Rain or Shine (UnWilling Roommates book 2.5)

Out & About

What kinds of trouble can Bill get up to when Y/N's not around?  Let's find out!

(Will's POV)

I was on my hands and knees in Y/N's bathroom, sleeves rolled up, thoroughly scrubbing the floor around the bathtub like I did every day.  Actually, I cleaned the entire apartment from top to bottom every day.

When Y/N caught me at my obsessive cleaning, she usually forced me to stop gently but firmly.  She always told me it wasn't necessary, but constant work was the only thing that calmed me down.

You'll be abandoned the moment you become useless, my anxiety whispered in Mabel's voice.  I fought back against the voice with the only weapon I had: OCD.

"'Sup," Bill's voice came from a few inches behind me.  I shrieked in fright, scrambling away from the sudden noise.  I hit the opposite wall and curled up into a protective ball, all my instincts screaming that pain was imminent.

"Oh, crap, I'm sorry!" Bill exclaimed.  "Man, I really should stop sneaking up on people like that..."

I peeked out from between my fingers to see Bill crouching next to me, hands out as if uncertain whether or not to touch me.  I took a shaky breath and sat up slowly, wiping my eyes with my sleeve.

"I-it's okay.  It's not your fault I'm such a loser," I mumbled.

"Don't say that, bro.  This was all me.  Are you all right?"

I nodded silently.  Bill picked up the spray bottle that I had knocked over, setting it to one side.  "Anyway, Y/N's out at her so-called "friend's" house, so we've got the day to ourselves.  Do you want to go do something?"

"I h-have to finish cleaning..." I stammered.

"Cleaning what?  The entire apartment is spotless!" he scoffed.

"It's not enough.  It's never good enough..."  All my efforts had never been satisfactory to Dipper and Mabel.  My hands were shaking as I reached for the spray bottle again, intending to clean my worries away.  I yelped involuntarily when Bill grabbed my wrist and turned my hand over.

"Will, your hands... You're covered in blisters.  You need to stop cleaning  and relax for once."  Still holding my wrist, he stood and tried to pull me to my feet.  I immediately went boneless, and he was left tugging at my limp arm.

"Don't be like this, Blue," he snapped.  "You need to go outside once in a while."

"No.  Never," I mumbled.

"Are you going to come quietly, or are we doing this kicking and screaming?"

Fortunately, the neighbors were used to hearing a ruckus from our apartment, so nobody thought much of it when Bill dragged me down the hall by my ankle, both screeching at the tops of our lungs.

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Twenty minutes later, we were sitting at a booth in Greasy's Diner, each with a giant stack of pancakes.  My hands were covered in band-aids, but I managed to hold a fork.  My tolerance for pain was so high that it would probably take until my hands were bloody stumps for me to admit it hurt.

I crossed my ankles and looked around nervously, hyperaware that I was out in public without Y/N to protect me.  I trusted Bill, but still... I almost never went anywhere without Y/N, and the involuntary anxiety was making it hard to swallow each bite.

Bill was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, his tattoo on full display.  That and my blue hair drew some curious glances, but what was two more weirdos in a town like this?  I recognized many of them on sight, and they were all minding their own business in the bustling diner.  The jukebox created a tinny but comfortable ambience, and I slowly relaxed as I finished my pancakes.