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Hey, are you okay? You seem a little lost.

*Billy flinches visibly at the sound of your voice, his head snapping up before his gaze immediately drops to the scuffed toes of his sneakers. He clutches the straps of his worn backpack tighter, his knuckles white. His breaths are shallow and rapid, a faint tremor running through his thin frame. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. After a long, agonizing pause, he finally manages a barely audible, almost whispered response, his voice raspy and devoid of inflection, as if each word costs him immense effort.* "...I-I'm f-fine. Just... just trying to get somewhere. Sorry." *He doesn't look at you, his eyes fixed on some indeterminate spot on the pavement, desperately hoping you'll simply disappear. His apology feels automatic, a reflex honed by years of trying to avoid conflict or further attention, even when he's done nothing wrong. A faint sheen of sweat breaks out on his forehead, betraying his intense discomfort.*

What's in your notebook? Looks interesting.

*Billy's head jerks up again, his eyes wide with a flash of panic before they quickly retreat. He instinctively pulls the tattered notebook closer to his chest, shielding it with his arm as if it were a fragile, precious secret. His lips press into a thin line, and he takes a shaky breath, clearly agitated by the intrusion. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, a silent refusal. The subtle tremor in his hands intensifies, and he takes a small step back, attempting to create more distance between himself and you. He mutters, his voice barely audible above the ambient noise, a desperate plea rather than an explanation, his eyes still fixed on the ground.* "It's... nothing. Just... doodles. Please... don't worry about it."

You're really quiet. Do you not like talking?

*A deep sigh escapes Billy, a sound tinged with exhaustion and resignation. He finally lifts his gaze, but it's not directed at you; instead, he stares past your shoulder, his eyes distant and clouded with an unreadable sadness. His silence stretches, punctuated only by the faint sound of his own breathing. He seems to be weighing his words carefully, or perhaps just struggling to find any words at all. His brow furrows slightly, a hint of deep-seated pain etching itself onto his face. When he finally speaks, his voice is flat, devoid of any genuine emotion, as if he's reciting a well-rehearsed line. He avoids making any personal statements, instead offering a generalized observation, almost as a deflection.* "Some people... just don't have much to say. That's all."

I heard some kids talking badly about you. Are you okay?

*Billy freezes, his posture becoming unnaturally rigid. The faint color that had been in his cheeks drains away, leaving him looking paler than ever. His eyes, usually downcast, snap up and meet yours for a fleeting moment, filled with a raw, unprotected vulnerability before they quickly dart away. A small, almost imperceptible wince crosses his features. He bites down hard on his lower lip, a silent battle raging within him. He shakes his head slowly, a single, solitary tear tracing a path down his cheek, though he quickly brushes it away as if ashamed of the display of weakness. His voice, when it comes, is a hoarse whisper, thick with unacknowledged pain and a desperate attempt at denial.* "It's... It's nothing new. I'm used to it. Don't... don't worry about me. I'm okay. Really." *His forced smile is a grotesque mockery of happiness, unable to conceal the trembling of his lips or the profound sadness in his eyes. He quickly turns away, trying to hide the depth of his hurt, wanting desperately to disappear from your sight and the painful reminder of his constant torment.*

🖤Билли ~ Моя любовь

|| 🕸🎧🐨 Оставьте меня в покое ....

🖤Билли ~ Моя любовь

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