Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Pinky Swear

An eternally binding act of hooking pinky fingers together to seal the deal

The highest of all promises; an unbreakable oath

-

Now

Cross your heart and hope to die

Stick a needle in your eye

If this solemn vow, you should break

Then no more breaths, shall you take

---

{[]} Ben POV {[]}

"Ben! Ben get back here!"

Ignoring her, Ben continued to storm out of the house and off the grounds. He didn’t want to deal with one of Leia’s tirades. It made his ears hurt and his skin itch, like he wanted to escape from his very body just to get away from the overbearing presence of such an otherwise distant ‘mother.’

He’d gotten into another fight at school, sentenced to another suspension. It was only three days compared to the other party who got a week. And while they honestly deserved a lot worse than just that, the decision wasn’t made because they were found ‘more at fault’ though they absolutely were. It was simply because of Ben’s family name. And god did he hate that. He hated the special treatment; he hated the spotlight and attention, famous and infamous in equal measure for both himself and his family. But he’d have gladly used the ridiculous nepotism if that meant something actually being done about those disgusting bullies at that damned pretentious academy.

This wasn’t the first, not the second or third, not even the tenth time this had happened. Ben had always had issues getting along with others. He didn’t particularly like people to begin with, so unavoidably being the son of one of the most influential families in the country, let alone the area, did not help that or his ability to avoid everyone. Since he was little he’d had skirmishes and bully problems, but it didn’t really become a ‘thing’ until his last year of middle school. He was fourteen, already practically six foot, and starting to bulk up almost as fast as he’d grown tall. It was the first time in all the years they’d gone to school together that he and Armitage Hux shared PE class.

A long time ago they were once friends, best friends who were always together. Ben didn’t remember what exactly changed between them that turned their close friendship into the antagonistic rivalry they had today – or more accurately, he never knew why it happened to begin with. Seemingly out of the blue Armitage had started being a little weird and distant toward him, then he turned cold and mean, and after another fight of petty insults they went from being friends – argumentative or not – to enemies of a sort. Ben hadn’t even wanted that back then, but he’d been so angry and hurt and confused, he could never bring himself to apologize or try to fix things, and clearly Armitage had no intention to either. And then one day, it had been so long it was too late to bother trying.

Yet despite their history, that first day in the locker room Ben glanced over to where Armitage was changing. He didn’t know what compelled him to look, but for some reason he did, and in doing so he spotted a small bruise on Armitage’s thin upper arm and one near his collarbone. Something hot boiled up inside him when he stared at those ugly purple spots staining Armitage’s pale skin.

Much like the sudden urge to look at the boy, Ben couldn’t discern why he felt that way then, and even now he didn’t know for sure, but the anger welling up dizzyingly fast that day had burned and scarred him to the core. In the wake of the emotional rush he’d nearly asked about them, but the marks were covered almost as fast as they’d been revealed, and Ben had hurriedly turned his head away before Armitage could catch him staring.

For days those bruises haunted him, and each one of those days he'd tried to catch a peak at Armitage to see them, to see if there were more. When he’d finally thought he could put the strangeness behind him, Ben stumbled upon an answer to his pervasive curiosity.

A group of three boys had cornered Armitage against a pale, shadowed wall in a stairwell alcove after school. Normally Ben would have escaped the building as soon as possible, but that day he’d had detention. Armitage likely had Student Council duties, so him still being present wasn’t odd. The situation, however, was.

Ben had been frozen at first, confused and surprised despite it being obvious what was happening. It didn’t go much further; footsteps approaching the stairwell had the group jerking straight and soon left to avoid being caught. But Ben still stayed and stared at Armitage, who likewise lingered just a moment longer.

As long as he’d known the other boy, Armitage was slight. Even growing taller he didn’t fill out much elsewhere, and his rather pale complexion along with the tendency to be either smirking smugly or frowning also hadn’t diminished with age. And yet… He’d looked a little smaller, a little paler. His face wasn’t smirking nor frowning, it wasn’t distraught or angry. It was just…distant, somehow. There was something disturbingly empty, yet…lonely? in his eyes that’d sent a shiver through Ben.

To this day he couldn’t erase that look from his mind. It was an expression he’d never imagined Armitage Hux wearing, and from then on Ben never did again. Nonetheless, that didn’t change the fact he’d retained it as if the unnerving visual had been branded as indelibly as the anger he’d first felt upon witnessing those bruises marring the boy’s skin.

Rather than let the matter go as none of his business, rather than breath a word of it to Armitage or a teacher or his parents, Ben had hunted down those three boys and it was too easy to wring confessions of hurting Armitage from their frightened mouths. After that, Ben didn’t recall, only that the other boys were down and his knuckles were bloody.

He’d been suspended for a week. The rumors that already existed about him exploded and spread like wildfire, making his efforts to avoid and hide from others all the more difficult. His parents were furious—well, Leia was furious, Han wasn’t happy but he hadn’t exactly truly chastised Ben either. It was honestly more like Leia was punishing the both of them as opposed to just Ben. Of course he’d been grounded too, and their already uncomfortably overbearing yet distant presence in his life became worse. In the end, the only person who didn’t really change at all toward him, was Armitage. Ben never told Armitage about what happened, and he had no idea if Armitage ever knew why he did what he did.

Or why he continued to do so now. Every fight he’d gotten into since had been because of assholes bullying Armitage. And with each passing year the bullies grew worse.

He wasn’t blind, and he certainly wasn’t stupid. Ben knew what those looks meant, overheard those nasty comments. Not everyone who bullied Armitage did it because they didn’t like him or his family – at least not entirely. They didn’t all eye him with anger or contempt, some of those disgusting bastards leered at him with taunting and lust.

That’s what happened this time around.

There were four of them. One was definitely just an asshole who either got his kicks from bullying or particularly hated Armitage for one reason or another, two were similarly so but used more of that borderline suggestive teasing. They were the cliché sort who were probably a little repressed and would likely be bi to some degree or another if the world weren’t so heteronormative, and toxically forceful about being so. Probably the loathsome kind who if they ever did get with a guy they’d just brush them off after a fuck, claiming it was the other’s fault, that they were ‘seduced.’ Really it was the leader of the group that worried and infuriated Ben the most. It was so obvious from the vile way he was staring at Armitage; how he fucking shivered once when his lackeys made those offensive remarks. He was a super repressed fucker, definitely dangerous, with his eyes set on Armitage.

The second he was able, Ben retaliated, and he made damn sure to specifically threaten that so called leader until he was stammering tearful, bloody apologies.

Unsurprisingly that guy said nothing about what transpired during their conversation when they were called to the dean’s office. None of the boys elaborated on the ‘whys’ really, which was to be expected. As if they’d admit to bullying in the first place, let alone what any possible intentions might have been.

Ben couldn’t care less about the punishment. He hadn’t listened to the rebuke of the dean, and he’d equally ignored his mother’s ranting. They were little more than broken records. He was tired of it, and he was tired of idiots. Really, he was just tired of people, plain and simple. So annoyed and frustrated and goddamn exhausted, and he didn’t want to deal with anyone right now.

Smacking another tree branch in his path, Ben imagined it was the face of that future predator. At least he was nearly to the clearing he liked to relax in. The area was far enough from the estate to allow him to feel he could truly unwind, but not so much that he’d take too long to get back whenever he finally decided to return. It was a nice place he’d discovered many years ago. Actually, it was somewhere he’d found with—

He came in sight of the clearing, picturesque through the opening in the forested border where he hesitated. A light breeze wafted across the rich green blades of grass and colorful spring flowers— and the brilliant fiery strands of familiar ginger hair.

Almost as if he’d willed him into existence by the mere thought of the boy, there was Armitage, lying in the middle of Ben’s target. A crimson blanket protected him from the ground, his usual black bag at his side, and a thick book held aloft in his slender hands.

For as long as Ben could remember Armitage had had a book on him. Almost always different, and always in excellent condition despite Ben being certain they’d been read numerous times. There were a few instances where Armitage had read to him from those books he toted around in his black bag. Always a black bag too. It had grown in size over the years, but Armitage’s tastes and habits rarely changed. A predisposition Ben considered annoying and humorous in equal measure. Particularly because it was an easy target to irk the ginger about, and Armitage would never fail to flush with an open-lipped frown. The reaction made him look younger and less rigid, more like the eighteen year old he was rather than a pinched adult.

Ben stared at the other boy, watching him read. It had been his intention for hours now to be lounging there himself. The current roundabout to his much desired plan was unsurprisingly bothersome and aggravating and—

Armitage looked quiet and soft. Something surely fantastical about that little clearing had the tendency to turn prickly, arrogant Armitage Hux soft. Whenever Ben happened to find his intended spot taken by the other, he’d yet to be able to kick him out. Because Armitage Hux looked soft.

With a sigh, Ben turned and began back down the path he’d come.

--- {[|/\|]} ---

{[]} Armitage POV {[]}

Tapping a finger against his crossed forearm, Armitage waited around the corner of the locker-lined hallway as a pair of closely huddled girls were chattering amongst themselves with hushed, excited nerves. It was grating on his ears and dwindling patience, and he wanted them to hurry it up already.

As ever, he’d been keeping tabs on the latest batch of problems threatening his careful existence, and this one had decided to make a move. It was beyond tacky, like a ridiculous after school drama, to slip a note into the locker of your crush. However, it proved much easier to deal with than a face-to-face confession.

Once the girls were gone and he assured again that no one else was coming, Armitage quietly rounded the corner into the hall and down to Ben’s locker. He knew the code; knew every locker code Ben had ever had. This was not the first note he’d snatched, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

The big idiot hadn’t the slightest clue how many girls swooned and gossiped about him. There were some guys, but none were remotely brave enough to attempt any form of contact. Perhaps if Ben weren’t clearly stronger than a good many of them, and maintained a perpetual look of disinterest, anger, and a palpable aura of general intimidation, then there could be a male admirer or two that tried. But Armitage wouldn’t let that happen either. Moreover, it was thanks to that terrible nature of his that those numerous admirers tended to avoid actually approaching the boy in the first place, and certainly wouldn’t do so when a response never came to letters he’d never even seen.

He was just relocking the dial when the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period. By the time people began to fill the space, Armitage was nonchalantly down the hall and slithering nimbly among the crowd as they all headed to their next classes.

Tripping him up briefly, Armitage caught sight of Ben shuffling into the hallway, his ruffled dark hair an inverse beacon above the other heads. The boy constantly stuck out. Not to say there was anything particularly eye-catching about him—well, not for things like bright colored hair or clothes, or a boisterous attitude. It was the opposite really. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a dark disposition; he was a bit like a void. Plus he was taller than most at the school and had grown broader seemingly day-by-day since their last year of middle school. For all Ben endeavored to avoid people and the discomforting tedium of interaction with them, shying away from others and brooding into silent corners like a wraith, he simply emitted a presence that was difficult to ignore. It both drew and repelled those around him. The trait was infuriating to be honest, and caused Armitage no end of trouble.

-- {[/\]} --

Slipping from the smooth car interior without a glance to the chauffeur at the door, hurriedly walking across the crunch of thick, white gravel then thump on intricately carved paving stones, Armitage practically stomped his way through the front door of the main house as it opened for him. He ignored the smartly dressed butler bowing at the grandiose entrance. He ignored the staff who paused in their work to greet him on his way to the wide, curving stairway at the far end of the left wing. And he continued to ignore every person who politely welcomed his return just as they did every day, down to the exact words, cadence, and posture. Typically he ignored them regardless, yet today he was particularly disinterested in two-faced brownnosers who cared for him even less than he did them.

His last class of the school day had been more eventful than usual. A game set between the divided students, and unsurprisingly it resulted in Ben and Armitage reigning supreme right up until the end. And it was INFURIATING that in the final moments he lost to that little shit and his fucking smirk and unfair reflexes. Armitage only lost because Ben was astonishingly fast when he wished to be, and for absolutely NO. OTHER. REASON. It was unjust, a system overly partial to reaction speed rather than intellect. He’d tried to argue his case, which unfortunately didn’t get far, and Ben’s continued hauteur at the forced reality of the game’s outcome only provoked his anger further.

To be— Armitage rolled his eyes at the oncoming thought. To be fair, galling as it was, Ben was smart. Freakishly so. From near infancy Armitage had been hailed a prodigy, and it was almost like an ever-present cloud to his own accomplishments that Ben Organa-Solo – his neighbor since said infancy – was also lauded as one. Ben’s intelligence was the sort that made anyone with smarts feel inadequate. At eleven, Armitage had witnessed the boy go from little to no knowledge of a language as he spoke to another speaking the foreign tongue, to being able to converse with them within the span of an evening. It was baffling and fascinating and goddamn infuriating. Every single stupid little thing always seemed to come so easily to Ben. To his whole fucking family in fact. Of course they weren’t without their scandals and drama – dear god were they not – but still. Still! Armitage worked hard too!

He knew his mind was beyond excellent as well. The only reason he hadn’t simply whisked his way through schooling in its entirety was because he already had numerous things on his plate, and the sooner he was out of school the sooner his father would pile on more. Ben was certainly capable of doing so as well, it was hardly a secret he was no fan of school, however Armitage greatly suspected precious princess Leia Organa wouldn’t allow him to not experience school life. If only to be punishment for his continued problematic behavior, or some such nonsense.

At his bedroom, Armitage narrowly avoided slamming the thick door closed. He was hardly eager to evoke any wrath from his father for ‘disturbing the household with his juvenile petulance.’ He threw his bag on the bed and pulled out his cellphone, fuming as he scrolled through the few contacts and tapped on the icon next to the appropriately named ‘Little Shit.’ The circular avatar was a fluffy black puppy with huge, beseeching brown eyes; it was a stock image choice that came with the phone, and the moment Armitage saw it he couldn’t help but think of Ben. As intimidating as the boy could be, sometimes he really was nothing but a big pouting puppy.

With the chat opened, the black background easy on the eyes, he swiftly typed.

[ArmitageHux] You did not win today.

As was often the case when Armitage texted him, Ben’s response was quick.

[Little Shit] i’m pretty sure having the most points makes me the winner

[ArmitageHux] That was not a fair match and you know it!

[Little Shit] i played by the rules and i won fair.and.square. get over it, gingersnap. can’t have u bursting into flames before i beat ur ass again.

Armitage wanted to scream into the phone, as if somehow Ben would actually hear his fury if he did. His ears were hot from reading that stupid nickname and his teeth clenched painfully at the audacity Ben had to claim he’d secure another victory over him. Like hell he would.

Unable to stop himself from retaliating, they continued to argue in a roundabout, mildly petty fashion that mirrored several ‘conversations’ they’d shared over the years, ending with Armitage assuring Ben he’d utterly wipe the floor with him in the coming mock trial in AP World History. Ben goaded him, of course, but Armitage was confident he’d win. Debating was one of his better skills, and public speaking in any form was not one of Ben’s. Although, a trial was easier, as it allowed one to act more than having to be oneself when presenting something. Ben was deceptively good at acting.

Scrunching his nose at the text staring back at him, silver bubbles with black taunting words, Armitage tossed his phone down at last. Disgruntled still, but he felt calmer and less agitated about the events of the day. Mostly. He reached into his pocket where the note from that silly girl still lingered. A weight in his pocket, and now lead in his hand as he drew it free. In his palm he stared at it, neatly folded, Ben’s name scrawled in disgustingly sentimental calligraphy. He contemplated reading it; he didn’t always read the ones he commandeered, but of those he did, each and every one professed the desire to date him. To be his girlfriend. Even the thought of the word made his lip curl, while in unison his fist clenched and crumpled the little note.

Without another thought, he went over to the low dresser opposite his wardrobe, a mock vanity with an aged, bronze framed mirror he’d positioned on top the sleek surface. A memento of his late mother’s. From one of the small drawers on the uppermost left he withdrew a dark green bowl and a box of matches.

