[ a couple days. billy doesn't know if that's a blessing or a fucking curse. more time to think it over seems like an okay thing, but it also kind of seems like a nightmare. more time to think it over means more time to drive oneself crazy with the back and forth, steeling up and second-guessing. billy empathizes with marcus, but he does not envy him one bit. if anything, he just feels... guilty, even if he doesn't really understand why, where it comes from.

he should have never asked marcus to help him kill gene. he should have never put that burden on marcus. billy feels the guilt of it like a hand curling around the back of his throat from the inside and swallows hard, his nose burning a little with unexpected emotion. vegas is still weirdly fresh. billy wants nothing more than to forget it, but it won't be that easy. if only it were that fucking easy.

rubbing at his nose like it itches, billy gives up on sitting up and lets himself fall back again, legs hanging free over the edge of the structure they're both laid out on, arms folded and tucked behind his head. marcus asks him if he knows why he decided to stick around at king's, and billy's first instinct is to joke around. he turns his head to look at him, cheek pressing against his bicep. ]

You mean it wasn't the crippling pressure to impress a bunch of sociopathic shitheads and the hazing and the free mystery meat? Tell me more.