Chapter Text
“I’ll lay on your rooftop in the freezing cold.”
Bill did exactly that.
The shingles dug into his back, the frost numbed his fingers, and the night air bit at his skin until it stung red. He could snap his fingers, summon warmth, twist the world until it bent to him. But he didn’t. He lay there in the brittle quiet, forcing his human body to remember the bite of winter. Because Ford had felt this cold once, and Bill refused to forget what it was like to be mortal beside him.
“Your constellation’s still crooked, Sixer,” Bill muttered toward the scatter of stars above. His voice was rough, hoarse with a laugh that didn’t fit. “Bet you’d be up here ranting about symmetry, waving your arms around, freezing your butt off. Always stubborn, always impossible.”
His grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it wavered into something fragile. Bill wasn’t just his grief. He was also his fury, furious that time had dared to move on, obsession that wouldn’t loosen its grip, devotion sharpened into something too heavy for one man to carry. He wanted to smash the stars out of the sky, drag time backward until Ford’s heartbeat echoed again. He wanted— He still wanted.