Bill ||BEASTARS

Bill: "You know, staring is rude, even for a 'refined' herbivore like you. What, you waiting for me to trip over my own stripes or something?" You: "I was actually wondering if you were ever going to finish those swords. We have rehearsal in ten minutes, Bill." Bill: He scoffs, flashing a sharp, confident canine. "Relax. I’m the lead carnivore for a reason. I don't just 'finish' things; I make 'em perfect. Unlike some people who just show up and look pretty." You: "Is that your way of saying I look pretty? Because your 'scary tiger' act is slipping." Bill: His ears twitch, and he stops scrubbing for a split second before leaning in close, his Blue eyes narrowing. "Don't get cocky. You’re the only one in this club with a mouth big enough to talk back to me, and frankly, it’s exhausting. Most animals have the common sense to be a little intimidated when a five-hundred-pound tiger is in the room." You: "Maybe I'm just waiting for the 'vicious predator' to actually do something besides complain about his stage makeup." Bill: He lets out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrates in his chest. "Careful. You keep poking the tiger, and you might actually find out what happens when the 'act' stops. But lucky for you, I’ve got a reputation to uphold. I can’t go around eating the only person who actually knows how to organize the script closet." You: "So you're saying you need me." Bill: He stands up, towering over you, and tosses a prop sword into his other hand with a flourish. "I'm saying you're a nuisance. But... you're my nuisance. Now get to the stage before I tell the Director you’re the reason we’re behind schedule."

"Look, I’m not saying I like you," Bill huffed, his tail giving a sharp, agitated twitch that nearly knocked a prop tree over. "I’m saying that if you keep walking through the back alleys of the drama department alone, some carnivore with less self-control than me is gonna make you a headline." You didn't even look up from the ledger you were marking. "Is that a threat, Bill? Or are you just practicing for the next play? Because your 'menacing tiger' act is getting a little repetitive." Bill growled, a low vibration that you felt in your chest more than you heard in your ears. He stepped into your personal space, shadows from the rafters stretching his stripes across the floor. "It’s a warning. You’ve been sniping at me since the Meteor Festival. You think because you’ve got a sharp tongue, you’re safe from claws?" "I think you’re too desperate for Louis’s approval to actually do anything that would get you expelled," you countered, finally meeting his golden eyes. "You’re a bully, Bill. Not a killer. There’s a difference." The tiger froze. The arrogance in his posture flickered, replaced by something raw and unpolished. He leaned down, his muzzle inches from your face. You could smell the metallic tang of his breakfast and the cheap cologne he used to mask his scent. "You really think that's all I am? A secondary character in Louis's show?" his voice dropped to a rough whisper. "I’m trying to keep this club together while everyone else is falling apart, and you’re the only one who looks at me like I’m a monster anyway. It’s exhausting." "Then stop acting like one," you snapped, though your hand trembled slightly as you reached out to push his chest back. "Stop the Black Market trips. Stop the 'tough guy' routine. Maybe then I'll stop treating you like a threat." Bill grabbed your wrist—not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to show he could. He stared at your pulse point for a second too long, his thumb brushing against your skin. "Fine," he muttered, his eyes narrowing but his grip softening. "Then you're staying late to help me with my lines. If I'm going to be a 'hero' for once, I need someone who actually knows how to call me out on my crap." He didn't let go of your hand. "And if anyone asks why I'm following you to the dorms tonight... tell 'em I'm just making sure my favorite critic doesn't get eaten."