He felt guilty for wanting to go and entirely stuck where he was standing. The teenager wondered if she didn't want him here, and that was why she had said yes, to give him an excuse to leave.

"Oh, right, then..." He rambled, hands slipping into his pockets and craning his neck to see her sitting on the floor better. Phillip's posture screamed uncomfortable awkwardness, and he sighed. "I guess I'll just go, or something.."

Despite herself, Billie turned to look at him when he said he’d go, her eyebrows furrowed and the muscles around her eyes tight.

She hated it.

Hated that she wanted him to stay, but wanted him to do what he wanted to do; hated that those were two conflicting things; hated that when she was weak like this, she just couldn’t quite commit to giving him what he wanted.

She wanted so badly to know what he was thinking, and she couldn’t stop her mind procuring some kind of selfish, vain, filter to that want. She wanted to know what he was thinking, but specifically she wanted to know what he was thinking about her. He was still there; did he want to come and sit with her? She knew he hated her hair (it’s shorter, he’d said), but what about her pyjamas? At Christmas, Kendrick had given her a set but the fit had been bad, so he’d given her a new pair around her birthday. Could Phillip see them? Had he noticed they were new? He hadn’t seemed to miss much when they were together, even if he didn’t always comment on things. A gap of two months felt too big for her to guess.

She couldn’t really stand to see him, but she couldn’t really stand not to see him either. His hands were in his pockets and he looked uncomfortable, and she felt the strangest mix of guilt and longing. After a beat, and without meaning to, Billie reached up to tuck hair behind one ear. She couldn’t help but feel extra self conscious under his gaze, especially now that she was meeting it.

He hadn’t left, yet. The silence felt very long and tense to Billie, though it might have only been a few seconds. It seemed fragile, fraught with all of the things she was saying nonverbally. She felt nervous, anxious as she waited for him to turn around and leave. She wondered distantly if he was saying things, too.

“It’s, um. Just, nightmares?” she said finally, breaking the silence with her gentle voice. It wasn’t just nightmares — or it wasn’t just nightmares — but that was the simple version. He knew she didn't sleep so well; he always stayed up so late, and he'd comforted her down here in the past once or twice when she'd woken up crying. She had woken up from a nightmare to come downstairs tonight, and cry, but clearly there was a lot on her mind. She couldn’t help but try to downplay it, though. It was in her nature.

Phillip had almost convinced himself to turn around and walk away, to head up to the dorms and attempt to sleep (he would be up all night, indeed), but then she spoke. Her tiny voice breaking through the relative quiet of the common room almost startled him. Nightmares. Phillip felt like he might shrink a little bit further if his spine allowed it. "Oh," he answered, nodding slowly. He knew how bad her nightmares got some times, he remembered, and he felt like even more of a jerk for not realizing it sooner. Two months ago, he would have been down here beside her, trying to make her feel better with distractions or just by being close, but everything was different now.

A hundred things raced through Phillip's mind, each one more distracting than the last; it was exhausting. Should he care that she was having nightmares? That she couldn't sleep. Or should he shrug it off as if it wasn't his problem anymore? Neither one felt entirely true, but they weren't altogether wrong either. And what if she didn't want to talk about it? What if he had asked more questions about her nightmares before? Would she have eventually told him the truth if he hadn't bombarded her with what he knew on New Year's? Part of him wanted to believe that she would have, but she'd had so many chances, so the pessimistic side was winning that argument.

None of this was easy; Phillip resigned to that single truth. He couldn't just leave, he had already tried that, and it didn't work. And Phillip couldn't just forgive her. So, instead, he sighed. "Same ones as before?" He asked though he didn't really know what they were before; he did know some repeating themes. And now that he knew more about her history, he felt like he could fill in these blanks as well.

He took another few steps into the common room, sitting in one of the overstuffed armchairs opposite her. It was uncomfortable, the cushions smelled like Bertie Botts, and most importantly, it wasn't next to her. Leaning over in the chair, his elbows on his knees, he watched her on the carpet for a moment. And then his eyes gravitated toward the sofa they had spent so many nights on. He remembered quite afternoons, books and notes scattered; the time he gave her the necklace, all of the good things. When everything at Hogwarts reminded him of Billie, how was he ever supposed to survive this?

