[ billy's hand falls from the side of his own face into his lap at the same time that marcus tips backwards again, his heavy sigh muted by the quiet, metallic hum that comes from marcus' weight thudding against the metal flooring. his beer is still tucked between his knees, but he leaves it there untouched, absently spinning the thin, leather cuff on his right wrist with his opposite hand, popping the metal snap apart and pressing it together again over and over just for something to do.

the fingers in his pocket don't really bother him, but he does look down at marcus again, like he expects the gesture comes with some kind of question or call for attention, but marcus just... lays it out. he's maybe fucked if he does, maybe fucked if he doesn't. presented like this, it's pretty clear to billy that this whole thing is more fucked up that he initially thought. how funny is it that carrying out a hit on a stranger, on a friend, isn't as fucked up as things could be?

billy undoes the snap on his cuff, slides it off, slaps it lightly against marcus' wrist like a slap bracelet. he leaves the snap open, leaves it there, takes his hand away and leans back on his palms again, his expression pinched. uncomfortable. unsure. ]

Yeah. [ yeah. lin is supposed to the "good guy" - and sometimes he is, but billy's also seen what he can do to people, the lines he's willing to cross when he feels like it. breaking brandi's nose for passing notes seems tame in a school that teaches teenagers how to be killers, but. it's still abuse. lin may be miles and miles below gene, but he still puts a little bit of fear in billy. ] ... I don't know, dude. You put it that way, and you're fucked if you do, fucked if you don't.

[ billy knows this isn't helpful, but he's just - trying to figure this out by talking through it. ]

When do you have to do it by? Or... not do it by.