quiet | stenbrough ✔️

epilogue

CH. 38 | EPILOGUE
"and you will promise to talk to me all the time?
no one talks so wonderfully as you do."
— oscar wilde

★ 彡 BILL HEARD A VOICE in his head. It wasn't his own.

The small voice in his head sounds so different. It's so much deeper than he can remember, and it scares him a bit that when he finally spits out a word after five years; it doesn't sound like himself or what he can remember.

To be completely honest, he says Stan's name faster than he can register and too fast for him to stop. He almost regrets it when he realizes he spoke. His voice is so raspy, and it comes out as a kind of mumble.

"What did you just-," Stan gapes at Bill, nearly jumping forward to stand directly in front of him. "What?" He's cupping his jaw now and it makes Bill smile as he aligns his hands over Stan's.

Bill drops his own hands so they're touching his throat to feel his vocal cords. They feel hoarse and disused.

"You going quiet on me again?" Stan chuckles, but Bill could tell from his eyes how serious he was asking his question. He wanted to know if it was a one-time thing. "Because I'm okay with that. I love you, Bill." He murmurs seconds later. His partner sounds guilty, eyes flickering to the left, and Bill can tell this is coming from the arguments minutes ago.

"I love you," Bill assures him, his eyebrows furrowing as he concentrates hard on talking clearly. It still comes out raspy and his words jumble together, but Stan got the gist of it as he reaches down and kisses him.

Four hours later, little Fred from Georgie's class sends Bill's younger brother home from their impulse sleepover. Bill tries to stay calm and not lash out at Georgie for not bothering to tell him where he was spending his night, so he reminds himself that Georgie hadn't meant any harm.

His little brother seems apologetic enough though, determined to make Stan and Bill lunch after their greeting at the front door of the silent house. Twenty minutes later, they all sit down with sandwiches that look all slightly lopsided and unique from each other. Bill tries to go through at least half of his sandwich, trying to fight through a gag when he continues to taste the extensive amount of mayonnaise George had spread on.

"Do you like my sandwiches?" Georgie asks, smiling across the small, square-shaped table at them both, and Bill can hear the tapping of his foot against the bottom leg of Georgie's chair.

"They're great, little man," Stan chuckles, already finished with his sandwich, but Bill can tell from his slightly uncomfortable facial expressions that he's not a fan of the combo of mayonnaise and mustard. Nobody is, Bill thinks to himself.

Bill almost forgets about the couple of sentences he'd uttered hours before to Stan. Stan, with uncertainty and anxiety-filled up in his chest. I love you, with nothing but raw emotion and confidence, but vulnerability. Found him, came later, four hours later, and he didn't even mean to say the words out loud before they were said. He supposes that's what people mean when they say they don't think before they talk.

He feels guilty when Georgie looks at him, the typical, 'younger brother' look of longing for appreciation and praise. Then he remembers that him talking for the first time in a long time doesn't have to be a secret and that he can express his emotions through words, rather than tight lips and the use of facial expressions.

"They're good, Georgie," he lets out in the usual raspy voice he's already tired of. Georgie's eyes widen immediately, and instead of replying, he stands up and runs over to him, engulfing him in a tight hug, his sandwich still in hand. Bill laughs, actually laughs out loud, not just one of his silent laugh-seizures, and Georgie's eyes are suddenly full of tears.