Villains ➵ bill skarsgård a.u.

thirty two

"Yeah, sure." I reply against my will, mindlessly running my fingers through the tangled nest that is my hair and peering out the streets. Everything wasn't alright; I was freezing myself to death just by standing there, my limbs shivering under the thick fabric of my sweatpants. But maybe if I said I was he'd just leave me alone.

Nevertheless, he didn't, my agitation increasing by the minute as I kept my eyes on the streets. By any chance my friends see this exchange, I don't know what explanation I'd have to do next. The flyers come flying off my arm, some falling over the damp ground, my reflexes slowed by the ice on my face. Arthur moved fast, catching the papers before they could get fully drenched in the snow, quickly handing them back to me which I gladly took, hugging them tight into my chest.

"You look really cold, maybe I should--"

"No thanks, I'm fine." I interrupt before he could finish his sentence, knowing well where it was going. I didn't need him to be nice to me right now. Not when I didn't need it, and not when just talking to him feels so wrong.

"Fine is not quivering while posting flyers." He added, rolling his eyes as he placed his flyers down a dry patch on the sidewalk, continuing on to strip himself off his coat.

Was I that obvious? I question myself for a second before, "Stop! I still have your coat!" I exclaim, dropping everything I have and reaching for my backpack. I shuffle through the mess inside, pulling out the disturbingly familiar coat. It didn't smell as bad, the bloodstains from my broken arm faded brown from the time I've tried washing it.

"You kept that?" He looks down at me in a mixture confusion and surprise, pausing on his tracks

I mean I guess he had a point in being confused. Why? Why would I keep something that wasn't mine in the first place and reminds me of my nightmares everytime I see it? It's the same with Bill, and practically anything that takes me back to the hospital. As much as I want to desperately get rid of them, I'm incapable of doing so. I stood back up, the backpack leaning against my feet as I sprawled out the jacket, the strong scent of fabric conditioner attacking my nose. "I was just trying to find the right time to return it to you." I reason, folding it over my arm.

"Wear it."

"I'd rather freeze to death." I reach over to him, shoving the jacket into his hands but he refuses to take it.

"It's not that bad. It actually smells nice."

I ignore his remark, "Take it."

"C'mon, Adrianne, just wear it."

"No."

"Why?"

"You know exactly why." I give him a look of sincerity, his blue eyes burning holes onto my face as his expression fell.

"At least wear it for now." He sighs, gently pushing it back to me. "You could catch a cold, and everyone would blame me for it."

As far as I could remember, He was never blamed for anything other than the death of his girlfriend and fucking me, but then again those were two different stories. One was an utter lie, and the other nothing but a ridiculously hurtful rumour. Tired of the pretty argument we were having in the middle of the street, I throw the coat on and put one arm in, my skin tingling from the familiar sensation of the fabric. The last time I wore it I was dying, physically and mentally. It's not exactly something I'm fond revisiting, but to be perfectly honest, I would rather feel the dried blood scraping against my skin than linger in the snow any longer. Arthur just stood there staring, perhaps also reminiscing the time when he watched me wear it for the first time in front of the hospital. He looks away once he catches my gaze at, flipping back through his own stacks of flyers.