You know where to find me (but you don’t know where to look)

by Dvmb_H34rt

Summary:

Dead, they said. Some 99 percent chance which left him hanging onto ones.

 

Better dead than alive.

 

Better dead than tortured.

 

Crumpled in some basement, they said, most likely buried. Probably alone.

 

No body to mourn. No funeral to go to.

 

There were no losses to cut. He was simply gone. And that was that.

 

(A full one shot of Billy spiralling about Griffin’s disappearance- canon compliant.)

Notes:

random short angsty one shot i wrote!!

inspired by Mr. Loverman - Ricky Montgomery.

i love briffin. i'm their no.1 fan i swear...there's not enough fics in this fandom

i'll write them myself! :)

TW: drinking, implied sh, mental breakdown.

 

It had been a month. A month since Billy had lost everything.

 

The sunday played through his head like a stuck record every day. It flashed behind his eyelids when he showered. Lingered in every bottle he picked up.

 

Griffin’s face blessed his dreams, cursed by a blur which wouldn’t let him focus in on his features. Billy couldnt count his freckles anymore; his eyes were some murky grey instead of their usual blue storm. His face was pale, as white as a fading memory.

 

He was losing him.

 

But he found him in the moments where he was too drunk to walk, stumbling at the cracks in the floor as he made his way through the party. The ache in his chest was growing, a tumour making its way up his throat, a void in the shape of Griffin’s presence.

 

He was heaving as he slammed the bathroom door shut behind him, scrambling to the toilet as a sob hiccupped from his throat. He wanted to choke on his own grief. He had no right to feel this way. He didn’t even know Griffin. Not really.

 

He shouldn’t have known him.

 

But he did. Billy knew him best. Better than most people. He knew his frown, the way his fingers felt curled in his hair, he knew the way Griffin’s lips looked when they smiled and the way they felt against his own. He knew because Griffin was a part of his soul. A piece that had slipped away that day.

 

Griffin had walked out, but Billy had given up first. He was never meant to love a boy. He liked Donna. But Griffin was a boy, and he was not Donna. And Billy loved Griffin.

 

When Griffin had cursed his name and left his house, Billy had felt nothing but relief. He couldn’t have known that Griffin would be snatched up the moment he’d left.

 

Billy was too busy living up to his fathers legacy to know, drowning himself in drinks.

 

Dead, they said. Some 99 percent chance which left him hanging onto ones.

 

Better dead than alive.

 

Better dead than tortured.

 

Crumpled in some basement, they said, most likely buried. Probably alone.

 

No body to mourn. No funeral to go to.

 

There were no losses to cut. He was simply gone. And that was that.

 

He wanted this guilt out of him. He should have stopped loving him by now. Should never have to grieve him in the first place. When he dug his fingers into his throat all that came up was one dry heave of a sob, messy and wet as he gagged.

 

His legs burnt. Billy was sure the tiles in the bathroom were sliding like tectonic plates underneath him. Just as sure that the blur in his eyes was due to alcohol and not tears.

 

Someone was banging at the door. Probably the girl who had tried to kiss him before he ran away.

 

She had curly hair, some kind of dark blonde which looked brown in the dim party lights. Her eyes were brown, not blue, but the freckles and that attitude were enough to make Billy stare at her from across the room.

 

Enough to bring back Griffin, if only for a fleeting moment.

 

God, he hated himself.

 

“Billy?”

 

He clamped a hand down on his mouth in an attempt to be quiet, but his swaying ended up backwards and slumping back against the cabinet made had made enough sound for the knocking to pause.

 

The door handle rattled a little.

 

“Billy whats going on, are you okay?”

 

What was going on?

 

So much.

 

And yet nothing.

 

It was as though time had stopped moving, ever since Griffin had been taken. He couldn’t seem to move past that day. Couldn’t move past him.

 

Didn’t want to.

 

Billy could also find Griffin in the way his blood trickled down his legs. His every atom was tinged with the scent of the boy. Every cell of his skin remembered the feeling of his hands. Griffin’s love was imprinted upon him, and Billy was sure he would have to live out the rest of his life as a fucking half; a broken clock without hands, a mug without a handle, a body without lungs.

 

Would he ever stop loving Griffin?

 

Painfully, painfully, no.

 

He was being dragged now, up from the floor with a roughness that should have hurt. A blonde curl fell over his face as he stumbled along with his saviour.

 

Vance wasn’t looking at him. People parted as he dragged a dazed and tear stained Billy from the bathroom. He sucked in the three deep breaths of fresh air it took to get up to Vance’s car. He was shoved unceremoniously in the passenger seat, the door slammed shut behind him.

 

The other boy was grumbling as he slumped into the driver’s and fumbled at his keys. The engine stuttered up to a start and Billy watched the streetlights flash past like memories.

 

He closed his eyes.

 

“I know you loved my brother.”

 

They flew back open, a lump of guilt sliding up his throat.

 

“What?”

 

Vance’s eyes were a brighter blue than Griffin’s, but similar enough for Billy to flinch when they met his.

 

“Did he love you?”

 

Billy swallowed. His head moved before his tongue did, inching up and down.

 

“Yeah. I think so.”

 

Vance nodded back stiffly and turned to the road, knuckles flexing on the steering wheel. They had driven back in silence after that. Most things they did were in silence, these days. Sometimes Vance would find Billy’s eyes on him a second too long, glazed over with the look of some distant memory.

 

Vance could see the mannerisms Billy clung onto which echoed in Griffin’s absense, too. He would pause for a moment when some phrase echoed his brother’s sarcasm, his quick wit, his favourite sayings.

 

Griffin was long gone by now. Lost somewhere between being alive and not existing anymore. Billy supposed they both found him in their own way. If they looked close enough, maybe they could find Griffin in each other a little. Even if he didn’t know where to look anymore, even if he’d stopped cycling the streets at night and checking every alleyway he walked past, he’d never lose him really.

 

He’d find Griffin in the little things; hide them like stolen treasure in the gaping void Griffin used to take up in his chest. He would spend the rest of his life looking, finding pieces of him. Billy was just glad he’d gotten the chance to love the boy at all.

 

 

 

Notes:

idk how much i like this but if i have to be hurt by this thought then you do too <3