She watched as he moved to take a seat, feeling more scared, suddenly, of him staying. If he stayed, then he might leave, she thought. He could leave at any moment, no matter how wrenching. Surely the not-knowing was worse than if he’d just gone silently? But she’d known he wouldn’t go. She’d known he would stop. Billie looked back at what remained of the fire, but naturally all of her thoughts were to her left, aware of the way that he moved, the way that he sat… The way he watched her. She added that last one to her internal list and tried not to feel anything about it. Not sad, anxious, or longing — certainly not hopeful. It wasn’t entirely successful.

Same dreams as before? She could only guess at what he meant by that, and none of her guesses were less troubling than the last. She shrugged slightly, the movement a bit too casual to sit naturally on her shoulders. She blinked away tears quickly, wondering if he could guess at what kinds of nightmares she had, wondering what kinds of nightmares she might imagine in his position. Probably not dementors, she thought. Those were the most common villains in her dreams, the usual spectres hovering by the end of her bed when she woke up unable to move, but she didn’t think that that was the obvious choice. Death Eaters? Death? She couldn’t possibly know what he thought.

“I dreamed that you died,” she said plainly. It felt about as heavy as it should be leaving her lips, but a moment later she thought it sounded far too dramatic. Stupid little girl, she thought again. She was tired, had been crying, and was a little less constrained with the way she was speaking. But... She should know better.

Billie had lots of dying dreams, and had for a while now. Kendrick, Barbara, Killian. Anyone important. There had been a long-lingering superstition that Kendrick was going to die when she’d moved in with him, and though she knew it was silly, a part of her still fretted over it. She’d felt cursed, when she was younger, and though she was now sixteen, she still felt a little like that. Just less literally. “But, it’s not just that,” she amended, needing to soften it. “It’s everything.” Everything. Even that felt too dramatic, she thought. It was so obvious that he was some kind of central point around which her thoughts revolved, and she needed to feather the fact, obscure it a little. “Owls…” she added distantly, trailing off to indicate that the list went on from there.

Sitting across from her, Phillip couldn't avoid the pull that she still had on him. He wanted to ignore it, but he was too tired from avoiding and trying to forget everything else. Despite everything, there was a big part of him that still wanted to comfort her. To tell her everything would be okay, even when he didn't believe it himself. While he didn't know what her nightmares had been about before, he could imagine the sorts of things that might scare her now. Phillip could sympathize with those fears.

Little by little, he was starting to realize that it wasn't who her parents were that had hurt him the most. Yes, it was awful that they were Death Eaters and murderers, but Billie had not done any of those things. So the anger he felt toward her parents was more distant. The thing that had cut the deepest was her lack of trust in him. The fact that she had not shared her past with him, considering everything they had shared, was what had truly broken his heart. So, in some strange and entirely foreign to him sort of way, he was trying to compartmentalize. If he could separate the two, then maybe he could comfort her without betraying himself.

"I dreamed that you died," . Phillip wasn't the most creative individual, but he had enough sense to put together a few possible nightmares she may have been having — this had not been on his list. "You did?" His question was sudden, caught off guard and without filter, as his green eyes moved to meet her's. Soon enough, and before any other half-cocked questions came to mind, Billie elaborated, and Phillip looked away again. It was a strange thing to admit, especially in light of everything, and some dark corner of Phillip's mind wondered if she was saying that to make him feel guilty. He knew it was a paranoid thought, bred from distrust and heartbreak; he couldn't stop himself from thinking it, though.

But it wasn't just that; Phillip nodded, and then Billie returned to vagueness. Everything, owls; he was still again. He didn't know how to respond, what to say or ask, so Phillip said nothing.

