Closing Time [Billy Hargrove x Gender Neutral!reader]

Summary: When a sleepy stranger walks into the diner where you work late at night, you thought nothing of it. Until the stranger becomes a regular, you finally get his name, and start to get curious about his story, He doesn't feel so much like such a stranger anymore. Suddenly you're compelled to help the man, offering whatever little you have to offer. Will he take you up on it? [canon; takes place between S2 & S3]

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: a bit angsty. Mentions to injury and abuse, nothing specific.

Song inspiration: Closing Time by Semisonic

Author's note: As usual, I just want Billy to have someone in his life that he can turn to and feel safe with okay??? So I heard this song and came up with this story. Please let me know your thoughts. <3

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"Sir?"

No response.

"Excuse me, sir?" you said a little louder this time, leaning into the booth.

Still nothing.

Reaching out a hand, you hesitantly placed it on the shoulder of the sleeping man and shook him slightly. "Sir, I'm sorry but we're closing."

That did it. The curly-haired blond shot awake with a start, fear splashing across his face before he realized where he was. You had immediately retreated from his space once he was awake.

"I'm sorry, sir, but the diner is closing," you repeated again.

The man's eyes darted about the empty booths surrounding him before he focused on your concerned face. He ran a hand down his tired face and nodded.

"Right. Sorry," he uttered quietly, hand reaching into his pocket for something.

This wasn't the first time the handsome but chronically exhausted man with the curly blond mullet had showed up at the diner late at night. And more often than not, you'd noticed he would drift off to sleep in a booth despite the harsh overhead lights and him drinking copious amounts of coffee poured by you.

It was the only thing he ordered most nights: black coffee almost by the gallon. As the diner began to close around 1am, he would pull out a few crumpled bills and some change to pay for the coffee. He always gave you a generous tip, which immediately endeared you to him. The man always came alone in his growling muscle car and over time he started to prefer a certain booth with cracked red vinyl seats and spotted formica tabletop. It also happened to be in your usual section of tables. Coincidence, probably.

You started to look forward to his visits, the bell jangling over the door bringing your head up in hopes that it was him. But then he came in with a bloody lip one time. Later, it was a cut above his eye. You might have pegged him as a boxer or something but his flawless knuckles said otherwise. It wasn't your place to ask, but...you worried. About a stranger. Ridiculous.

As he dropped the expected crumpled bills and some coins on the table, you watched as he yawned once again. Your heart lurched.

"Hey, wait," you spoke up before your brain had even caught up.

The man looked your way and paused.

"Why don't you sit a minute and have another cup of coffee? Gotta wake up a bit. We don't want you wrapping your pretty car around a tree cause you drifted off," you proposed, hoping your tone was light enough to be taken as a joke.

"Um..." he hesitated, patting his pockets.

"No charge," you assured him. "It's the last of the pot and would get thrown out anyway,"