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#repost bc tumblr was giving me mixed messages the first tjme
lucysgraybird · 2 months
Text
to show hospitality to angels
pairing: billy the kid x reader
warnings: discussions of religion (brief and light)
title source: hebrews 13:2. i think
a/n: hello ! i am not catholic and thus don't know protocol for catholic mass. generally im like religious lite so im really sorry if my discussions of God are sacrilegious in this, it's just how i conceptualize religion. also i don't think they are sacrilegious, im just preemptively apologizing
Billy was not a religious man, but that didn't mean he never went to church. Call it Catholic guilt, call it respecting his ancestors, but he made it to mass on Easter and Christmas and on rare Sundays if he was particularly missing his ma. 
This particular winter morning saw him in the sanctuary for the Christmas morning service, doing his best to be still and silent. Though these holiday services were longer, he preferred them to the ones on Sunday – the church was prettier, decorated for the season, and there was usually more (and nicer) music. The choir stood behind the pulpit, though admittedly he wasn't paying much attention to the full picture, searching for one singer. Someone had a lilting soprano voice that made the world soft and a little fuzzy at the edges; maybe not trained, maybe not clean, but the kind of voice that played on the outskirts of memories of sleepy childhood nights. Through First Noël and Little Town of Bethlehem he scanned the right of the choir, but couldn't identify quite where the voice was coming from. 
Then, for Silent Night, you stepped forward, a worn book of music clutched open to your chest as you gathered your red-and-green ruffled skirts. Billy had made the early New Year’s resolution to be a little more careful about falling in love, but the moment you began to sing he knew that was out the window. There was a slight tremble in your hands, betrayed by the fluttering paper and betraying your nerves at this solo, but your voice soared clear through the chapel anyways. Every worry Billy had went out the window – the cold and snow that were rolling in, the bounty still on his head, the insecurity of his whole life, all gone at the sound of your voice. There was only here and now, the sweeping melody wrapping around him like a blanket.
It was over in a second. The solo, that is. The feeling it had brought him, the peace he hadn't felt in God knows how long, remained for the rest of the service, until he was standing and scrambling to the front after the final prayer to talk to you.
“Miss?” He said, the brim of his hat crushed in his hands.
You turned, face soft and open. “Yes?”
“I just wanted to tell you that you got a real beautiful voice.”
A smile just about split your cheeks, now dusted with a pink blush. “Oh, thank you! I was so nervous, so I'm glad at least one person enjoyed it. I've never seen you here before. Are you new in town?”
Now it was his turn to flush. “I've been here a couple months. I don't make it to church as often as I oughta, I suppose.”
To his surprise, no judgement sprung up in your eyes. 
“There's no set number of times someone ought to come to mass,” you said. “We all have lives. Church is always there when we need a break – or can take one.”
Such a sage statement coming from someone his age, maybe even a little younger, almost made him laugh, but it actually settled the nerves in his chest.
“I thought since you were in the choir, you'd be real pious,” Billy said.
Your mouth turned down in a conspiratorial smile, just this side of letting out a giggle.
“I slip out the back after we sing sometimes,” you confided. “I grew up a preacher’s daughter, and it seems more worth it to me now to go to church when I actually want to be with God, not just because I feel like I have to.”
“I like that,” he said thoughtlessly, and immediately felt stupid for the simplicity. 
It earned him a toothy grin, though, and you brushed your hand against his arm.
“I have to get home now, but I would like to see you again. I'm a teacher at the schoolhouse in town, so you can find me there every afternoon.”
His surprise at your interest in him manifested in silence, and you dropped your hand in shame.
“I'm sorry, that was incredibly forward of me. If-”
“No! No, I want to see you again too. I'll come by the school on, say, Friday? If you're not too busy?”
“Not at all. Just tell me your name, so I know who I'm welcoming?”
“William,” he said, something about you making him desperate to be proper, then desperate to be honest. “Billy.”
“Well, Billy, it was lovely to meet you.”
You cast a glance around the room, then rose on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek before leaving to get your coat. What a strange tableau you would've created, he thought, had anyone seen you: the lips of a preacher's daughter on the skin of an outlaw. It was almost something out of a dime novel. It wasn't until you were surely long-gone that he realized he had never caught your name.
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