He was sitting right there. You did? Of course she did, she thought. It felt so obvious to her now, not long after waking up sweating and shaking in her sheets. So obvious after years of similar dreams. It occurred to her that he might not just think she sounded dramatic, he might not actually believe her. Which hurt but — she reminded herself gently — would be a fair thing to feel, after everything. Everything. There was that word again. She wondered if she’d think of him, them and everything as the very same for the rest of her life. Or, maybe that was dramatic, too? It was getting difficult to tell.

After a little while, Billie shifted, stretching her legs out in front of her, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her thoughts had become a little less frayed now that they had something so specific to fixate on. He was right there. She couldn’t think about anything else.

Would it be better, she wondered, to share something true? Or better to leave the silence there between them until he left or she fell asleep where she was sitting? She was very convinced that he wouldn’t want to hear anything she had to say, but… He was still there. Right there. Her words came out slow, with small pauses in the places where she felt hesitant to share. “I have those kinds of dreams a lot,” she confessed. “Dying ones.” Her will was rather fickle tonight, she was starting to realise. She wouldn’t ask him to stay, but she made sure to speak before he left. She wouldn’t linger on the fact that she’d been dreaming about him, but then she had to share things about her nightmares that she hadn’t ever shared before. It wasn’t right, she thought, but he was right there.

Dreams about dying were not foreign to Phillip, and while he didn't want to share them with Billie anymore, he'd even had them about her. At the height of their relationship, when everything was going so perfectly, he'd had one of the worst he could remember. And unlike so many of his dreams, that one had stuck with him. It had rattled him. But Phillip had never told her about it, he hadn't wanted her to know, but he didn't think that sort of thing was a lie.

Billie moved on the floor, and for the first time tonight, Phillip noticed what she was wearing, and the sight rattled him too, but in a different way. She rarely wore shorts or anything above the knee, certainly not at school, and Phillip hated them. Another thing to remind him of what he missed, another thing to keep him up at night. Phillip sat back in the chair, putting whatever distance he could manage between them because avoiding Billie outright was not working.

"Is it always me dying?" He asked, fidgetting with the fraying edge of his sleeve and staring at the fireplace. Phillip still wasn't sure that he liked this version of Billie's honesty or if he even believed what she was saying.

She wondered if he cared about her dreams, or about her, or if he just needed answers. She didn’t know why he was asking, or what exactly he wanted to know. But… of course it was always going to be hard to say no to anything he might want from her; why would she turn down the chance to be wanted? Why would she shy away from his attention? Even in a roundabout sort of way, it felt good. Bad and good, scary in the sense that he could walk away at any moment… But still good.

She shook her head slowly from side to side. Two months, she thought. It had been nearly two months exactly since they’d broken up, and they’d spoken once. “No,” she breathed, eyes on the embers. He was fidgetting; she could see it out of the corner of her eye. Sense it, somehow. “It used to just be Kendrick.” She’d been so scared that something would happen to him, and so unwilling to share that thought with anyone. Even Phillip, who knew that she didn’t have her parents and that her aunt had recently passed away. Why hadn’t she told him that, she wondered? It wasn’t even part of the bigger secret. It could make sense, even within the false structures she’d built.

There was a long silence. A minute, or minutes, maybe. The fire was dying right in front of her, but Phillip hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t asked, so she hadn’t elaborated. He hadn't left, though. He hadn't.

More time passed.

One of the things that had been difficult for her when they’d broken up was the sense that she’d lost an entire avenue of sharing. A whole, safe, loving place to bounce her thoughts. It felt incredibly validating to be able to share any little part of her day with someone who cared — no matter how bewildering it felt to have someone care about the insignificant parts of her life. She already had a bit of a problem with feeling insignificant — not that it felt like a problem, to her — but now she’d felt what it felt like to matter, to someone. It was difficult to come back from. She felt like her mind was smaller now for it.

Suddenly, sitting on the common room floor in silence, tears drying on her cheeks and the fire dying, Billie felt filled to the brim with things she could share. Insignificant things, mostly; exam results, details about social things that she was sure he wouldn't care about one bit. Barbara had broken up with Owain. Something was possibly happening with Ki and Mavis. The things people had given her for her birthday appeared in her mind in a list (pyjamas, sparkly hair clips she was sure she'd never wear, a bracelet).