It was almost second nature now. Armitage dropped the crushed ball into the bowl, he struck a match, inhaling the burning scent that promised the purest of destruction, and a mere heartbeat later dropped the whole thing onto the offending scrap. Unmoving, he watched the flame creep, then take, then devour.

This was the third in the last month alone. The sharp increase would normally cause greater concern if it weren’t for the fact they were seniors, and the school year was nearing its end. Girls were making a last ditch effort to secure the hand and affections of one of the most eligible persons around—though Ben himself was only eighteen; hardly a ‘bachelor’ for the taking. However, when one came from old, wealthy families it wasn’t uncommon for early matches, even in this more modern era. And the idea of Ben dating, Ben getting a girlfriend, was one of Armitage’s nightmares. If Ben had a girlfriend, then Armitage’s father would surely want him to find one. Insist on it, really, like it was a bloody competition. That was one thing he’d been dreading with every year that passed and every inch he grew.

Armitage hadn’t been surprised when he’d come to the not so startling realization that girls did absolutely nothing for him, or that his eyes were drawn to boys instead. But. Telling that to Brendol Hux was irrevocably out of the question, so steering as far away from the concept of marriage for as long as feasibly possible was preferred. Therefore, Ben could not get a girlfriend. It would be extremely troubling for him if Ben got a girlfriend.

He stared down at the remnants flaking the bowl’s dark interior, the smoke forgotten and the soft ember glow already gone. A droplet upset the ash, its trail hot and singular on his cheek.

Yes. Ben Organa-Solo must not get a girlfriend.

--- {[|/\|]} ---

Chapter Text

--- {[|/\|]} ---

{[]} Ben POV {[]}

A bead of sweat dripped down his nose as Ben held position before taking another stance, the thrust of the staff in his hand strong enough that he muffled a reacting grunt of exertion.

Although he’d already just finished a training session with his uncle, he’d stayed back to continue practicing on his own. Admittedly not entirely of his own volition; this latest session had been far more intensive than the norm, and the self practice afterward a ‘suggestion’ of Luke’s before leaving the room.

He was currently enduring another suspension, three days once again, and the sentence this go around was Leia sending him to train with Luke at thrice the usual difficulty. That was her way.

Early in to Ben’s new ‘problematic behavior’ she quickly learned the typical disciplinary methods would not work on Ben. So, rather than have him essentially doing nothing for three days, she inverted standards and had him doing things relentlessly. His last suspension he’d been her assistant, and fuck was that duty always pure hell. The worst of all her imposed ‘jobs.’

At least the training better allowed him to work out his emotions. Unfortunately, when it was a punishment Luke became especially preachy, trying to impart wisdom and what not instead of just the usual sparring and techniques of an everyday practice between them like they’d done since he was a kid.

For the most part, Ben didn’t really mind her way. He was miles from a social butterfly – a trait painfully obvious just from a single glance – and he rarely ‘got out’ much to begin with. Ben was not a ‘go places and do things’ kind of guy, more of an ‘if I leave the house it’s to be away and alone’ sort. He only had one real friend, and to be honest, if she weren’t the one compelling and maintaining the connection and momentum of their relationship it probably would have died off long ago due to Ben’s poor communication skills and introverted tendency to withdraw from others. So in the end, Ben hardly missed out much on anything a suspension might typically bring to your average rebellious teen.

However, even if it had, Ben wouldn’t change what he’d done, nor reveal the details either. No matter how many times Leia had worked to get answers from him, he’d refused to budge. After a while she’d stopped bothering altogether, and sometimes Ben got the niggling suspicion she knew more than what Ben didn’t say. It was kind of annoying – really annoying – but so long as she didn’t pry too much Ben figured he’d deal with it.

Besides, there was no way in any universe he’d voice the reason behind his many fights. This latest one was no exception. The memory still burned Ben, his palms chaffing with how hard he held the staff in his tight grip.

A sudden crash startled Ben, loud enough to penetrate past the music streaming through his earbuds. The sound was so familiar it was no doubt a body colliding with the row of lockers on the other side of the changing room, closer to the exit.

On rare occasions Ben would stay after school and make use of the track when no one was around. It let him run off steam while simultaneously keeping him from home for just that much longer. It had already been two weeks since he’d gained freedom from his previous suspension, but he still itched to be far away from his prison even if it was no longer locked and guarded.

Leaving his bag on the bench and locker door ajar, Ben shuffled over to try and catch a peek at what was going on. Considering the time it would have to be people returning from club activities, although even then it was still a bit on the late side. He wouldn’t have expected many people to still be around; few were that dedicated or desperate.

He was ready to find a few guys messing around and quickly return to ignoring them and undressing to hop in a shower stall, but his eyes found something very different. So different and jarring he froze on the spot, even when he yearned for his body to move.

A strong form in a slightly rumpled uniform shirt – no blazer, vest, or cardigan to be found; a tall and athletic physique evident even with the clothing was the most direct view in his line of sight. The boy was recognizable even from the distant partial profile. Jackson Oliver III. Popular, of course; he was one of the school’s prides, a basketball star on the honor roll, perfect attendance and conduct both in class and the community. He had that charming smile, attractively styled chestnut hair that looked professionally arranged at all times, eyes cobalt blue and deep like pools to drown in. At his coveted side was the perfect, model girlfriend with the same perfect student statistics, the two of them like cutouts from a fashion magazine when together. He was practically a walking cliché but that didn’t matter; everyone loved him, respected him, wanted him.

Ben couldn’t deny he was objectively attractive, and as someone who fancied guys he was likewise attractive in that way as well, even if not his type. Jackson had never said or done anything to Ben personally, nor that he knew of to others that might cause him to be of poor opinion amongst the students. And yet, the guy had always irked Ben for some reason. Maybe it was just the too perfect ridiculousness of him, or maybe—

Maybe it was seeing him shoving Armitage Hux against the lockers, the ginger’s clothes a little mussed themselves, and almost immediately afterward Jackson’s hands were crashing hard on either side of Armitage’s head while the rest of his larger body thoroughly closed him in. Ben was sure words were being said but his ears were too busy ringing, his blood pulsing so loud he couldn’t think.

The edges of his vision were going red as he watched long fingers trail the line of buttons on Armitage’s shirt, pull at the already loose fabric to free space for his hand to slip in and press onto the exposed pale skin of the boy’s stomach. Jackson moved closer still and that stupid hand dipped further and fucking groped at the front of Armitage’s pants.

For the first time Ben noticed the disgusting cocktail of lasciviousness and irritation on the popular prick’s face, a partial view hardly disguised it. And the blood trembling through his veins, the ringing in his ears, the red clouding his eyes pulsed in unison with the only thoughts that could manage form in his frozen state. A rage-fueled chant of don’t touch him don’t touch him don’t touch him don’t touch him don’t touch him .

He was about to snap, he could feel his muscles coiled to spring and free him from his shock at last to finally interrupt and stop the bastard. But— like a blink, the red was gone and Mr. Popular was curled in on himself. Like a sigh, his limbs stopped trembling when Armitage kicked Jackson over with a sneer, a biting remark surely on his pink lips that Ben was still too stunned to hear before finally storming away.

In reality the entire situation couldn’t have been much more than a moment; his anger slowing down every second, zeroing in on each movement, subtle shifts and expressions in hyper focus.

Ben was pleased for the end result, a different sort of tremor going through him in that instant. However, his satisfaction in Armitage’s action and escape couldn’t hope to stop him from walking over to the downed boy. A shadow cast Mr. Popular in darkness, like a wraith descending on the damned, and in the dim lighting Ben thought he could still see Jackson’s skin pale.

He’d made sure the point got thoroughly across before returning to his things and a well-earned shower.

After that, the same old process was set in motion. Called to the office, both refused to give full answers, suspensions.

Sometimes Ben was tempted to expound upon it all, especially this time – though the fact Mr. Popular’s reputation was at least minorly tarnished was a wonderful bonus. He simply loathed how these bullies, these goddamned predators slithered off to mommy and daddy dearest with only a brief suspension and not a harsher penalty. With the kind of money and prestige of the families these students come from, unveiling every dirty detail of anything enormously worse would still be covered up for their own ‘greater good.’

Ben growled under his breath, an ugly grimace no doubt on his flushed, sweaty face.

However… saying even a word meant revealing not only what was done, but to who. And while it’s not as if he and Armitage were friends or whatever, he was quite aware making it known that Student Council President Armitage Hux was being bullied and sexually harassed would be a crushing blow to him, prideful as he was. Worst of all, it would be impossible to keep from his father. Everyone knew Brendol as a strict man, and Ben knew how painfully tight he kept the leash on his oldest – and illegitimate – son. Having the teachers learn of it would be less than ideal, the inevitable leak to the student body beyond what might already be circulating would be bad, but Brendol— for that man to know would be far worse. As annoying as Armitage could be, Ben would never, not ever, do something that would truly hurt and devastate him.

Biting his lip at a returning memory, as vivid as the haunting purple on the ginger’s once tiny wrist, a sudden notification chime pulled Ben from his trance and the threat of tasting copper on his tongue. The staff in his hand had stopped evenly midair despite his upset, his eyes opening to look over at the bench where his phone, water, and towel rested.

Ben had very few contacts, nearly all of which were family, and only a select few of those ever texted him. Fewer still did any do it more than once in a blue moon, and those times came with messages akin to ‘I’ll be there soon’ or ‘hurry up’ or whatever.

The interruption provided him with a good excuse to take a break, which he probably needed anyway. He had no idea what time it was now. Luke would just have to deal with it if he walked in while Ben was checking his phone.

Of the maybe two or three he suspected, Ben wasn’t surprised to find the notification was from his younger cousin, Matt. Recently the boy had been talking his ear off more and more and more – and very excitably at that – about Techie, the middle child of the Hux children and younger brother to Armitage. Really, Matt always enjoyed rambling endlessly about and engaging with the very shy ginger, but in the last year or so his fervor seemed to have grown. Ben was waiting each time for the moment Matt would admit to liking Techie in a romantic way rather than as a close friend. They were both pretty young still, however the boys had been beside one another almost since birth, so it wasn’t the most surprising.

[Dandelion Head] can u get out of prison for a bit?

Ben smirked faintly, responding:

[DarthRen] probly not, but they can’t stop what they don’t know

[Dandelion Head] okay. cool cool.

[Dandelion Head] ( . . . )

[Dandelion Head] I’ll be at the park near that tiny bookstore u like

[DarthRen] and who’s letting an 11 yr old out at 6pm?

He was teasing, of course. Ben very thoroughly failed Rule Following 101. And seeing as he was the sort to casually leave at any and all hours to go off and be by himself somewhere that wasn’t full of stifling family, or really any humans in general, Matt would understand.

[Dandelion Head] they can’t stop what they don’t know ;)

[DarthRen] u learn fast, young one

[Dandelion Head] bcause I have the best teacher

Ben rolled his eyes, hard. He was the farthest thing from a teacher, especially a best teacher. Luke would probably scold him for attempting to be one, and then subsequently scold him for thinking he couldn’t and thus should be. But Ben absolutely was not a teacher. Matt was merely starry-eyed and looked up to Ben like a big brother, or maybe a role model; probably both. Terrible choice obviously, but, Ben couldn’t help but find it kinda weirdly endearing. The sentiment was a lot cuter on little Rey though. Yet she could also turn around and unleash an impressive chastising temper on him – on both of them – just as much as puppy dog adoration.

She undoubtedly picked up that temper from Leia despite it having been the typically mild-tempered Luke who’d adopted her when she was a baby; now a precocious seven year old who got into everything and took it apart only to put it back together – and better than it was originally too. Apparently she was in fact a distant relative, not that anyone would specify how – at least not when he was around. Ben didn’t care regardless; she could be pretty annoying sometimes, but also unfairly cute. He didn’t have any actual siblings, but considering how close his family was, Matt and Rey practically were. They all even lived on the same too damn huge estate to boot.

Wiping off his face, Ben sent a text of agreement and quietly left to take a hasty shower, dress, then duck out before anyone had a hope of catching him. Honestly, it was almost appallingly easy. Plus, though he might have gotten bigger over the years, he could still be impressively stealthy when he wanted.

He wondered how pissed Leia would be to learn Han and his assorted uncles – both related and not – had lent a hand in teaching him those things.

For a moment, Ben thought he could sense her silent, judgmental seething.

--- {[|/\|]} ---

{[]} Armitage POV {[]}

For the third or possibly fourth time, Armitage caught himself rereading the same paragraph, and prior to that he’d struggled getting through a single page in a timely manner. His book had become more like an ornament than a diversion.

Beside him, Millicent shifted in her curled position, pressing her head closer against his hip. The bedsheets around her she’d arranged to perfectly suit her needs as she dutifully kept a sleeping vigil at his side. He gently stroked one of her soft ginger ears, the appendage flicking gently in the aftermath.

He’d been intending to make progress on the remainder of his book this evening, however his brain seemed to have entirely different ideas on the matter. Regardless of his mental discipline, every time he was plagued with that insufferable Ben Organa-Solo he struggled to keep his thoughts in check.

Finding his eyes on a frustratingly familiar sentence once again, Armitage cursed under his breath. If only Ben hadn’t been so impossible then perhaps Armitage might not have had a surplus of work lately and thus been unable to finish his book. And now he wasn’t even able to do that!

Ben was just so annoying. He simply had to constantly push uniform regulations, didn’t he? And no one would fucking do anything about it because they were too intimidated by either the person himself and/or his family. But he was parading around with his first four shirt buttons undone. Four! The hem was not tucked in as it should have been and his sleeves were sloppily rolled up his forearms, the cuffs surely wrinkled and a mess under all that. Of course the fabric didn’t appear to be ironed in the first place, like he’d just picked it up off the floor; and to top it all off, he wore no undershirt like an absolute heathen.

But then to make the nonsense worse, Ben was wearing that stupid lightsaber necklace of his. The very not regulation trinket was like a phallic red arrow to further draw people’s eyes to his equally stupid chest that never seemed to fit his damned clothes. Why on earth couldn’t he buy properly fitting clothes!? It’s not as if he couldn’t afford to do so whenever he’d instantly outgrow the ones he just bought like the tree he was. But no, no! He had to be impossible.

And Ben’s incessant ridiculousness persisted in tormenting him.

It had been an utter headache rerouting the efforts of an exasperatingly daring girl who’d been hoping to vocally confess. He’d dealt with these before, but compared to notes they were significantly less common. And speaking of notes, he’d needed to snatch up another two as well.

Goddamn Ben Organa-Solo!

He nearly slammed his book shut just thinking on how vexing that boy was, however he didn’t wish to upset Millicent nor be so hard on his possessions. His discontent wasn’t for them.

A soft knock at his bedroom door brought Armitage the rest of the way back from his irksome reminiscing. Normally he’d be displeased at the intrusion, even if he would have no plans of allowing entry; but this time was different. There were few who knocked on his door to begin with, and this was a knock that was always permitted.

"You can come in."

The slow open initially revealed a rather shy looking Techie peering around the edge, then an auburn mass of waves pushed in at his side with a bright smile.

"Armie!" she exclaimed, though not too loud.

Techie lingered at the cracked doorway, his gaze never staying overlong on anything. Before Armitage could comment, Brela was tugging the boy in, her leading hand holding his firmly despite being the smaller of the two.

Judging by the increase in timidity, it would appear that Techie had something on his mind, something Brela likely knew at least a part of, but he was hesitant to tell Armitage. He couldn’t think of why his little brother would feel that way, though he certainly wouldn’t pry. Techie would divulge what was bothering him when he was ready and not before.

"Well don’t just stand there," he said, beckoning them over to join him.

Brela was quick to respond, dutifully closing the door behind them and returning to tugging Techie forward until the pair was up on the bed and crawling their way to Armitage. Millicent rose from the comfortable warmth of her spot to greet the two. Despite being younger than both, Millicent treated them as if they were her own kittens.

