Log: Clint, Billy, and Nachos with Sour Cream

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Billy gets all twitchy and stuff, and this time, Clint's not about to let him off the hook.


Closing his Algebra and Trigonometry textbook, Clint rubbed at his eyes and failed to suppress a yawn. "Mmph," he said, trying beat his pillow into some sort of submission before shaking his head and sitting up. "Ugh, dude. Billy, I am about three seconds away from falling asleep and I've still got the rest of next week's math assignment to finish. What're you doing?"

Billy lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Although he didn't realize it, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. At the sound of Clint's voice, though, he startled, and it vanished. He looked over, guilty. "Uh....history?" Which could be technically true, since the book was open, albeit face down, draped across his chest.

"Don't sound too sure. And I'm not sure that smile could be inspired by historical events," Clint commented, rolling off his bed so he could stand. "I'm for popcorn and soda - want anything?" He wasn't sure if they had real food in the suite or not but he wasn't terribly inclined to head down to the main kitchen.

"Smi--" Billy cut himself off, trying not to sound panicked. He shoved the book aside, scooching his way up, back against the wall. "Uh, sure, that sounds great. I think there's some in the fridge. Whatever's fine."

Clint paused halfway to the door and turned on his heel, his eyebrows rising. "Dude," he said, giving his friend a slow blink. "You're being weird again. You think I'm gonna smack you with a textbook or something for smiling?"

Billy didn't meet his eyes, staring over at the discarded history book instead. "Sorry, I didn't mean...It's just. It's nothing. I mean, oh, I dunno."

The popcorn and soda could wait. Clint headed over to Billy's bed and flopped down across the end of it. "Seriously. What's going on in that wizard-y little brain of yours? One minute you're totally chill, the next you're all twitchy and stuff."

Billy let out a long sigh and finally dared to look up at Clint, warily. "It's complicated. And...weird," he finally managed to get out. "Like... not just twitchy and you're annoyed with me weird, but..." he stopped, biting his lower lip, then looked away again. He swallowed hard, and finally mumbled, "But, like, you don't want to room with me anymore, weird."

Propping himself up on his elbows so Billy could get the full effects of the look he was sending the other boy, Clint stared at his friend for a moment before asking, "Have you started sacrificing puppies, kittens, and ducklings to some dark god of power in a misguided attempt to right the wrongs done to those around you by the Spudpocalypse?"

"No," Billy replied glancing over as Clint shifted positions. "No, nothing like that. I... I think..." he stalled, then finally blurted out, "I think I might like boys." With it out in the open, he froze, holding his breath and waiting anxiously for some response.

"Okay," Clint said, giving Billy another slow blink. He let the silence linger for a second before continuing, "So... you still want popcorn and soda? Cause I think we've got some corn chips out there and we could probably swing some nachos."

Now it was Billy's turn to blink. After a moment, he exhaled, visibly deflating as he let his breath out. He took a few more slow breaths before responding, uncertainty still clear in his tone. "Nachos...sound good."

"Cool," Clint said, sitting up properly before reaching over to ruffle Billy's hair. "C'mon. You can pick the toppings. I can't believe you thought I'd want a different roommate because of that. Have you met my foster dads?"

"Well yeah, but that doesn't mean," Billy stammered, "I mean, just because," he stopped, then gave a weak laugh, scrambling off the bed toward their kitchen. "Okay, I guess it was kinda silly. Sorry I've been so weird."

"I figured it wasn't just the musical," Clint said, pushing their room door open and shoving a little plastic triangle beneath the corner to stop it from closing. "But it's not a big deal. You know that, right? At least it's not to me." Ducking his head into their refrigerator, he asked, "Did you eat the last of the salsa?"

Billy followed, at a loss for words as he watched his friend rummage through the refrigerator. "I think there should be some left," he finally answered the easier of the two. "And...thanks. I just....yeah, thanks."

Clint pulled the salsa out with a triumphant hum, grabbed the pre-grated cheese and the sour cream, then headed for the counter. "You're welcome," he said simply. Billy kind of looked like he was in shock. Which, y'know. All things considered - that wasn't really all that odd. Clint understood that it was a big deal. He even understood that knowing intellectually that something would be cool with other people and actually having to tell them, then wait for their reaction were two completely different thing.

He just didn't feel like it was the kind of thing that needed to be repeated over and over again. Billy got it, so Clint didn't have to spell it out. "You gotta let me know if I need to kick anybody in the shins, though. I was serious about that." He grinned as he dumped half a bag of tortilla chips onto a plate. These nachos were going to be awesome.