"Horus asked me out today," was what came out, and a part of her wanted to laugh. It seemed so inane, but so bizarre. So strange to tell him about it, so inappropriate and unlike her to look for a reaction. Far too obvious for her, she thought, but here she was.

Phillip was still again, her answer providing adequate details for him not to have any further questions. It didn't take a mastermind to understand why he was in her nightmares now, and that knowledge made him miserably bitter. It wasn't his fault, but he felt guilty nevertheless.

Growing silent once more, Phillip fought the traces of sleepiness that came over him like waves. The fire was low, crackling toward its end, nearly deplete of energy, but struggling on anyhow, and Phillip understood this. He felt like he had been burning endlessly since New Years'; everything was a blur. Phillip woke up, avoided Billie, went to class, dodged Wini's questions about Billie, skipped dinner to bypass seeing Billie, attempted to sleep, dreamt about Billie, and then began again. Covering his mouth to stifle a yawn, Phillip recognized that he wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he was tucked in his bed and not sitting five feet from the witch who had crushed his heart.

"Horus asked me out today,"

Phillip blinked a few times, any trace of sleepiness gone from his hooded eyes, and then blinked again. "Are you fucking serious?" Phillip lurched forward, heart thunking in his chest, cheeks burning. What exactly was he supposed to do with that knowledge? And more importantly, why did Billie decide that right now was a good time to rub it in his face? Phillip clenched his jaw, craving to tell her that he didn't give a shit, but that would be a lie.

Billie had kept more things from him than he could count, but this was when she resolved to be brutally honest? Phillip could not take the information any way except to assume she was determined to hurt him. That Billie had said it purposefully, confirming his suspicions about her motivation for telling him of her nightmares. She sought to make him feel guilty or piss him off; she was successful in the latter.

A hundred possible responses ran through his head, ranging from indifferent to cruel, but Phillip landed on a single one. "Why would you tell me that?"

She was exhausted again; she’d woken up early to study, stayed up later than usual, only to wake up in a nightmare. Well, wake up from a nightmare. She didn’t quite feel like herself.

I dreamed that you died. Horus asked me out. Her eyes felt tight, as soon as she’d said it, and she wished she had more self control. Did it all seem it as obvious to him as it did to her? Both things were true, but she could have told him anything at all to try and keep him here — or better yet, she could have let him leave — but she chose true things that she hoped would, what? Reach him, somehow? She should have just talked about Mae and Killian or something. Though, she realised distantly, maybe talking about her Gryffindor friend would be worse. Wini had asked her straight up if she’d cheated on Phillip; she still didn’t know how to feel about that.

Are you fucking serious? Billie winced a little, but there was something gratifying about his reaction. Stupid little girl played in her head again, and she chastised herself for feeling anything good when he spoke to her like that. Maybe there was an element of self-punishment in there, too. She felt guilty either way.

He had always been such a jealous person, but she didn’t mind that so much. She liked feeling like she belonged to someone, liked the fact that the idea of losing her made him so possessive — Or, was that entirely true? Maybe she was doing the thing again where she looked back and made little adjustments to her perception because of how she was feeling now. In all honesty, the way his jealousy had pressured her to divide herself up had hurt her, too. But, she’d give anything for a touch of it now. It was so awful how time did that, she thought. Just marching relentlessly forward, forcing you to gather yourself up and come along, no matter how messily.

Feeling guilty and hurt (and guilty about feeling hurt), she looked at him. Why did he think she’d said it? And why did he care? She should apologise. “I don’t know,” she breathed instead, though that wasn’t exactly true. Then: “Why did you come back?” She glanced at the stairs, then back at him, her question clear. Why did you stop. Maybe her question was a little bit of an answer in itself.

Billie's answer did nothing to sway his judgment, and Phillip frowned. 'I don't know' was not an answer, and in addition to the hundred other answers he was still waiting on, Phillip felt like he deserved a real one. He huffed at Billie's response, clearly waiting for more, but was met with a return question instead.