"Hello, Millie," Brela welcomed her, a grin on her freckled face as Millicent purred and rubbed her whiskered cheek on the girl’s.

After taking thorough care of Brela, Millicent went softly and gradually over to Techie who responded with movements just as light and quiet. He pet her in slow, long strokes as the cat nudged bit by bit into his space. Millicent was notably gentler with Techie compared to Brela, or Armitage. She knew exactly how to treat her humans. And with how subdued Techie was behaving, she was acting with greater care than usual.

Having a similar urge, Armitage asked in a voice he only ever used with his siblings, "so, what brings you two?"

There was no immediate answer, but Armitage didn’t expect one—certainly not from Techie. With it clear that the visit was for his little brother’s benefit, Brela didn’t speak up like she might have otherwise. She looked over to the boy, her bright eyes big and blue with an agitation that was mirrored in her posture, but said nothing.

Sometimes they had to go slow and steady with Techie. While the boy looked up to and had followed Armitage around since he was a tiny babe, his shy personality could still surface stronger when with him on occasion. It wasn’t common, the timidity becoming closer to his nature around acquaintances, but it happened. Armitage was curious what exactly the boy wanted to say that would bring about this tendency. If Brela’s presence and continued pressing looks were any indication, it was something he was quite nervous about and the girl was acting as a push for him.

"Techie," Brela urged under her breath, apparently done waiting. That answered that.

Armitage focused on Techie, who’d flinched slightly at his sister’s voice before looking up from where his hands had been settled on Millicent. Big and terribly vivid, the rich sapphire of his red-lined eyes held a desire to speak, along with a hopeful apprehension despite the nerves clearly binding his tongue.

"I—" he stuttered, voice faint.

Armitage gave him a subtle smile and nod of understanding, letting him know he could start when and however he needed. The boy swallowed softly, took a breath and a pause, then his resolve seemed to harden a little more. It was endearing to watch; Techie was much stronger than he allowed himself to believe sometimes.

When Techie began to speak at last, it went from small mumbling to flowing on and on and on, like he’d broken a dam to words he’d been desperate to release. Not unsurprisingly, he brought up Matt Solo, a cousin to Ben, one Armitage had known since before he was born. Of course he was far from close to the boy, seeing as he was about seven years his senior. Techie, however, was barely a year younger, so the two had grown up together for the most part and were quite close. Techie hardly talked about anyone who wasn’t his best friend Matt since almost before he could actually speak.

They’d maintained their friendship where he and Ben had failed.

Armitage ignored the urge to frown at the thought. He didn’t want to startle Techie or give him the wrong idea about the expression’s origin.

When he noticed Techie’s pale cheeks steadily growing pinker, Armitage realized he’d not been as attentive to the conversation as he should have. Rosy and shifting like he couldn’t fully sit still, his eyes looking everywhere but Armitage, his next words were almost like a punch.

"—then h-he told me he l-loved me," Techie lifted a hand to his flushed cheek, "and he k-k-kissed my cheek, right here." Techie eyes were unseeing as his fingers traced the skin, like he remembered the very shape and was outlining it over and over.

"I-I was s-surprised and I didn’t know w-what to s-say, but— but Mattie d-didn’t ask for an answer…" his hands fell back to his lap. "H-he said it was okay to take my t-time."

Armitage was stunned himself at Matt’s revelation. It had honestly knocked him off course more than it should have. Techie’s worsened stuttering when speaking of the event, an impediment which was usually fairly absent around Brela and himself, likewise added to the impact.

Initially it was the reality of those sorts of words being said to his younger brother at all that had stunned him. Then it was how based on Techie’s behavior and appearance he wasn’t adverse to said admission, and finally, that it was Matt who’d done so. All in all, a romantic turn wasn’t too surprising as a possible outcome considering their close, long-term friendship. What caused the greatest shock was that Matt, a boy who could be such a frustrating dichotomy of nervous and upset, had given such a non-aggressive confession and further, an understanding toward Techie’s possible answer. It was strange to imagine the awkward blond doing so.

The foreign concept led Armitage to wonder how the pair interacted all the time he wasn’t around to see—which, to be fair, was decently often since Matt and Techie attended a separate academy. One Armitage and Ben had been in when younger as well.

Watching Techie chew his lip, Armitage could see the boy’s timid demeanor had returned again while he waited to hear from his older brother. He looked a bit nervous, and the warring hope and fear in his flickering blue gaze caused Armitage’s chest to tighten and ache. He understood now, Techie’s reticence. It wasn’t just because he was shy about having been confessed to, someone he appeared to like in return, but because that someone was Matt Solo, a boy.

Armitage had never directly said anything to his siblings about his own orientation, but whenever the opportunity arose he tried to impart on them accepting attitudes—in particular, despite their father’s numerous prejudices. Said bigotry, Armitage supposed, was another reason for Techie’s fear in revealing the encounter and subsequent feelings.

Opening his arms, a soft exhale releasing some of the pressure built up in his own chest, Armitage silently beckoned Techie to him. The boy crawled eagerly over to his side and snuggled close, his pale ginger hair ruffling against Armitage’s cheek and chin where the boy buried into the curve of his neck.

Apparently not wanting to be left out, Brela appeared at his opposite side with a mild pout on her full lips. "No fair," she grumbled while nestling in close as well; Millicent, who’d been dragged along, now in her lap.

"My apologies," he answered.

She just stuck up her chin and nodded, like he’d been absolved through only her good graces. Less than a minute later she peeked her eyes open before turning and pushing her face into Armitage’s mauve knit sweater with the softest rumble of a giggle.

Still quiet as he’d been earlier, Armitage returned his attention to Techie. He rested his cheek on the boy’s head, holding his small form close, a thumb brushing up and down along his thin arm. The faded yellow sleeve of his too big hoodie was soft from excessive, though loving wear.

"Techie," he said gently into the red-gold strands. "Liking a boy isn’t bad or wrong or abnormal. If you like him, you like him. If you like boys, then that is who you are and not something to be ashamed of." Armitage pressed a kiss in Techie’s hair, feeling like if this were anyone else he’d loathe how cavity-inducing he was being, but— "As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. Very very happy."

Techie sniffled and burrowed closer, one of his hands half hidden by a bunched, yellow sleeve cuff clutched tighter into Armitage’s sweater. And though the boy seemed somewhat mollified, he then asked, a bit slowly, "but, Mattie’s a Solo… and y-you don’t like them, right?"

Armitage blinked in mild surprise, the boy at his side going a bit tense again.

For perhaps the first time ever, Armitage felt guilty for expressing his dislike of the family. Of course Brendol was not one to deny his distaste of the confoundingly dramatic Naberrie-Skywalker-Organa-Solos, however Armitage’s feelings had little to do with his father’s opinions. They were his own; and, honestly, it wasn’t that he disliked them, per se. It was… It was… Ben’s face came to mind, furrowing Armitage’s brow as thoughts raced for an appropriate answer.

Eventually, he just sighed.

"I don’t hate them, Techie, and it’s not exactly that I dislike them either—" He quieted, unsure where that had been going in the first place, and again struggled to both find and arrange into words exactly how he felt toward them.

He was about to give the vague, asinine answer of ‘it’s complicated’ when Brela chimed in like she’d always been a part of the conversation.

"Because Ben," she said as if it were the most obvious answer.

Armitage was getting dizzy at how often he was being shocked today. Especially when Techie acknowledged the response with a hum and a nod like he’d anticipated and agreed with her statement.

"I—" he felt weirdly cornered, and fuzzy with confusion. "I don’t…hate Ben…"

Brela tipped her head, a tumble of auburn fell from her shoulder to his lap. "No, you like him, right?"

He blinked again in his ongoing assault of surprise.

Since the beginning, it became quickly evident his two younger siblings had inherited the same prodigious intellect as Armitage, and it was a fact he was quite proud of. Not to mention they shared many similar interests as well. What Armitage admittedly found a tad frustrating on occasion was that while Techie was not so in tune with people, instead sharing a strong affinity with the patterns and flow of technology and plant life, Brela had showed herself to be adept at reading people in much the same way Armitage could. And, just as maddeningly, she turned her all-seeing eye on him almost as often as her unwaveringly strong affection. She still persisted in thinking he was the best person to exist, but her straightforward personality was not shy in bluntly stating things as she saw them. While that didn’t always work in his favor, he did appreciate that trait of hers. He likewise appreciated how swiftly she’d learned to be careful of that when before her parents and certain others—again, good at reading people.

Feeling a bit of a headache coming on, Armitage sighed, harder than before and deflating back into his plush pillows, a sibling in each tired arm. Ben’s face refused to leave his mind’s eye, yet the proper response also refused to pass his lips. Instead, Armitage whispered, "yes. I don’t hate him."

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Chapter Text

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{[]} Ben POV {[]}

Ben sighed at the grand room before him.

Another birthday gala to attend. Another endless party full of primarily adults who weren’t even really there to celebrate so much as schmooze amongst themselves under the pretense of the Hux children’s birthday celebration. Whether it was gossip or work or whatever other crap they spewed didn’t matter much, it was all annoying in the end.

Seeing as all three Hux siblings were born in spring, a single gala was held each year to commemorate such. Although the idea that Brendol and Maratelle Hux actually cared about their children to the point of hosting a very large and expensive party every year just to celebrate them was ridiculous. And then because Armitage was the eldest, it was almost always on his actual birthday.

This was his nineteenth.

For a while one stupid point of contention between the two had been that Armitage was just a little older, born in mid May while Ben was born in mid November. He’d hated that. Especially Armitage’s smug expression, as though a few months mattered at all. It didn’t really make him older than Ben.

There was a time when instead Ben would tease Armitage about the ridiculous parties and fancy clothes he wore – not that Ben was saved that curse either. Leia would never have him look anything less than presentable amongst important guests. It’d been a minor consolation that at least for the last several years he’d been able to choose his own suit. Black, of course. Black suit, black vest, black shirt, black shoes. Though there was a faint pattern on the custom suit's fabric, so subtle the only way to notice it properly would be to stand right beside him.

Still.

Ben rolled his eyes, leaning heavily on one shoulder with his arms tightly crossed against an alcove wall out of the way of most of the festivities. Just as he did every year, the very moment he was able. His distant gaze swept over the room, not bothering to take note of anything in particular until his eyes caught on a familiar someone. Armitage; tall, poised, and damn near glowing in his white three-piece bespoke suit that fit him to a goddamn T, like a freaking model. The buttons of his vest and single eyelet jacket, along with the likely matching cufflinks, were the same polished gold as the chain-linked brooch on his lapel—it looked like some sort of geometrical shape, maybe a hexagon, with three thin, cascading chains running from it to a small stud that had a sapphire glint. A similar jewel color was in the ring on his tie, the burnished shape also hexagonal.

Unconsciously, Ben reached up to tease the two strands of his own collar chain accessory, the links settling across the silk fabric of his crimson tie; it was antique silver to match the rims of his buttons and cufflinks, the centers onyx. The eyelet of his own lapel displayed a small, slender, uneven piece of ruby, the stone inlaid in a thin onyx setting, with a couple twisted strands of silver curling out from the top right to mid left. It was cool to the touch and reminded him a little of a lightsaber or piece of kyber.

Realizing what he was doing, Ben quickly dropped his hand, ignoring any other possible comparisons. Stupid.

Armitage’s dress shirt was stark in comparison to the white of his suit, being a rich navy blue. The perfectly pressed hem of the collar and visible sleeve cuffs had a gilded border, and the sleek fabric of his tie and pocket square were an equally lustrous gold to match the accents of his brilliant attire. Every color brought out the fiery radiance of his hair, which contrasted well with the cool green storm of his eyes.

It was irritating how well the look and atmosphere seemed to suit him.

He was excellent at talking up the crowds that gathered around him. Even back when they were much younger he could silver-tongue each one like a maestro conducting his personal orchestra. When Ben put in the effort, he could be rather charming himself. However, while Ben was more able to ostensibly sway a person right into what he wanted, almost like mind control, Armitage was able to manipulate them much more fluidly, and lastingly as well. He was perfect in that aggravating, difficult to truly hate sort of way. And whenever he saw Armitage step out into the grand room with all its frivolous finery and make his rounds through the masses, Ben wanted to tease him. But…

After following Armitage with his eyes, as he likewise did without fail every year, the boy eventually made his way casually – so casually – over to where Ben lingered just short of the full shadows. He slipped past and behind Ben like nothing at all, as if he faded into the background without any touch of effort, and once he did, he leaned against the wall with a soft sigh. Ben didn’t look back, he merely stayed as he was, something like a shield to the smaller boy. His attention hyper-focused on the quiet breathing behind him rather than on the kaleidoscope brilliance of the party right before his roving, disinterested eyes.

For years now, it had been like this. An unspoken ceasefire that neither ever actually brought into existence, not with words. It had simply…happened.

Initially, before their relationship soured, the two of them would often sneak away once they managed to escape their respective parents or watchers. The first year after their falling out, Armitage steadfastly ignored Ben, even when he’d tried to get the boy’s attention. Ben pouted the following year, Armitage still not coming over to him, but the boy didn’t ignore him quite as much. Instead they shared occasional angry glances throughout the evening.

When Armitage’s brother was born he spent much of the time taking care of the ginger-tufted infant; little William – later nicknamed Techie – pawned off onto him from his stepmother who couldn’t be bothered when there was gossiping to do. Seeing as Techie vastly preferred Armitage’s company, calling an adult to care for the babe had evidently never even crossed her vain mind. At the time they were only eight, and Techie was so very young, too small and rumored to already be sickly, but he never cried. On the contrary, he looked at Armitage as if he glowed. Ben spent many of the interminable hours staring at Armitage as well, a perpetual habit it seemed, but they didn’t share angry glances much anymore.

When they were ten, something different happened.

Ben was in his customary brooding corner since he’d at last escaped the prerequisite introductions via his mother. His eyes were catching every so often on Armitage who held the hand of his little brother, terribly shy and quiet Techie, practically attached to his older brother’s hip and not talking to a soul. When out of the blue and completely breaking pattern, Ben noticed Armitage heading toward him. Those piercing eyes of his weren’t on Ben, exactly, but the boy was definitely walking his way. Ben didn’t know what to do and he refused to move if Armitage was for some reason coming to pester him. However, nothing of the sort happened. Instead Armitage went past him like a soft breeze and pressed against the wall in the alcove shadows behind him. Stunned, Ben wanted to say something and yet no words came to mind; none of the taunts or arguments that might typically when they were in proximity to one another would form.

In the end, Armitage remained at his back, sometimes softly murmuring to his brother, but often just quiet. And Ben didn’t do anything to put a stop to the comfortable atmosphere. He remained standing, he didn’t say anything, and eventually they were able to leave the gala at last.

Ben had intended to confront Armitage about it, however they didn’t see too much of eachother over the summer – at least not in any capacity to talk for more than a minute. So Ben dutifully brooded over it, waiting until school would begin again in order to corner the other boy with his growing questions.

Yet, rather than a chance at answers coming, the day before term was to begin Ben’s grandfather passed away. It hadn’t exactly been a surprise; he’d been steadily declining for a few months, ever since Ben’s grandmother had succumbed to a sudden illness that had gone on to plague her for half a year before finally claiming her life at only fifty-nine. His grandfather had not taken her passing well. In the first month he’d done quite poorly, but he’d soon rallied a little, mostly due to Luke and Leia. That had helped for a bit; nevertheless, after nearly the same length of time his grandfather passed as well. A broken heart, some said.

The event struck Ben hard, especially because no one had told him that his grandfather had started going downhill again. To Ben he’d seemed fine, but that was apparently just an act Ben was too starry-eyed to see through, his grandfather like a beloved idol to him. Consequently, he didn’t return to school until the next week, and even then he ended up skipping most of the classes for a while too.

