Any other time, Billy would roll his eyes at that answer, maybe push Nida playfully, let his hands linger. But after that day in the schoolhouse, and then after all the rest on the mountaintop...it's still tempting, in its way, to pretend at normalcy, but he owes Nida better than that. So he settles for a look that's at least reasonably close to 'you've got to be kidding me' and a gentle nudge of his shoulder to Nida's, before scooting just slightly to the side, making sure there's a little space if Nida wants it. Not much; inches, maybe, but still. Enough to show he's still respecting what they'd talked about in the schoolhouse.
"You so know what I mean. Come on. At least put it up on the table while we're sitting here, so I feel better. When I'm gone, you can go back to jumping jacks or running laps or whatever," he says, fixing Nida with a look that's half reproachful, half pleading. It's a look that shifts, though, as Nida asks his question, and Billy turns his eyes on his hands, instead, laced together in front of him. The answer is--complicated, maybe. But Nida deserves as much of the truth as he can give.
"I...don't know," he admits finally, his voice soft. "I mean--I'm not really sleeping well. I keep having--dreams." Nightmares. Nida knows what he means. "But--I've been doing a lot of thinking, since we got back. There's been a lot to think about. Some things I don't think I could really see clearly, before. Stuff about me. The kind of person I've been. Stuff about Teddy." For once, his voice doesn't catch on the name. Funny. It hurts a little less each time he actually talks about it. "But, honestly? I think I'm doing better than I thought I would. Better than Tommy thought I would, too. I think he keeps expecting me to freak out and shut down. But, you know, if I did that, who'd come rag on you to take care of yourself, or make Jason eat lunch, or keep Tommy company on his runs?" Other people, maybe, but that's the point. He'd always let other people do things. Don't make this all about you, Billy. This is about him, too, remember?
Shaking his head, Billy looks over at Nida, face full of concern. "What about you? You aren't the only one who's been worried."
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"You so know what I mean. Come on. At least put it up on the table while we're sitting here, so I feel better. When I'm gone, you can go back to jumping jacks or running laps or whatever," he says, fixing Nida with a look that's half reproachful, half pleading. It's a look that shifts, though, as Nida asks his question, and Billy turns his eyes on his hands, instead, laced together in front of him. The answer is--complicated, maybe. But Nida deserves as much of the truth as he can give.
"I...don't know," he admits finally, his voice soft. "I mean--I'm not really sleeping well. I keep having--dreams." Nightmares. Nida knows what he means. "But--I've been doing a lot of thinking, since we got back. There's been a lot to think about. Some things I don't think I could really see clearly, before. Stuff about me. The kind of person I've been. Stuff about Teddy." For once, his voice doesn't catch on the name. Funny. It hurts a little less each time he actually talks about it. "But, honestly? I think I'm doing better than I thought I would. Better than Tommy thought I would, too. I think he keeps expecting me to freak out and shut down. But, you know, if I did that, who'd come rag on you to take care of yourself, or make Jason eat lunch, or keep Tommy company on his runs?" Other people, maybe, but that's the point. He'd always let other people do things. Don't make this all about you, Billy. This is about him, too, remember?
Shaking his head, Billy looks over at Nida, face full of concern. "What about you? You aren't the only one who's been worried."