"I don't know," The wizard repeated callously, his green eyes meeting hers. Phillip was starting to feel like it might have been better if he had not stopped. At least he would have one less Billie-related thought rotting in the recesses of his mind. Killian was one thing, but now Horus too; Phillip's jealousy was time-consuming.

Phillip knew she was upset, and he could tell that she hadn't been sleeping well. He imagined she was studying excessively this close to Exam season and that she was pretty social with her friends, who she had time for. And now he was stuck with the vision of Horus and Killian vying for her time. The same way he used to. The more he thought about it, the less guilty he felt for her nightmares, or for wanting to let her cry alone.

"I guess I shouldn't have..."

Billie felt a painful twist of regret again, deep in her stomach. She shouldn’t have said anything. She should have let him go to bed, even after he was kind and polite enough to stop and ask if she was okay when it was clear to them both that she wasn’t. It was her fault, again, like it always was. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. She’d shifted the space they were in from fragile to combative. But — He hadn’t said anything when she’d talked about Kendrick, so she’d had to... No. That wasn’t right.

The worst part of this was that she didn’t know what she’d been looking for, when she’d said it. Some kind of rise, clearly — very out of character for her — but what reaction exactly might have satisfied her, she couldn’t articulate. She was surprised that he seemed so angry, though, so whatever it was, it didn’t seem to be this. It had been two months, around a third of the time they’d actually been dating, but it would have been very stupid of her to think that he could have moved on in any sense of the word from whatever he’d felt that night; Phillip was a young man who clung to his feelings. She knew him well enough, still, to know that much.

She wondered if he remembered what she looked like when she hadn’t been crying.

I guess I shouldn't have… She could see, with sudden clarity, exactly what she should say. She should tell him to go, then. She should say it gently: maybe you should go, or maybe she should excuse herself and go to bed instead. I should go to bed. Something like that. It was so clear to her: the path of least resistance. The easy way forward. The sensible one.

“Why does Wini think I cheated on you?” She said instead, not sure if she was demanding to know if he’d implied that to her, or if she was asking him why he hadn’t told her the truth. Her eyes were red and damp, her hands still folded together on top of her thighs exactly where they’d been this whole time. She was tense, clearly upset, quite far, right now, from okay.

Agitated by her announcements and far past exhausted, Phillip had an even more difficult time than usual keeping calm. He hated that Billie had told him she'd had a dream about him dying and felt sick from her confession considering Horus; it was like Billie was trying to make everything that much more difficult. The teenager was pissed off, with no idea how to move forward, and sick of where they were. When he had asked for her honesty, Phillip had no idea it would come to this. She answered questions he didn't ask, and he still didn't know the truth about things that he had. It was infuriating.

Snapping back at her was immature, but he didn't care. He should have been calmer, less irritable, but Phillip had never been very good at either of those things. She had told him about Horus and then immediately snaked the conversation back around to ask why he had stopped and returned to her, and Phillip felt like he was losing an invisible war. He did not care for what Billie was insinuating, that he wasn't over her — which technically he wasn't, but still — and that she was moving on. He began to fidget again, pulling on the collar of his shirt anxiously, honestly wondering if he should get up. The conversation was devolving, and it wasn't as if Phillip had believed they would come to some understanding tonight, so what kept him here? ... He already knew the answer.

Phillip thought she might tell him to leave or politely excuse herself in some very traditional and sensible Billie-sort-of-way, but she surprised him again. Nothing about tonight made sense. Phillip was usually the one asking pointed questions, not the other way around. "Why does Wini think I cheated on you?" Billie's inquiry caught him off guard; it was written all over his face. Phillip had known that Winifred spoke to Billie — but he had not known that she had said that.

"She what?" He asked, buying time as his heart began to thump again; he could hear it loudly in his ears. Wini had crossed a line confronting Billie, but Phillip hadn't known the entirety of the conversation. "It's because I told her you lied to me," He added quickly; it didn't matter what Winifred had said. Phillip tried to remind himself that this was still all Billie's fault.