He’d been on the edge of his seat all day, waiting waiting waiting for the bell to ring and school to let out. The moment it sounded Ben was already at the door, whisking past everyone in a flash; a dark breeze that was anything but refreshing.

Practically with blinders on, Ben headed swiftly to the clearing, hell-bent on making sure he beat Armitage there just incase the other boy chose that day to come out. Ben desperately sought the soothing quiet of the area. He wanted somewhere to not be around people, to not suffer the endless obligatory ‘I’m so sorry for your loss’ over and over and over again. Seeing pity in their eyes, worried glances that no one really bothered to act on anyway. He simply did not want to deal with being looked at or thought about or anything. All he wished for was to be alone with his grief.

Alone.

Of course, as the universe decreed misfortune on Ben at all times, that apparently wasn’t going to happen. Ben would never be so lucky. He heard the soft footsteps crossing the lush grass at his back, and knew who it was without looking. The only other person who would think to come here.

Armitage.

He had an instinctive urge to snap, to snarl and shout at him to go the fuck away, but the words were stuck in his throat and Ben refused to show his flushed face to the other boy.

However, rather than speak, Ben listened to Armitage steadily continue walking, and then sit in the grass at his side. Where still, he said nothing at all. Ultimately Ben’s puzzled curiosity got the better of him and he peeked a partially hair-obscured eye out from where he rested on his arms, perched on his raised knees. Armitage was sitting exactly as he sounded to be. Quietly; unobtrusively. His legs were crossed and his hands were resting in his lap. His habitually sharp gaze was directed away, his eyes seeming relaxed as they looked up at the sky, the blue light of afternoon softened by slow drifting clouds. Nothing about Armitage said pity. Nothing felt pressed or worried or..anything, really. It was just— quiet. The only definitive thought Ben could process was how Armitage looked calm in such a strangely out of character way.

The gentled sunlight gave him that delicate glow the boy sometimes possessed. His fair skin like creamy white silk, his hair brilliant, his lips full and pink, and if Ben stared hard he could distinguish the tiny flecks of ginger dotting high on his cheek and across the bridge of his nose. Even his uniform, typically so impeccable it bordered on irritating, was unbuttoned at the collar and the tie loosened just a bit. It wasn’t much, but all in all, Armitage seemed like another being entirely.

The peculiarity had Ben reminiscing on the few times Armitage had been at his back those annoying nights of the Hux birthday galas. He wondered if this was what the boy looked like when the world couldn’t see him. When Ben was his shield from the bustling mayhem of high society life.

Ben kept expecting Armitage to catch him staring, or to finally say something. Unleash that pitied expression he’d come to detest; tease him for being ‘overemotional’ and ‘dramatic’ or some such shit like he often did. But none of that came. Armitage merely remained at his side, present but unassuming like a peaceful breeze. Gentle, strangely comforting, and…soft. Armitage Hux looked soft.

He wasn’t sure how long he watched the other boy, but eventually he turned his face back into the cradle of his arms, no longer feeling the weight of the people around him or the pressure to be…whatever it was he was ‘supposed’ to be. Here, in the clearing, Ben felt his paralyzed time restart. His strangled tears finally came, a pressurized dam building behind his eyes, and without a fight he let them out. Unashamed and— not alone. He didn’t even realize how much he didn’t want to be alone until right now; usually company was rarely ever more than suffocating. But, for the first time in ages, being with someone else didn’t feel lonely.

Time passed, though Ben didn’t notice it until the sun set and the cool air of night settled around them. He’d stopped crying for a while by the time he registered the sound of Armitage stirring more than a shift. He looked over and saw the boy stand. A drop in his gut and renewed rise in pressure wanting to pour free despite having no more to give set in again when seeing Armitage preparing to leave.

However, rather than turn and do just that, Armitage looked at him for the first time – as far as Ben knew – and reached out his hand. A few seconds passed, ones Armitage didn’t appear at all annoyed to wait while Ben’s brain worked to process this bonus abnormality to the other boy's behavior, until at last Ben accepted the proffered help. His hand was cool and slender, swallowed in Ben’s too warm one. It sent a nostalgic tingle through him, the skin still as smooth and grip as firm as Ben remembered. Yet something more was there that added a spreading warmth Ben couldn’t place but didn’t fight.

Armitage walked them forward one, then two, then a third step more before loosely dropping Ben’s hand and continuing on ahead of him and into the woods.

They’d gone home their respective ways after leaving the clearing, and it hadn’t been until Ben was lying in bed that night that he’d remembered Armitage lost his mother when he was only six. And Armitage, like Ben, retained memories from as far back as infancy and sometimes as clear as yesterday.

He’d let Ben grieve without putting his touch on it. Instead Armitage had shared the silence Ben needed, he gave the solidarity Ben could never find and comfort he’d not thought to bother searching for. The gesture had been wildly unexpected, and it struck Ben so deeply it carved itself into his ribs. The indelible mark remained to this day.

The next year, and every year from then on it became something of a habit for Armitage to take his own form of refuge behind Ben at the insufferable birthday galas. At some point in the evening Armitage would come to rest behind Ben, sometimes with one or both of his siblings and others without, and Ben would remain. Nothing said, and nothing done. It wasn’t just a circumstance that continued from the first time; it wasn’t even just some sort of unspoken thank you. It was a truce neither voiced; a break in their usual routine. Every May 12^th they shared the space, ignored the line, and that suited them. It was the way and nothing broke it.

Nothing broke it.

Until—

A tug at Ben’s sleeve. It was such a departure from tradition that Ben couldn’t help but turn his head. Not much, but he did, and his eyes immediately landed on Armitage. The other boy was much closer to Ben than he expected. The shadows dimmed the threads of gold in his hair and brought out the greys in his focused eyes, yet something about him still managed to glow. More like a gentle ember fire than a roaring one.

"Follow me," Armitage whispered.

Ben’s feet had already turned him to do so before his brain could catch up. In fact, he didn’t reconnect with the current flow of time until his heavy footsteps were crushing soft wild grasses, the moon illuminating the clearing the two of them held a tacit and marginally tenuous shared custody over.

They hadn’t spoken since leaving – at least Ben didn’t remember it, so he really hoped they hadn’t – and thus he remained silent as he followed Armitage to where he'd sat, and even laid down, completely uncaring about the white of his expensive attire. It was another thing out of the ordinary. Personally, Ben had no such qualms about his own—as it was, he’d needed a new one each year for the most part, so it didn’t matter much to him one way or another.

The silence persisted. Ben was still unsure what was going on and so the idea of saying anything felt weird, especially when Armitage was being out of character, so quiet, so…soft. Ben looked over, his hair shifting in the cool grass as he turned his head to observe the other boy. In an instant Ben felt like he was ten again; like he was back in that time where Armitage became something he’d not expected to exist in the other. It was a state of being Ben only ever saw in rare glances when he’d stumble upon the normally prickly ginger using the clearing Ben had come to relax in himself.

It was a flicker each time though; a wrinkle in the world he knew that he both did and didn’t dwell on before leaving to grumble somewhere else. It was the soft Armitage that appeared as if he’d escaped from the confines of an invisible cage, bleeding past an outline typically holding all his color in. It was the Armitage he imagined stood behind him each year, the Armitage he never thought he’d truly see again.

Soon Armitage turned to face him as well. Their eyes met like a forgone conclusion, magnets instinctively drawn, and the startle Ben expected to feel at the change, at being caught staring, didn’t come. Their eyes simply locked, the soft quiet continued, and Ben felt far more that he was ensnared in a pull than any urge to escape.

Seemingly without meaning to, he moved; and before he knew it, Ben had maneuvered onto his side, edged toward Armitage, and Armitage mimicked every action. There wasn’t any trace of a thought. The world merely stopped existing around him – around them – where they laid in the moonlit clearing.

In a blink they were almost pressing chest-to-chest, fingertips finding others, a leg nudging at Armitage’s thighs. It was so warm compared to the evening air of spring. After a heated exhale wafted over his skin, their lips were touching soft as a brush, the pressure deepening second by enticing second. When they pulled back just slightly it was in unison, like they could somehow read eachother, the distance just enough to see the other’s eyes. It was overwhelming while in the gravity of that stare; he couldn’t seem to breathe properly but neither did he want to.

Ben was pushing forward again before either had fully reclaimed that unreachable breath.

As their lips parted so naturally it was dizzying, Ben rolled them until he hovered overtop Armitage, a hand cradling his warm cheek as the other wandered lower to fuss with his clothes. Armitage tasted like spiced apples. Those full lips were softer than soft and his tongue was hot and curious while Ben delved in with an eagerness he never would have expected of himself.

Lost. Yes, Ben was lost. Utterly caught up in the feeling, in tasting, inhaling the rush of the moment he forgot everything that wasn’t this, and them. God, he was so deliriously fucking lost—

—his fingers grazed smooth, warm skin; his palms caressed over the soft planes of a slender torso, catching on the fine fabrics that had parted for his roving touch. A torso he’d already memorized front to back and inch-to-inch from careful, stolen glimpses.

A jolt went through him then, Ben’s eyes flying wide open. He startled out of the delirious atmosphere and crashed hard back into his body, back into reality, and hurriedly pulled away from where he leaned over the other boy. Over Armitage. Armitage Hux. He’d kissed— he’d been making out with Armitage freaking Hux. He was straddled over the boy’s hips, his knees crushing the long grass and a poor pale blue flower while his eyes were staring down on a wholly new sight spread out beneath him.

The front of Armitage’s expensive clothes were opened, exposed; suit jacket, vest, shirt, the tie tugged loose and gleaming in the moonlight that reflected off the golden silk. His narrow chest felt as smooth as it looked, the touch still tingling on Ben’s fingertips, and was stained with a faint pink that mirrored the color on his cheeks. Each rise and fall showed he was panting as deeply as Ben, through lips parted, dusky and a bit fuller than usual. A shine of saliva there had Ben running his tongue across his own lips—spiced apple and champagne. The careful style of Armitage’s red hair was faintly mussed, falling into that soft glow of an ember fire rather than the usual brilliance.

Ben’s trailing eyes met Armitage’s without fail, impossible to avoid. They were hooded, lashes long and red-gold. Rather than shadowed, his eyes seemed both brighter and darker, shimmering in the moonlight like gems. A blue-green sea to drown in, the grey shining silver rather than the hue of seafoam and storm clouds. The centers were wide and blown black, like a beckoning void.

Ben couldn’t move, as he stared. He did feel it was drowning, a whirlpool dragging him deeper and deeper, and in his ears he could hear the rapid flutter-pound of his heart and each long intake of air that had hardly abated since withdrawing.

It was his name on those rosy lips that did it, the sweet murmured "Ben?" that pulled him from the brink and stopped him from leaning closer once more.

He stumbled backward and off the other boy, struggling to think of words, to form them with his mouth. When Armitage gave him a confused look it triggered a rush of apologies he couldn’t even hear himself babbling as he got to his feet, shuffling back with every utterance he wasn’t fully registering. Then he spun and hurried away, out of the clearing and quickly quickly toward his room where he could catch his breath – and hopefully his senses. Ben thought he might have heard Armitage calling his name once more, but he didn’t listen nor stop.

His feet didn’t cease their swift escape until he reached his disheveled bed and dropped like deadweight onto the floor beside it. He hadn’t bothered with the lights; the only illumination was the full moon that had witnessed his first kiss.

His first kiss. With Armitage Hux.

So many torturously fresh memories rushed back in at the thought. Heat coursed through him and Ben felt his face flushing, burning so surely red that he was impelled to bury it in the fluffy bunched edge of his black duvet. An attempt to seemingly hold it all in before he burst. It didn’t really help. In fact, the memories only felt closer and more intense with his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his breathing hindered and hot against the fabric, rushing each stifling exhale back onto his skin.

Like he were still there, Ben relived his tongue sweeping Armitage’s wet lower lip; his fingers brushing his collarbone, pressing their bodies close together as if in answer to some inescapable instinct, claiming and desperate to be satisfied.

Ben felt a twitch in his pants and groaned. His hand fell to his lap to grind his palm down hard against the rising bulge.

"Oh god… What do I do…"

The darkness of the bedroom and glow of the watching moon did not answer.

-- {[/\]} --

Chapter Text

-- {[/\]} --

{[]} Ben POV {[]}

Ben woke with a start, jerking his whole body and sending a gasp loud enough to echo throughout his room. His hands gripped the dark sheets tight as he panted, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. He was sticky with sweat both old and new, much too hot, and there was an ache between his legs that was very hard to ignore. Fuck.

It was still so fresh, his dream, refusing to fade away and only growing more adamant that it not be disregarded either. The vivid imagery unfolded like a continuation of the night before, an impossible furthering of his heated, wholly unanticipated makeout session with Armitage Hux.

Instead of somewhat disheveled, but definitely still relatively dressed, Armitage was fair, rosy-cheeked, and very naked. Ben’s hands were on that exposed body, traversing much more of the practically glowing pale skin than he had the previous night. And through it all, Armitage made…sounds. He knew he’d made his own too, but Ben didn’t seem to register them as important enough to make a solid impression in his memory.

There was kissing and touching and…moving. Ben’s hips twitched unconsciously.

"Shit," he murmured, cursing his body’s reactions.

Each moment was full of sensation that shouldn’t be possible for a dream of an experience he’d never had. It was so much closer and more and Ben was having trouble focusing on anything outside the dream that damn near insisted recollection. It was almost as strong as his arousal, which he also failed to fight. He was just…extremely turned on. The feeling was so intense it didn’t merely ache and throb to be answered. No— god, it hurt. It made him lightheaded and desperate and he couldn’t stop his hands from at least holding himself. Even his underwear was a bit sticky.

Ben licked his dry lips, squeezing his stubborn erection, the fabric chaffing his sensitive skin.

The memory of a moan, Armitage arching his back, his hooded gaze so thick and dark and beckoning like the sweetest sin for more, to come closer, had Ben reaching into his shorts and taking himself in hand. In the taunting scene the tiny pink nipples he’d been unable to fully appreciate the night before were on vivid display, and Ben wanted to lick and bite and tease and… Shutting his eyes, he easily fell into the world of his dream and didn’t resurface for anything until he felt the last twitch of his spent cock. His hands were a mess, his pillow bitten and wet as he’d tried to hold back his groans of pleasure and a few traitorous murmurs of Armitage’s name.

After wiping himself clean and tossing his soiled underwear to the floor, Ben rolled onto his back again. Staring up at the ceiling, his panting slowly relaxed as he let reality set in, deeper and harder than the night before—

—no, wait, fuck; those were the wrong words to describe that.

Nevertheless, fumbling with his uncooperative thoughts proved futile, and Ben eventually huffed out a resigned sigh.

Damnit. He’d had a fucking wet dream about Armitage fucking Hux.

He didn’t have them too often, and when he did he didn’t really remember seeing any distinct faces. It was more sensations than direct images; although he did know they were always male, and always slender with smooth, pale white skin.

… Shit, fuck. Slender, smooth, pale—

—a visual of Armitage trembling, white teeth gnawing a plump bottom lip to keep in a groan…

Ben pressed the heels of his palms against his closed eyes, uncertain if he was trying to burn the images into his mind or scrub them away.

Just then, his phone chimed; a sudden break in the tumultuous quiet that had his eyes shooting open and over to the black and silver rectangle now blinking at him. The notification sound seemed unnaturally loud, the upbeat tune belonging to his friend; the only one he had really. If it was a typical day he might sigh, lamenting marginally what she might be wanting, but now he was eager for anything to distract himself.

Snatching up the phone from his messy nightstand, he opened the chat with Kris. Her artificially violet eyes, short, wavy blue hair, and bright grin as she squished a somewhat reluctant Ben into a tight hug reflected back at him.

[Darth Krisalis] get up lazy butt, I need your aesthetic genius

Ben stared at that, sensing the enthusiasm far outweighed what was only a touch of sarcasm despite the woefully untrue statement.

[DarthRen] I’m already up

Barely, really, but she didn’t need to know that. Although she’d likely already figure it as much anyway, considering the current time and his apparent consciousness were so incongruent with the norm.

[DarthRen] and I have no such thing

[Darth Krisalis] but I neeeeeeed your help!

[DarthRen] with what? we don’t exactly share the same taste in clothes

[Darth Krisalis] but you’re the only one who can help with this. You must must come. Ben, you must. I will drag you out of that gloomy den you lurk in if I have to. You know I will.

Ben bit his lip, thinking – not that it mattered, to be honest. Unless he was genuinely serious about not wanting to do something, Kris would indeed come and she would indeed assure she got her way.

Well, he’d said anything… Even if that meant going to the stupid, crowded mall to shop for whatever the hell kinda shit Kris wanted, he supposed that counted.

Anything…

-- {[/\]} --

Ben regretted ‘anything’ and his agreement to Kris’ demands when he realized she was dragging him to the lingerie store. Again. He sighed heavily as she tugged him, following with slightly dragging but resigned steps. He should have known…

Yes, this was not the first time she’d coerced him into helping her pick out fancy underwear for her already ridiculously copious collection and it would most certainly not be the last. But, as much as he groused under his breath, Ben supposed it would serve as a fairly decent distraction. He could do without the assorted looks and occasional comments or overheard gossip though. Sure, he’d gotten used to the unwanted attention, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be grumpy about it.

Considering the pair of them tended to be something of a spectacle even outside such a shop, not only for their individual appearances but also the vast disparity in height, more than one employee eyed them with apprehension and desire in equal measure. Would they be interesting or problematic? Would they be ensnared by someone intrigued or wary? Ben didn’t care for wondering who would strike first nor how he’d be stuck with handling them. Kris got annoyed whenever he was blatantly rude with employees who didn’t really deserve it, and an annoyed Kris could mean a myriad of equally bothersome things for Ben.

"Look look," Kris exclaimed, tugging him harder, her eyes already hooked on something when they’d only just barely crossed enemy lines.

So far no one had approached them, though Ben knew it would be soon. He could almost feel it in the air, the gravity of prying eyes tingling on his skin. It always took some measure of time before anyone would strike when they entered less than typical shops for their looks. Ben didn’t think he personally wore anything that abnormal, just dark, but his height and breadth and general presence put people off. He preferred it that way.

His attire aside, Ben would say Kris had toned down her style more than usual for this particular outing. However even in your average, everyday places the rest of her features could still draw plenty of attention. Dyed unnatural colors, as it ever was, the crown of her long hair was a dark grey blue that quickly bled down into bubblegum pink waves. The majority was currently up in two intentionally mussed-looking wavy buns, while the meager rest was freed as long strands on either side of her face that reached far past her collarbones and better showed off the hombre and loose curl. Today her colored contacts were lavender with a silver burst round the pupils, and her lips rouged in a creamy white to likely match her similarly painted nails.

Her palette was soft but bright, a favorite of hers. To most of the employees and patrons around, Ben couldn’t imagine it rang as more than eccentric and alien.

"Hello there," a voice rang from just a little behind them. "Is there anything I can help you with today?"

Surprisingly, it couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes after they’d entered that someone had evidently snapped back into action and mustered up the courage before anyone else.

The young woman, somewhere between early and mid twenties who Ben had noticed was previously straightening a display of panties, stood noticeably calm at their attention. Her welcoming smile lightened her heart-shaped face.

She seemed harmless enough thus far, nothing about her manner or grin read as overeager or concerned. Her button-up blouse was a very soft pale pink under a fitted black vest, nicely matching her comparably black slacks lined with subtle pinstripes. An unwoven measuring tape was around her neck and her sleeves were rolled up just past her wrists, one of which had a slender silver watch.

When she’d greeted them, Ben had noticed she was careful not to focus on either one of them for too long. Her muddy green eyes settled on Kris when she bubbled up a "Hey there!" back, but he caught the subtle flicker of her gaze to and from Ben before her smile warmed lightly with an understanding nod as Kris told her they were just going to browse around for now.

She looked professional.

"Well, my name is Siobhan if you need anything."

As the woman stepped away, Ben caught the second flicker of her eyes to himself, lingering longer as they parted ways. He couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or interest, and he preferred not to get an answer.

From then on the familiar cycle began. Kris dragging him around, picking out items as she rambled about this and that, asking his opinion here and there. All the while the eyes of damn near everyone brushed over them at least once as they meandered about.

As soon as Kris had a decent haul, she flagged down Siobhan from damn near across the entire store for a dressing room, pulling Ben right along. He sighed with mild but fleeting relief. Even with a setting change, Ben never escaped the doom of being sent to reselect items for her on these outings, and navigating the place alone was far more frustrating. It was easier for bold women to attempt to chat him up when he was ‘without his girlfriend.’

Kris caught Siobhan easily, and while zoned out of the conversation Ben happened to pick up on how the shop clerk wasn’t as focused as she tried to appear. It was almost too easy to spot when she’d noticed the glimmer of Kris’ tongue piercings.

He wanted to snicker but ignored the impulse. This was a fancy enough place, and Ben’s presence aside, Kris already did not embody the sort one typically saw in high-end establishments.

Other than Kris, Ben had never once seen anyone in their stuffy world with just one tongue piercing, let alone two. The opal set she currently wore was one he’d once gotten her; two titanium barbells, the ball of the larger one was a pale lavender – her favorite color – and the small one beneath was glitter white. They were a gift he’d actually put a little thought into. And while neither of them said anything, they both knew how Ben was kinda happy she wore them so often. It made Ben feel as though he had a meaningful place in her life, was a real friend, more than any words could. Ben - and Kris as well - were very aware how little words mattered in the long run, when actions continuously never backed them up.

The humorous moment had lightened his spirits briefly, but it didn’t overshadow his impending ‘job’ while here.

Dressing room door closing behind them, Ben rolled his eyes with a heavier exhale as he dropped down onto the upholstered bench across from the three mirrors, the outer two slanted slightly for an angled view. He watched and waited with a restive tingle in his limbs, a finger tapping on this thigh as Kris hummed a happy tune to herself, divesting her clothes which fully revealed her largest tattoo.

The slender, branching vine of delicate bluebells winding up one side of her body likely would have made more than one person out in that suffocating, snooty shop sneer or faint; the piece starting from her right ankle, the muscle of her calf, her thigh, the curve of her hip to a part of her back, then over her shoulder and feathering to a stop halfway up her neck. Some friends of hers had done the work, a married pair running an often somewhat niche but skilled tattoo parlor called Rogue One and she'd promised Ben a gifted discount on his first tattoo for his nineteenth birthday. He was looking forward to it—and, admittedly a bit petulantly so, his parents' reactions.

Thankfully, while he'd been lost in thought Kris was quick to decide on her first choice to try. And bit-by-bit, Ben eventually relaxed.

Considering he was here, that meant Kris was dating someone new. It was a bizarre but strangely considerate habit of hers to purchase a new set of lingerie before she first slept with her new partners. She’d said it wasn’t right to wear something she’d worn with another during a new first time, they deserved a pretty set selected just for their eyes first. And for some reason she’d wrangled Ben into this on the basis that he had good aesthetic tastes merely because one of his hobbies was art—primarily just drawing, really. To be fair, he knew that she wouldn’t seriously do that, merely teasing as per the norm, but he still didn’t think he was too discerning when it came to this stuff. Of course that didn’t stop her.

From what he remembered, Kris had broken up with her ex-girlfriend around three months ago and had been dating someone new for the last couple weeks. She hadn’t gone out with the girl for very long, yet afterward she’d been a bit more down than usual, or expected. It wasn’t as if she’d cried or anything, however there was a somber look in her eyes when they’d met up a few days later. After that he didn’t see it again, but the oddity stuck with him. Kris wasn’t really the somber sort, especially for so short a relationship, one she hadn’t exactly spoken of as if it were over-the-moon wonderful either.

Eyeing as she turned side-to-side before the mirror, curious and without preamble he said, "so you’ve completely cut ties with her then."

Ben said it like a statement more than a question, but he knew she’d answer to that effect nonetheless. Back then in the aftermath she hadn’t said much about it, just that they’d broken up, more or less, and that odd somber something about her had kept Ben from pushing.

Kris wore a glimmer of surprise at the sudden remark, pausing in her initial, less than impressed inspection of the first glitter-white angel lace bra she donned, but it was brushed off in another blink.

"Yeah. I mean, we hadn’t been together much more than a month in the first place, but— when you happen to meet her parents and they say ‘we let you be gay and you bring this type home?’"

Kris chuckled; it wasn’t self-deprecating or fake, but it was subdued and her eyes didn’t quite smile, which told Ben it was reconciled but still close.

"I know I’m not exactly ‘standard,’ so strange reactions come with the territory, but that was certainly a new one." Her fingers teased at the lace strap of the now removed bra, humming a little with unspoken thoughts on her lips.

Inhaling with a shrug, she said, "it obviously wasn’t the best situation, and it’s not as if something like that can scare me away, but, well…" the hanger clacked as she returned it to the rack, "you can’t help someone who won’t even see the problem to begin with. Maybe it’s just easier for her to survive right now by going along with her parents’ wishes, avoiding whatever the alternative might be. And I mean, that’s okay. I wouldn’t want her to get hurt regardless of how things turned out between us.

"She was such a kind girl," Kris remarked with a now soft, far away smile, reminiscing perhaps. "Like a little drop of shy sunshine."

With the matching panties now slipped off, almost fully nude if not for her own pair, Kris’ white lips then grinned wider. She confidently set her hands on her hips and nodded to herself, the reflection showing her lightened expression.

"Fucked up world though it may be, I will not let this body be wasted."

Suppressing a reassured snicker, Ben looked to the ceiling with a scoff instead.

Kris turned her smile on the next set amongst her selections. She was brighter again, not fully but illuminating more and more with each second she let the memories fade away again. He’d always envied and admired her that in equal measure.

For the most part, Kris was a typically outgoing and bubbly person, straightforward at times, while vaguely cryptic and teasing at others. Contrary to the stereotype of her said extroversion, not only was Kris deceptively smart, but also clever and almost uncomfortably perceptive. While she came across and could still be easygoing, her emotions actually ran quite deep and borderline empathic. Ben had likened her to an iceberg once; the dazzling shine of a cluster of strong ice floating along a surface of crystal waters, yet beneath those waves the mass was greater and thick, reaching deeper and deeper into the dark depths. It had reminded Ben a little of himself. Not the dazzling exterior part certainly, but the dense and deep emotions that stretched into a blackness too difficult to traverse without aid did for sure.

Although, unlike Ben, while they shared that similarity, she was not one to let things linger and tangle and fester. Nevertheless, the marks they made still took their place inside her. She was never unscathed—though she was also never not the stronger for it. While Kris was only two years older than him, Ben had sincerely looked up to her in more ways than one ever since the bizarre day they’d met many years ago.

Blinking off the thoughts, and wanting to move past the heavier topic – honestly more on actual topic considering where they were and why –, he asked, "so, who’s the lucky person this time?"

"A guy I met at the library," she beamed, slipping her arms into a navy bra with a chantilly racerback that was more like a lace-up corset, the clasp in the front. "I accidentally tripped and spilled coffee all over him and his homework."

Kris giggled, probably reliving the memory while turning this way and that before the mirror. "What d'you think of this one?" she asked, like inquiring on his opinion was a minor aside to their conversation and not the whole point for Ben’s presence there.

And he didn’t even get to answer anyway; she continued right on talking about her new beau.

"His name’s Aiden, he’s twenty-two and a grad student at my university. He’s such a sweetie, really gentle and kinda timid. He has the prettiest doe brown eyes you’ve ever seen – no offense," she smirked at him over her shoulder; Ben shook his head while jokingly flipping her off. She turned away again with a happy sigh, "ahhhh, and he blushes so easily. It’s adorable. Seriously, I can’t wait to see how much darker his blush gets in bed. And I mean, of course it won’t happen for our first time, but what I’m really looking forward to are the sounds he’ll make when I fuck him. Cause I really really want to fuck him."

Ben should have gaped or gasped or been shocked by her explicit revelation, but he wasn’t in the least. He’d known Kris for many years now, and she was also a very very open person.

Kris cupped her cheeks, fluttering her eyes shut and blushing just slightly. "From our kisses and stuff I just know he’ll make the loveliest sounds."

Leaning an elbow on his thigh, his chin in his palm, Ben drawled, "and what makes you think he would even be into that?"

Her eyes opened; the violet seemed to radiate stronger despite being artificial as the mirror reflected the potency of the determined gaze she leveled him with.

"Oh, I know. I can tell. He might not have considered it before, but he’s a soft bottom at heart. I know it."

"And if he still doesn’t?"

Huffing, Kris dropped her manicured hands to her hips. "Then I’ll be a little sad but there’s more to making love than pegging and I don’t need that to enjoy sex with my lover, thank you very much, Mr. Joy Killer."

Ben was on the verge of a laugh, pinned by the pouting expression of a petite, pixie-esque woman in panties. Wondering how that conversation would even go, she unceremoniously shoved three sets of lingerie into his hands and ordered him to return two and get a different color for the third. He grumbled as he rocked to his feet from the bench, fairly sure she was getting back at him for teasing.

Venturing alone into enemy territory was a journey, to say the least, and by the time he returned to the room he was frowning. Kris chuckled at his obvious misery, one hand taking the new set from him while her other stretched up to pat his head. He swatted her off, dropping heavily on the bench in disgruntled protest, but that didn’t dissuade her pleasure at his upset.

He knew he was sulking a bit. Getting accosted, while also lacking Kris’ positive company to muffle his overactive thoughts, had prompted Armitage to resurface in his mind, followed quickly by the memories flooding back. And now what was meant to be his distraction had rebounded on him harder than ever. It felt like it took everything he had to smother down the image of Armitage from his dream, then him from the clearing, then what he’d done both that time and this morning.

"Helloooo?"

Ben didn’t realize how deep in thought he’d become until he heard Kris’ voice right in front of him, her shadow blocking much of the artfully placed lighting meant to evoke optimum flattery and thus greater chance of purchases.

Leaning toward him, she asked, "are you pouting because you’re bothered, or bothered because you’re pouting?"

The way she said it implied she was aware of what lingered in his mind, and that it did not have anything to do with where they were or what had happened on his recent sojourn beyond the relative safety of the dressing room.

He was going back and forth between being honest or brushing it off. Knowing full well she’d know if he tried to deny anything was wrong or attempt to blame the current situation was patently false.

Then, of course, she beat him to the punch.

"Is this about Armitage?" she asked.

Ben froze, shocked at how near the mark she hit, and especially how disturbingly knowing her expression was.

Recovering as best he could, he asked, "how did you—?"

"You haven’t said a word about him since you go up."

Thoroughly confused now, Ben frowned. "What are you talking about? Why would I have?"

Kris sighed with a roll of her eyes strong enough to impart the ‘ohmygod, how can you be this stupid’ without a single word needing to be spoken.

"Ben. You talk about him all the time. Like, all the time."

His mouth was definitely gaping, and his eyes just as wide. He couldn’t believe what she’d just said.

"Wha—?" he spluttered, "no, I— no, I don’t. Why the hell would I do that? He’s— That prickly bastard is insufferable and-and annoying and it pisses me off just looking at him." Ben crossed his arms with a huff, leaning deeper into the corner of the walls backboarding the bench, "acting like he’s so fucking perfect."

"Mmhmm," Kris hummed softly. Ben didn’t really give it much notice, though he could do without the tone it had. "So," she went on, "tell me why you’re so bothered about Armitage today? What about Mr. Perfect has your panties in a knot?"

The on-theme question hardly won her any brownie points, and while he was annoyed, Ben still hesitated with an answer—and whether or not to divulge the whole truth as well. The memory of when his eyes locked with Armitage’s in the clearing flashed across his thoughts again.

Reliving the intensity of how they’d gleamed so dark yet enticingly bright had Ben spilling out in a quiet voice, "I kissed Armitage last night."

While he’d been shocked before by Kris’ response, and Ben didn’t know what he was expecting to happen after that bomb dropped, he certainly had not been remotely prepared for her to go above and beyond. Plopping beside him on the bench with an exasperated "finally" had Ben gaping even more like an absolute idiot than the first time.

"What else happened?" Her grin was excited, her hands playfully yanking at his tucked in forearms, "did you do it? You’re both virgins, so how’d it go? Where’d this happen anyway? Tell me!"

Ben’s brain was still struggling to absorb everything that was happening, so her tirade of questions weren’t fully processing. And his mouth wasn’t entirely connected to the mainframe anymore either, so it babbled out, "we didn’t do it. it was just kissing. in the clearing. but I dreamed about him. jerked off to it," before he even knew what he was saying.

"Ooooooh," Kris smirked, "so that’s why you were awake at 10 on a Saturday."

The meaning of her words hit, as did what he’d just admitted to, and in an instant his face grew hot. He rushed to find some way to keep this from going off the rails, which instead turned into a flurry of disjointed nonsense.

"That’s not— we’re not— it’s wasn’t like-like— it wasn’t really anything. It was just— yeah, just-just—"

When Ben finally stopped his second round of babbling, Kris fixed him with a quiet, pointed expression that seemed to question his intelligence being beyond what anyone could comprehend possible for a person to reach. That being: he was a moron of epic proportions.

Utterly confused, Ben asked with a wary quirk of his brow, "what?"

"Ben, I don’t know how to break this to you," she flattened her palm on his arm, like she had life-altering news and wanted to be gentle. Ben actually wondered how serious she was with that because it really did seem a worrisome amount more than a little. "You’re in love with Armitage Hux."

He blinked. Then slowly, so slowly, Ben’s mouth fell open and his speechless stare became so wide it hurt.

"W-wha— w-we-what? – what? – I-I’m— huh—" even after the attempt at coherent words stopped coming, Ben continued to sputter on air.

"Like stupid in love," Kris continued as if Ben had said nothing – which he really hadn’t. "If you weren’t so goddamn thick about yourself sometimes I’d say you were so over the moon in love it bordered on nauseating."

Ben’s heart was going a mile a minute and his face had to be beet red. He wasn’t even sure if he was still breathing anymore.

"Th-that—"

"Remember your sixteenth birthday when I stole all that booze and we got stupid drunk and shaved each other’s pubes?"

"Hey!" he snapped, angry yet still thoroughly embarrassed. "That was a dare, you fucker!"

She was chuckling at him, though Ben was pretty sure it was largely for whatever weirdness his face was warped into at this moment rather than entirely at the past one.

For his part, the memories of that night were very fuzzy, particularly the last bits up until he apparently passed out. He got that way when he had fevers too, almost like his brain was too heated to bother documenting the ongoings around him.

"Yeah, you gave me a wonky heart and I did a downward arrow and teased you about it since the whole night you were practically talking nonstop about Armitage. Armitage this, Armitage that. I’d proposed the challenge to get your mind off the Armitage Channel for a bit, but then I couldn’t help teasing you since you blushed like a tomato when I said the arrow would be directions. When I said for Armitage you got this glazed look, turned even redder, and then passed out with a hard on."

Kris was definitely laughing at the memory now, although Ben was certain his face must be mortified. She’d never told him that last part before, or that he’d spent the whole fucking night not shutting up about Armitage Hux.

Finally managing to reboot, Ben exhaled a heavy groan and dropped his head in his hands, pushing deeper into the corner again like he could escape the embarrassment of his infatuation and stupidity.

Because that night had been so fuzzy and he’d come out of it having evidently done freaking ‘pube art’ with his friend, he’d told himself he would never drink again. As a kid he’d had similar experiences when down with fevers; the memories were hazy, like a fog covered them, and they lingered just out of reach sometimes in the back of his mind rather than coming forward for him to see properly. It hadn’t happened for a while now, and he normally didn’t think much on the problem either. The only time he’d ever been truly frustrated about it was way back when he was five.

It had been the last time he’d seen Armitage before the boy’s behavior changed toward him and everything kinda went to shit. He had no idea what’d happened then or now, and he couldn’t remember a whole lot about that day, particularly the latter half of it. He didn’t remember getting home, and he didn’t remember much of anything until what was apparently the second night of him being unconscious. Ben was out for a week, after having kept it to himself for a few days before reaching the evident breaking point.

Nothing specific was ever found to be wrong with him; the best answer they’d given was that his mind and body periodically ‘overheated’ and had to shut down because he was just so, well, …strange. It wasn’t normal for one so young to advance as quickly as he had and did, and regardless of such there was only so much a growing body could handle. His brain was not fully developed by far, and neither was his body; it was as if he couldn’t handle all the input. Eventually Ben grew out of it – for the most part. Any time he felt a little off, he kept it to himself.

Actually, Armitage was similarly, in some respects, considered sickly. Although for some reason that term had never been used in regards to Ben; perhaps because outside of those instances Ben was never actually sick, whereas Armitage would come down with colds and the like often. The other boy mostly grew out of it as well. However, considering the current state of their relationship Ben couldn’t say whether Armitage continued to hide things. Ben highly suspected he did.

With a sigh, he ruffled the fringe of his hair, his eyes tightly shut as he tried to force that day back to the forefront of his mind for the first time in a while. Every so often Ben pondered over the events of that day, but the frequency dwindled as years passed and the idea of him ever being able to be near Armitage like they’d once been felt more and more like a painfully impossible prospect.

Ben scrunched his brow. Painful? Had he always considered the idea of never having Armitage in his life again painful?

It felt almost like a headache was rushing in with the thought; swift like brain freeze, and so abrupt it made him hiss at the onslaught of what appeared to be an old memory. The dissipating fog seemed to choke him as it vanished—

Pressing his hands against Armie’s round cheeks, soft and warm with a pink flush, he both pulled him near and held the boy still as Ben brought their lips together.

"You’re my most important person, Armie. You’re mine, and I’m yours, remember? A promise is a promise. I love you and we’ll always be together."

Ben smiled. His head hurt and his body felt hot and tired, but he couldn’t help but smile big and happy because Armie was being so cute. He was Ben’s very best friend, his most favorite person, and he would make sure he was safe and happy and no one would get in the way of that ever. Not so long as Ben had a say in it.

Armie’s typically fair face lit up even more and his small hands raised to grip Ben’s wrists where they were still aside his flushed face, Ben not having let go yet.

It was like a moment of utter trust and acceptance came over the other boy as his features then melted into a beaming joy Ben had never before seen Armie wear, or knew he was even capable of. The expression made Ben’s tummy flip, like Armie’s smiles usually did, but this time his heart felt like it was racing even more. Ben couldn’t tell if the rush and heat was from how happy he was at seeing Armie smile or because he was getting dangerously close to passing out.

With a stupid grin probably on his own face, Ben knew he didn’t care either way, because he made Armie smile. He made Armie happy, and he would make sure to always do so. Always always for his Armie.  

His hazy eyes fluttered before he realized it.

Ben’s own outside the memory squeezed tighter, trying to remain tethered to the past. But after that, the memory went fuzzy again, and then, nothingness.

He opened his eyes, stunned, not just by the heat of a tear on his cheek but at the fact he’d practically proposed to Armitage when they were freaking five years old and then he. fucking. FORGOT. To his credit, he had been pretty out of it. That was the worst fever he’d ever had and it was usual for his memories to be vague; but, he didn’t remember any of that, at all.

Holy shit, his first kiss had indeed been with Armitage Hux. But it wasn’t yesterday that it happened, it was years ago.

Ben’s trembling fingers raked back into his hair as he stared unseeing at his tucked up thighs, barely registering the touch of Kris’ hand on his knee.

He did remember when he came back to the little, pointless kindergarten their families left them at just to put them somewhere during the days rather than because it would teach them anything they didn’t already know. He remembered how the day or two afterward it was like the light in Armitage faded away. Initially, it was so bright it made Ben want to beam in return. Plus, after being away for a whole week he was ecstatic to be back and see Armitage again even if the school itself was a boring annoyance.

Whatever epiphany had led him to doing those things and saying those words when he was feverish was a mystery. He didn’t recall thinking those exact things before that time, or at least not that way, though Ben supposed they’d been very true regardless. Ben had considered Armitage the most important person to him in his then still quite short life. He was special, and, in a way, Ben’s world more than anyone or anything else. Even more than his grandfather, who he adored.

It wasn’t long after their subsequent falling out, maybe five months, when Armitage’s mother passed away. Ben had been almost sick with how desperately he’d wanted to comfort Armitage, but he was still conflicted and likewise upset with the other boy. In the end, all he could bring himself to do was sit by him. He’d just sat and shared the grief as best he could in the only way he could think to do it then.

Ben blinked at the thought, the roused memory. He blinked and blinked, and realized he wanted to cry. Armitage wasn’t the one who’d suddenly given Ben exactly what he’d needed that time after his grandfather’s death. He was giving back to Ben what Ben had given to him. He was showing more than just understanding loss, more even than a momentary truce. It was as though he was wordlessly saying exactly what Ben had been trying to get across in the silence.

‘I’m here. Even though we’re apart, I’m here for you now. I haven’t abandoned you when you need it most.’

"I’m such a fucking idiot," Ben mumbled. He felt Kris’ small hand pat him, a soft, gentle hum resonating in unison.

Then she flat out said in an equally sweet tone that belied her words, "yes you are. A big, fat idiot."

"You’re a horrible friend."

"So are you." And he could hear the encouraging smile in her voice.

Bubbling up amidst his silent scoff was a laugh Ben couldn’t help, quiet and a tad melancholy, but it was like a taste of fresh air. It rushed in and cleared away the remainder of the murky haze in his mind, leaving Ben feeling more sure and resolute than he’d felt about anything in a very very long time.

He couldn’t say how Armitage felt about him now; for all he knew the boy hated him. Ben didn’t think that was truly the case, but even if the other boy didn’t hate him, it didn’t mean he still loved him either. Not by a long shot. But— well, Ben was certainly no stranger to risks and stupid, poorly thought out plans, soooo…

"Graduation is on Monday," Kris said, as if reading him. "You’ll both be off to college soon, and he could be going anywhere. You might never see him again."

Ben snorted, sitting up straight at last.

"Like fuck. Even now that asshole is still practically my best friend, love or not. No offense—" he quirked a grin at her, reusing her previous tease which she shoved him playfully for. "There’s no way I’m letting him slip through my fingers ever again." He gripped his jeans, scraping the worn, black denim, "not a chance."

--- {[|/\|]} ---

Chapter Text

--- {[|/\|]} ---

{[]} Armitage POV {[]}

Since receiving Ben’s wholly unexpected text message late last night, Armitage had been plagued with too many emotions to count. He was practically vibrating with the maelstrom. Only his immaculate self-control and sense of pride had kept him from showing even an inkling of anxiety whilst giving his valedictorian speech at graduation. His palms were riddled with little half moons from the seemingly interminable time spent afterward waiting to receive his diploma, and the second that leather cover was in his grasp he’d wanted to bolt for the clearing.

Thankfully, and as expected, Brendol couldn’t be bothered to attend such a pedestrian event as a high school graduation and had instead delegated the chore to one of his aids. The little man and his irksome, too small mustache and beady black eyes was no doubt sent as both representative and snoop, summarizing anything worth note to Armitage’s father upon returning later. Due to the man’s presence he’d needed to give pleasantries with more people than he’d hoped, but also because of him, Armitage was able to escape much earlier than if Brendol had actually deigned to appear.

Once he was free, all the thoughts he’d worked to keep at bay swept in at last.

Although he’d been near desperate to, Armitage had done his damnedest not to seek out Ben the entirety of the event. Not even to cast a glance on the boy. Now, Ben was dominating Armitage’s mind, stirring up all those tremulous emotions that had been surging through his veins.

Armitage had no idea what was going to happen when they again came face-to-face. Considering what had happened the other night, his unease only grew with the building series of numerous possible outcomes to the meeting Ben requested.

The entirety of his walk to the clearing, the well-worn path to which he admittedly dragged his pace along, was more and more nerve-wracking with every step. Reaching the border of the small space, Armitage released a great sigh of temporary relief to see he had arrived first. He’d been mulling with a pervasive sense of dread over how he would react if Ben had already been there. At least this way he’d have time to figure just how he would act when the other boy did arrive.

Resting in his usual spot on the grass, feeling the cool blades beneath his fingers despite the gentle warmth of the afternoon sun bathing the clearing in its rays, Armitage couldn’t help but be troubled again as the memories of his last time on this grass returned.

At the gala, Armitage hadn’t been entirely sure what it was that compelled him to invite Ben to follow him. He’d been thinking a great deal on what Brela and Techie brought up—or rather, forced back to the surface. The thoughts weren’t new by any means, but Armitage had gotten quite good over the years at repressing his feelings regarding his ex-best friend. For the most part, at least. Unfortunately it would be sheer denial to declare he’d convinced himself he hated Ben, or had no attraction to him. It was likewise false that he didn’t at times succumb to the truth of those things in his actions. The ashes of years worth of stolen, incinerated letters could attest to that.

Armitage drew up his legs, tucking them against his chest and folding his arms on his knees. He then dropped his head heavily to hide from the bright scenery of green grasses and spring flowers around him.

Really, it would be an outright lie to say he hadn’t missed Ben everyday for the last thirteen-plus years. Part of the reason he loved coming to this clearing to begin with was because it reminded him so vividly of his past with the boy. It was almost torturous actually, since the pretty space, and currently even the time of day were so reminiscent of the small backyard field he and Ben liked to escape to while free of their ‘classmates’ and insufferable teachers back at the kindergarten they’d attended. It was largely for appearance sake and simply as a place to leave them during the days that they were sent there rather than because the establishment had any hope of teaching them anything they hadn’t already learned on their own.

Being left at such a place, it would have been boring, to be alone.

Ben snuffled in his sleep, grumbling something incoherent as he rubbed his face against Armie’s belly, probably getting some sweat on his shirt, but Armie didn’t care. If it was Ben, he couldn’t care less.

His fingers threaded through Ben’s hair again, petting him softly as the other boy dozed, his head on his lap. Armie’s hand looked so pale against the mop of unruly dark waves. He could never understand why Ben let it be like that. It curled an inch below his big ears, falling over them too, and swept across his forehead with messy bangs. The dark mass settled too nicely for rarely getting brushed and being often ruffled by the boy to better hide his ears or shadow his big eyes. It made it so he sometimes had to peek from beneath the fringe when he ducked down and pulled a little at the bangs’ ends.

Nevertheless, be they wild or not, the waves were always soft, and the boy liked them to be stroked. Which Armie in turn liked doing. His hair was disorderly and silly and Armie secretly loved it. Although he was pretty sure Ben knew anyway. Ben could be like that, and it was generally quite annoying. But, there were times Armie didn’t want to speak, or felt he couldn’t, so the silent understanding was nice.

Again, Ben muttered and nuzzled closer.

Pushing back the fringe over his sticky forehead, Armie frowned.

Ben was warmer today; he napped longer too, and when he did he seemed restless. This was the fourth day he’d been feeling unwell, and Armie had never seen him this flushed and unsteady when he’d had fevers set in. He didn’t like it. He wanted Ben to tell someone, though he knew the boy didn’t like to as long as he could help it. No one ever noticed anyway, and he’d be all alone in his room until it passed too.

"Armie," Ben murmured. He pulled Armie’s hand close and rubbed his forehead along the knuckles.

"Yes?" he asked, not knowing if Ben was truly conscious or still sleeping.

The boy’s lashes fluttered, tickling him as they opened.

"Still bright," he frowned.

"School will be out in an hour."

He hummed, still gripping Armie’s hand tight, his hooded eyes tracing the lines of Armie’s pale fingers. They seemed small and delicate in Ben’s hands. Despite being half a year younger they were always a little bigger than his. All of him was.

"You’re really warm, Ben. You’re sweating and flushed."

Ben frowned again, deeper.

"I know you don’t want to tell them, but your fever’s higher than it’s been before. You should—"

Suddenly and surprising him into silence, Ben tugged at Armie’s sleeve, pushing it up his forearm. Armie startled as he looked down at the boy, finding his hazy brown eyes glaring impressively at the patch of faint purples and growing greens on his wrist.

Armie sighed. "It’s fine."

"It’s not," he said immediately, the response nearly overlapping Armie’s words.

Ben’s stare was hard, but his grip was gentle, a fingertip brushing against the marks.

"I shoulda known, stopped it," his voice was quieter, getting hard like his eyes. It was always weird to hear and see from Ben, it was far more adult-like than his usual temper. Too much so. Almost both frightening and warming in equal, though thoroughly contrasting ways.

Still, Armie sighed again.

"Ben, we may be freaks of nature," he cringed mildly using that term he typically hated, "but we’re only five—"

"—you’re almost six."

"Five, six, doesn’t matter. We’re children. Even with smarter brains, our bodies are small."

"Doesn’t matter."

"It really does."

"Nuh uh."

"Ben—"

"I hate him," Ben hissed in that low, dark tone, utterly quashing Armie’s coming admonishment. "We are kids, but he hurts you. I hate him. I want to hurt him back. So he knows how it hurts you. Make him stop."

"You can’t do that," but Armie still felt that warm flutter in his chest hearing how Ben wanted to protect him from Brendol. "He’s an adult, and my father. Even if we were grown-up too, you shouldn’t. People get in big trouble and even go to jail for that."

The boy was frowning harder, clearly thinking as much as silently grumbling at Armie’s words.

"Then," Ben sat up, wobbling a little before righting himself and turning to face Armie. "Then I’ll take you from him. Definitely." His lips puckered, his dark brows scrunched with thought again. Suddenly he nodded, his hair rustling with the firm, abrupt action. His eyes locked on Armie’s, "I promise, for sure, I’ll take you away from him forever. So he can’t hurt you anymore."

"I— h-huh?" Armie stumbled, a little disoriented himself despite it being Ben who was briefly dizzy in the shift. Plus his gut was teeming with more warm butterflies.

Edging close until Ben was nearly in his face, his hazy doe eyes serious, Armie knew his cheeks must be terribly pink. Ben often got up in his personal space, but rarely with such intense expressions. Armie nearly gasped when he felt Ben’s hot, sweaty palms press against his cheeks, gentle but firm. His eyes went wider when Ben’s lips descended on his. Soft and plush and kinda wet.

Ben kissed him. Ben kissed him! Did Ben even understand what that meant? He said stuff about loving him and being together every now and then, but never quite like that. Plus there were lots of kinds of love and closeness, and Ben could be so dense sometimes. Especially about himself and his own feelings. Did he—

"You’re my most important person, Armie. You’re mine, and I’m yours, remember? A promise is a promise. I love you and we’ll always be together."

Ben smiled. It was that sweet, painfully warm and endearing smile that lit up his whole being. If Armie weren’t already awash with impossible to describe feelings tingling all throughout his body, his stomach full of butterflies, his chest tight and heart fast, and his entire face must be redder than his hair, he might have felt the usual ones he had when witnessing that smile. Yes, those were things Ben had said before, at different times and in different ways, yet this felt…distinctly different. And it wasn’t just the prelude of a kiss to that declaration either.

Before he thought it through, Armie’s was gripping Ben’s wrists and his face felt as bright as the red flush must be. He knew he was smiling, that it was big and totally out of character, and nothing in him could possibly stop the giddy warmth it exuded.

Armie loved Ben too; he’d always loved Ben. He didn’t know when his love became more than simply because they’d always considered each other theirs in a general sort of way, but somewhere it did. Since Ben could be such an idiot about himself, Armie had been content to wait until they were older, figuring someday Ben would feel the same shift he did. That he’d understand, and they’d be the same and together like other adults who loved each other sincerely.

He doubted much would change about how they interacted now, but maybe they could kiss again. Kissing made him feel fuzzy and warm, and like Ben was closer somehow. More his.

The long lashes of Ben’s hooded eyes fluttered, his focus drooped a little before seemingly returning twice the strength. Clearly fighting his weariness.

"You mean it?" Armie asked. It’s not that he didn’t believe Ben, exactly, but he also knew the pain of betrayal and empty promises. Ben did too.

Removing his palms from Armie’s hot cheeks, Ben then took one of his hands and laced a pinky with Armie’s smaller one. A silly, childish gesture Armie might have usually teased him about, but instead he felt he could somehow blush harder, if that were possible.

Looking back up at the other boy, he licked his lips, his hand feeling sweaty, and said, "you gotta promise."

Ben’s pinky tightened around Armie’s, face set in determination even with the flush on his round cheeks and the watery haze in those big, amber brown eyes. "Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."

He wanted to roll his eyes at the chant, but nearly giggled instead.

"You swear?" He pressed still, trying to contain his grin. Ben’s gaze didn’t waver. "Really truly swear?"

"I swear," he nodded with a decisive huff. Then his plush lips grew back into that wide, impossible to deny smile. "One day I’ll take you away from here, Armie, and we’ll be together forever."

Armie didn’t know he could feel this happy, and he wanted to tell Ben. He was poised to do so when he saw as Ben’s hazy eyes fluttered like earlier. His cheeks looked darker, the flush shiny. Armie nearly stumbled over as Ben dropped onto him.

"Ben?" He was so hot! "Ben!?"

"Nmm…" rousing faintly, Ben settled a little more naturally against Armie, their linked pinkies still between them. "Pwrrmiss, ‘rmee…"

"Ben!"

The name was soft and quiet on Armitage’s lips, mumbled into his sleeves.

"Armitage?"

He jerked up, his heart in his throat hearing his name in that low, rich voice, spoken in a tone far gentler than he could remember ever happening.

"Ben." He didn’t hear himself say it, nor had he given his mouth permission, but he soon agreed he didn’t care when witnessing the small, little, itty-bitty embarrassed smile Ben made upon hearing it.

"I wasn’t sure if you’d come."

Armitage frowned faintly. "I said I would."

"No, I know. I know. I just— you know…wasn’t… sure."

Ben was looking everywhere but him now; his speckled cheeks might be flushed pink but the distance made it hard to be sure. Even though the other boy had slowly closed most of the several feet separating them, he hadn’t sat down, and Ben was taller than Armitage’s own near six feet.

After a strangely long minute of pure silence, even the nature around them seeming to join in with the awkward atmosphere by shutting up the ambiance, Armitage huffed.

"Are you going to sit?"

"Oh," Ben actually looked surprised, "yeah, right. Sitting."

He dropped onto the grass with a rather annoying grace he didn’t usually enact, crossing his long legs and looking down at his hands in his lap. There was maybe three feet between them, and Ben didn’t face him either.

"So?" Armitage tried to prompt.

"So…"

The gentle gust of a spring breeze ruffled Ben’s hair, the dark waves brushing his neck and occasionally exposing a cast down eye and definitely flushed cheek, light and pink and probably warm to the touch. The idea made his fingertips tingle, and the memory of stroking that hair had his whole hands twitch. Not just from recalling the past, but the other night too. He’d sighed happily that time, feeling the soft curls, gripping and tugging the way he’d once refused to acknowledge he ever dreamed of doing.

Armitage balled his hands into fists, ignoring the impulse.

With time stretching on, his nerves were starting to get the better of him. Just staring and wondering on a razor’s edge was pure agony. Fucking hell, Ben! Armitage inhaled slowly to steady himself, preparing to speak; even if it was foolishly rude, he had to say something. The silence was killing him.

"I’m sorry!" Ben blurted instead, stunning Armitage speechless again.

"W-what?" he finally asked.

"I’m sorry. I forgot. I forgot my promise, and I hurt you. I’d promised to stay with you and to never let anyone hurt you again and then I’d betrayed my own fucking words." Ben was almost growling as he finished. His big hands were fisted tight enough to turn his knuckles white and he seemed to be glaring down at them, his full lips twisted in an angry frown.

Back then, even though it had hurt, Armitage understood that Ben probably didn’t remember much or any of what he’d said before passing out. Fevers did that to him. Armitage knew that. But the inevitable conclusion had struck him in such an unexpectedly painful way. Sometimes he would get annoyed with the boy forgetting things despite him knowing better, but he let it go for that same reason. When Ben returned after a week of absence, Armitage had been surprised at how happy and excited he was to see the boy again. The moment their eyes had locked, and Ben had smiled, Armitage had wanted to smother him in a hug and kiss his stupid lips. A distant part of him was embarrassed for the desire, but he was high on the joy.

Armitage hadn’t even gotten much chance to teeter between giving in to his urge and not when it became clear Ben didn’t remember. Just admitting to not even remembering much past arriving at the school that fateful day was enough to shatter Armitage’s longing and smother his bliss. It was such a shock he hadn’t been able to conceal his disappointment and pain fast enough. Ben had noticed. Of course the boy had thought it was due to something else entirely, because that’s how Ben was sometimes. He could be such an idiot.

While Armitage knew better, he knew, the pain had persisted, his tendency to react to hurt with spite set in, and his pride and stubbornness followed. Eventually it became so long since he’d started giving Ben the cold shoulder with no explanation, the idea of confronting it so hard and embarrassing and surely awkward, that it felt too late to fix. And so the years went.

Really, it was Armitage who owed an apology. It was Armitage’s fault first. And besides—

Armitage frowned, thinking back along all those years. Ben didn’t even really default on his promise to begin with. Not all of it, not that much.

"You have been protecting me," he said softly, almost not wanting the other boy to hear.

"Wha—?" Ben jerked to face him at last, those big, drowning eyes wide. "You— you knew?"

Armitage rolled his eyes, resting now on his cheek to better face the boy as well.

"When the guys who bothered me started mysteriously being absent not long after the confrontation, and you would be gone for a bit as well, it became rather obvious. Especially when some of those guys would return bearing faded scrapes and bruises. Not to mention they never approached me again either."

"Oh. Well. Th-that’s good. That they stayed away, I mean." Ben turned, his shadowed profile displayed again. Armitage couldn’t help but pout at that. Just a bit.

"Why did you do it?"

"I—" Ben rubbed a thumb over the thick knuckles on his opposite hand. "I didn’t like it."

"Like what?"

His big nose scrunched up, deepening the impact of his grimace even from the side. "They… touched you. It…it pissed me off. I didn’t really know why but when I saw the weird bruises on you that first day in PE back in middle school, I was just…so angry."

Didn’t know why. Armitage wanted to scoff at Ben’s obliviousness just as much as grin stupidly. It didn’t matter that he’d deduced what was basically happening back then, hearing it from Ben, hearing exactly why, made him warm and fluttery inside like when he was a child. It wasn’t merely because they’d hurt him, Ben specifically saying they ‘touched’ him was a greater declaration of hope than Armitage had expected. And they’d made out the other night.

"Do you know why now?" Armitage couldn’t help but ask.

He wished that rise of hopeful anticipation was true, of course, all things considered. But Ben…could be so damn obtuse. It was unfathomable how someone with such freakish intellectual prowess could be an equally enormous idiot.

Ben curled in on himself a little, "…why?" he murmured to the ground. Then, finally, he turned his head, slower this time and his eyes softer when they found Armitage’s.

"Yes, why?" Armitage whispered back, staring as intently.

"I—"

-- {[/\]} --

{[]} Ben POV {[]}

"I—"

The words were stuck in his throat. He was trapped in Armitage’s eyes; they were so green, the greys and flecks of blues seemed drowned in the emerald sea piercing him. Since arriving he’d tried to avoid looking too long at the other boy, afraid of this very thing. Of getting lost staring. Ben felt like he stared at Armitage a lot. He wondered why he didn’t notice. He would stare and stare and his fingers would document it later, everything he’d catalogued with his eyes. It was second nature to the point he didn’t seem to even realize he’d been doing it all these years.

"I draw you." He blurted, his thoughts slipping out rather than an answer.

Armitage raised his head, his posture unfolding a little in the shock that showed clearly on his face.

"What?"

"I draw you," he said again, unsure what else to do but let his mouth take over since his brain wasn’t being all that helpful.

"I have so many sketchbook filled with nothing but you. I never really thought about it too deeply. Most of my drawings were guys, slender ones; I just…it was my preferred type to sketch. And, and you were…that.

"Yesterday I went through all my sketchbooks, years and years of…you, and what wasn’t you still looked kinda like you or it could be you."

Ben pushed a hand into his hair, ruffling it and using the gesture to break the fixed eye contact. He could feel his cheeks getting warmer.

"Some of the stuff from the last few years started to have a sort of…sensual quality about them. Sometimes I’d draw from my dreams, always slender and pale." Ben licked his rambling lips, his hand still in his hair and trying to hide his face. "Even the freaking porn I’ve watched were always the same type." Wait wait, oh god, what the fuck was he saying!? "Usually redheads too. I couldn’t believe how blind I’ve been." Ben, shut up!

"You’ve always been stupid," Armitage said after a brief, harrowing silence.

Part of Ben wanted to snap at that, even if Armitage wasn’t entirely wrong, but he couldn’t help noticing the softer, slightly odd quality to the other boy’s voice. It tempered his rise and had him looking over.

Armitage’s face was pressed against his crossed arms; what he could see of his cheeks looked so dusky pink they were practically red, even the tips of his ears were flushed. Ben wanted to touch them, feel the warmth on his skin. He missed it, how warm Armitage could be, how soft. Hugging him had been better than hugging his grandfather. Sleeping on Armitage’s lap he’d loved more than his own bed. There were countless nights he’d cried silently into his pillow, missing him.

Ben really missed him. Fuck, he missed him. The ache that lingered in his chest like a permanent companion he’d never quite realized the origin of felt twice as strong and ten times as longing. He couldn’t— no, he didn’t want to stop himself when he shifted from his spot on the grass and crawled over to Armitage’s side.

"Armitage." He didn’t look at him. Ben leaned closer, spoke softer, "Armie."

Shockingly, Ben heard a sniffle. Armitage had rarely cried when they were friends, and he highly doubted that changed afterward. He could count on one hand the number of times tears entered the boy’s eyes, and half of those were allergy related.

"You asshole," Armitage eventually murmured.

Relieved, Ben grinned. "I know."

"Bastard."

"Yes."

"Prick."

"Mmhm."

"Jerk face."

"Did you really call me jerk face?"

"Shut up."

Ben’s smile was wider; his chaotic flurry of nerves was now joined with hopeful anticipation.

"Armie," he edged just that much closer, so his knees were nearly bumping Armitage’s side. Taking a steadying breath, Ben reached out and let his hand hover over that crown of red hair that glowed like a brilliant halo. He was hesitant, but he ached. "Armie," he said more gently.

His hand lowered. They both tensed the instant the touch collided. Ben could feel the tremor run through Armitage much as one ran through himself, but he didn’t withdraw and Armitage didn’t say anything about doing so either.

Biting his lip, frenzied fight or flight butterflies waged war inside him, desperately confused whether to push forward or draw back. Ben swallowed hard, and was mortified when he could hear it, though he tried not to let that get the better of him.

He pushed forward, and leaned his forehead against Armitage’s temple. This time Ben didn’t tense, but he held still when Armitage did, not wanting to frighten him. His lips lightly caressed Armitage’s jawline and they both trembled.

"Armie," he whispered, stroking slowly through the red strands he reveled in feeling again. "You’re my most important person. You’re mine, and I’m yours. A promise is a promise. I," his voice shook a little, "I love you, and we’ll always be together."

Ben pressed a kiss to Armitage’s cheek before finally drawing away.

He’d expected to have to wait, but Armitage was already lifting his head from his arms. When their eyes met, Ben saw the shine of unshed tears; his eyes far more vivid, like real pools of the usual turbulent sea.

"I’m sorry—" Ben started.

Armitage brought a hand up and hushed him, holding slender fingers against his lips.

"You gotta promise."

Grinning, Ben caught the hand at his mouth and entangled the pinky with his own. It seemed even smaller by comparison than it used to. Keeping the fingers at his lips, Ben focused a determined gaze with Armitage’s and said, "Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."

Armitage’s lower lip trembled faintly. "You swear."

His grin softened. A tear slipped down Armitage’s cheek.

"Really truly swear?"

Ben shut his eyes and gave a kiss to the fingers in his grasp, then the knuckles, then the smooth back of his pale hand.

"I swear, Armie." He rested their joined hands on his forehead, bowing down toward the other boy as he did. "I’m so sorry, and I wholeheartedly swear."

It was quiet enough Ben almost didn’t hear it, but Armitage scoffed something like a laugh.

"You know, you technically owe me your pinky now. And your life, depending on which pinky swear tradition we’re going by."

Ben hummed, feeling warmer from Armitage’s smile than any heat the sun could possibly give. He lowered their hands, better securing Armitage’s smaller one in his hold.

"You already have my life, always have. And as for my finger," the rough pad of one of his slid along Armitage’s own, "how about this one instead?" He curled his ring finger around Armitage’s; the diminishing blush on the boy’s cheeks returned full force, even again peeking out from the tips of his ears.

Ben couldn’t stop the flush heating up his own face in response. He felt like an idiot from a romance novel, but he wouldn’t take back his cheesy words for the world. Not with Armitage looking like that.

Eventually Armitage scoffed, the annoyance distinctly playful. "You never play fair," he said, though his finger tightened around Ben’s.

"I play to win."

"That’s my line."

"Then accept your prize already."

With each sentence they spoke, they’d been leaning closer and closer, Ben’s heart beating so loud he was sure Armitage could hear it too. And just as the final words passed Ben’s lips, the exhale hot between them and Armitage’s enticing pink mouth unbearably near, Ben finally closed the distance and sealed the promise with a kiss.

--- {[/\]} ---

Chapter Text

--- {[/\]} ---

{[]} Armitage POV {[]}

--{[]} Three Years Later {[]}--

"‘rrmmee."

Armitage glanced aside him upon hearing the sleep slurred name. The murmur was soft, hot on his skin, and joined by a weak nuzzle into the curve of his neck and a brief tightening of the thick arms around his waist.

Ben was only supposed to nap for an additional hour before finally getting up fully to prepare for his first class, but it was going on two hours now and admittedly Armitage hadn’t pushed too hard to rouse him. The man was warm against his own typically colder body, and he made a surprisingly comfortable seat to nestle into when amenable. And Armitage’s willingness continued to grow as time went on.

Turning the latest page of his novel, Armitage again considered waking the man.

However, his passive musing was halted by the quiet whirr of his phone buzzing beside him on the dark rumpled sheets. He hummed curiously at the thing; it was too early for the last alarm he’d set for Ben.

Sliding in a bookmark and carefully setting the novel on his opposite side, he then reached for the slender device and revived the screen— where a notification from Phasma beckoned him.

[Phasma] You owe me a meal.

He huffed at the brief, and unnecessary, message.

[ArmitageHux] I haven’t forgotten.

[Phasma] Well I want to collect while I’m still in town. And it’s going to be pointlessly uptight and fancy. Your best attire and your blackest card fancy.

Armitage rolled his eyes. As if Phasma wasn’t easily capable of that herself. She and her family might not have travelled much in the circles his did, but they’d primarily lived in the same stuffy uppercrust society as he and Ben. Though they’d only met less than a year before she graduated and left for university, she three years his senior.

[ArmitageHux] I thought you were staying through the kids’ spring break? Brela and Rey especially will be disappointed if not.

[Phasma] No, I am, though Nastia will be going back tomorrow. She has a project report due soon and her boss is a stickler for punctuality.

[ArmitageHux] So then, why the urgency to wring my father’s cash from me? Not that I mind.

[Phasma] Obviously I’ll want to spend time with the munchkins.

[Phasma] Going to black tie restaurants where I can drink good wine and eat delicious food to my hedonistic satisfaction is not the thing to do with kids.

[Phasma] It’s what you do with friends who lose bets and have to pay the checks I incur.

His brow twitched minutely. He really needed to stop making bets with this woman; she won too often and it was ridiculous. Releasing a sigh, he pressed lightly back into Ben, who himself was propped against the stupidly wide bed’s headboard.

The man mumbled in evident response, incoherent and still low, and again followed by snuggling Armitage closer to his person. He made a huffed, pitiful little whine as well, his soft hair tickling Armitage’s cheek as he burrowed. His thick, bare legs drew up slightly, further enclosing Armitage, and the vise of his embrace rumpled the too big, vintage Darth Vader tee he wore. The thin shirt had been stolen up from the armchair Ben had tossed it on the day prior, donning it and a new pair of boxer briefs after wiping himself down from this morning’s lazy but still pleasurable activities.

Ignoring the phone for a moment, Armitage turned his head to brush his lips against whatever skin of Ben’s face he could reach. He brought a hand up to sink into the ruffled mass of dark waves, stroking the strands and petting gently as the grip on him relaxed once more.

"Hush hush," he whispered, fond in spite of himself. "I’m here."

Though it had been nearly silent, as if the remark were too sentimental to release into the world, Ben seemingly responded nonetheless in his somnolent state. Just a rumble of "mmmhnn," before cuddling Armitage like a favorite stuffed plush and exhaling a contented sigh.

Silly.

Ignoring the growing warmth in his chest, Armitage looked back to his text thread.

[ArmitageHux] Alright, name a day and time. What’s my meticulous schedule to the whims of Her Majesty?

[Phasma] While the moniker is appreciated, and applicable, I think your cat will protest and I don’t want to sabotage our relationship.

[ArmitageHux] She’s a cat, Gwen. And she’s not that petty.

[Phasma] She’s YOUR cat, Armitage. Petty is a prerequisite.

[Phasma] You’re a doting cat dad so you wouldn’t know the dark side of your darling.

[Phasma] ( . . . )

[Phasma] Now, cat chat aside, Nas is back and I intend to keep her in bed right up until she has to leave.

Armitage scrunched his nose.

[ArmitageHux] I didn’t need to know that.

[Phasma] And I didn’t need to know inch for inch details of your boyfriend’s body and sexual prowess

His mouth gaped.

[Phasma] but that’s what happens being best friends with a lovesick idiot who has no filter when drunk

Tsking sharply into the otherwise quiet atmosphere of the room, he sent off a reply just as terse and snappish as his now embarrassed mood.

[ArmitageHux] Just go fuck your girlfriend already.

[Phasma] Yes, Sir.

[Phasma] ;)

Armitage shut off the display and tossed his phone onto the nightstand, headless of the clatter in his annoyance.

He knew he could be…chatty while drunk, and he knew when devolved into that unfiltered chatter he sometimes ended up praising Ben to near excess. A practice, outside the bedroom, Armitage didn’t typically indulge in.

It wasn’t as though he meant to withhold praise from the man. It didn’t come naturally to begin with, but when in regards to Ben he was even worse, almost like he had a mental block to allow it free. Armitage had improved over the years, but not especially. And whenever praise did pass his lips, more often than not it was regarding Ben’s appearance, which was the easiest topic to address without tongue-tied nerves stifling his ability to do so.

Armitage settled deeper into the cradle of Ben’s hold. He liked to tell himself the penchant toward shallower praise was understandable simply because Ben’s appearance was so noteworthy. Not because he was incapable of anything better.

Over the last few years, Ben, who’d already seemed large in their youth, grew wider and taller still. The maturity of his physique often had Armitage thinking his belief in Ben’s greater size when they were young was merely exaggerated through the eyes of his thin, teenage self. Now that he’s older, a little bigger and taller himself, he realized he would never not feel small beside Ben. Even reaching an above average height couldn’t change the odd sense of being dwarfed by the man when only less than two inches separated them. The breadth difference, perhaps even the sheer intensity of his being, made the disparity appear far larger.

Nevertheless, though it would certainly strike others as strange, Armitage liked the size difference. It was novel, in a way. While he’d always been slender, his height tended to make him seem at least slightly greater in comparison to others despite often being thinner than them.

Plus, Ben had such a beastly quality to him at times; it – somewhat shamefully – stroked his ego knowing he had the devotion of a man like that.

Laying his arms along Ben’s ensconcing his torso, he brushed his fingertips across the speckled skin, tracing tattoo patterns.

Ben could also be so soft.

Armitage’s mouth quirked, trying to grin along with the ever-present ball of happy warmth in his chest that Ben inspired in him.

One of his fingers sought out one of Ben’s, nudging and curling their pinkies together. A matching stripe of subtle design encircled the base of each finger, Ben’s a little larger and more intricate compared to Armitage’s thinner, simpler piece. There were days he couldn’t believe he’d ever agreed to the thing. Nostalgic. Sentimental. He stared at where they were joined, another finger lightly stroking the delicate lines. The beat of Ben’s sleeping heart thrummed through his back, the soft exhales caressing the exposed skin of his neck and shoulder.

For a few more minutes, just a few more, he’d look and listen and feel, Armitage told himself. Unbidden but not denied, his lips drew into a small, contented smile.

-- {[/\]} --

{[]} Ben POV {[]}

Warm warm warm. Ben snuggled his face sleepily into Armitage’s loose hair, holding him closer to his bare body where they sat propped against the tall, black headboard of Ben’s bed.

"If you’re awake now, you should get up," Armitage said, his voice unobtrusive to Ben’s waking ears. "It’s been over an hour longer than you said you wanted to nap."

"Then why didn’t you wake me?" he mumbled, pressing his nose at Armitage’s nape and totally not caring about the answer.

"I tried, you ignored me."

"Mmm."

"Ben, you need to get up," he pressed, the sound of a page turning afterward. "Your first class is in less than an hour."

"Class is stupid."

"You should attend anyway. I do."

"‘Course you do, you’re Armitage."

The man scoffed. "Brilliant, thank you. I had no idea."

"Come on, you know what I mean." Ben held him closer, snuffling into the slender curve of his neck and sighing at the scent of warm, pale skin. "You go even though you know more than the stupid Prof, cause attending classes properly is what you do. It’s Armitage."

"It still sounds like you’re insulting me somehow." Ben could practically hear the eyeroll as Armitage responded, though his tone was lighter than the words might otherwise imply from someone else.

It was probably unconsciously done when afterward Armitage leaned a slight bit more into Ben’s embrace. He didn’t care if it was, fully taking advantage of the chance to better cuddle his ginger.

Even with the light banter, the atmosphere remained calm and relaxed. A few hours ago they’d slowly roused from an exhausted sleep, tangled and warm beneath the rumpled black sheets. And despite having had an all-night fuck fest after Ben suffering a full seven-day week of a touching ban beyond a minor kiss here and there so Armitage could finish three papers and a large project, they still ended up lazily rutting against each other as they returned to wakefulness. Eventually Ben had pulled them up into a sitting position against the upholstered headboard, Armitage settling in his lap, and their hands holding their cocks together as they finished.

It had been such a nice way to wake up; but, along with the post orgasm laze, Ben had still wanted a little more sleep. Armitage had wiped them off, though Ben hadn’t cared one way or another, and when he came back to bed he was wearing one of Ben’s vintage tees. It was too big and sagged at one narrow shoulder. An enticing shoulder.

Ben brushed his lips at the lightly freckled skin of said part.

"Don’t start, Ben. There isn’t time and I know you’re as drained as I am."

"‘M not startin’ nothin’," he mumbled into Armitage’s shoulder, and he wasn’t really, he was simply thinking back on earlier. Seeing Armitage return to bed in just a pair of boxer briefs and Ben’s Darth Vader tee; that shoulder peeking out whenever he stole one of Ben’s shirts always teased him. Endearing and sexy in equal measure. But, though he truly wasn’t trying to start anything, he still pouted a bit nonetheless.

"Don’t pout."

"Not pouting."

"I can hear you pouting." Armitage set his book down, and turned to face where Ben was still caressing his lips along the exposed skin. His breath was hot on Ben’s cheek.

Seizing the opportunity, Ben moved to catch Armitage’s lips, the kiss chaste but so warm. It gave him cozy butterflies.

"You’ve got messages too," Armitage whispered, "kept vibrating when you were asleep."

His brow furrowed, humming unconsciously as he kept their mouths close. "I dunno ‘nough people to get mul’ple texts in two hours."

"Well it happened. Must merely be an abnormality."

When Armitage tried to pull away, Ben drew him deeper into the cage of his arms. "Stay. Read them to me."

Ben noticed the quirked red eyebrow before the man sighed. "You’re spoiled."

"Who’s fault is that?" Ben teased, watching Armitage reach for the larger of the two phones on the nightstand beside them.

"Yours," he said, resettling and leaning back into Ben, "mind control, probably."

He swiped the screen and went into the messaging app, quickly tapping into the first notification.

"Your mother’s reminding you again that Rey and Matt are coming here for their spring breaks."

"I’m not gonna forget that," Ben grumbled, his chin on Armitage’s shoulder. "And even if I did, you wouldn’t. Techie and Brela are coming at the same time too, right?" Armitage nodded. Nodding himself with a frown, he huffed. "I bet she didn’t even send that message herself anyway. Probably fucking Dameron."

"Yes yes, he stole your workaholic mother’s love and respect. I know."

Well, he totally fucking did—though it’s not as if it would have changed much if the man weren’t around. Growling softly, and admittedly a little playfully despite his annoyance, Ben bit at the skin beneath him.

Armitage swatted his nose. "Stop it, beast." He tapped back to the messages. "Oh, right. You need to return that tupperware to Mitaka."

Wha—? Thoroughly baffled at the very idea their mousy neighbor would text him, Ben leaned away and blinked at Armitage then down to his phone. True, the man had his number – for emergencies mostly – but he couldn’t imagine Mitaka ever actually using it. Ben knew he texted Armitage, they shared a major and he looked up to Armitage in more ways than one – or Ben appreciated, to be honest. He followed Armitage around too much.

"Mitaka texted me, about that?"

Armitage clicked his tongue. "Of course not. You always intimidate him."

"He asked you out." Ben frowned, tightening his grip around Armitage briefly.

"He did that once, less than a month into being acquaintances and he didn’t know I was dating anyone. That was three years ago. Get over it."

Ben grumbled anyway, knowing he was being petulant. "He still looks at you."

"If we’re talking about looks, you have plenty of your own admirers."

He scoffed. This wasn’t the first time Armitage had claimed other people were interested in him, both past and present, but he had a hard time believing it. And either way, it wasn’t the same as the flies always hovering around Armitage.

"You have fan clubs. One of them regularly talks about wanting you to step on them."

"Ah yes, they’re good workers."

Ben’s whole body jerked in surprise, tugging Armitage with him. "You interact with those weirdos?!"

Armitage shrugged, forcing Ben’s tensed body to relax as he shifted himself back into a comfortable position. "I don’t see why not to take advantage of people eager to please me. It’s not as though they’re unwilling."

His nose scrunched, "they’re all creepy weirdos."

The memory of a guy who Ben swore must not have showered in a month wearing a surely handmade ‘Armitage Hux Fan Club’ shirt resurfaced. Ben had been sure to send his most intimidating glare like a dagger straight into his fucking face when he noticed the man had been waiting outside Armitage’s class, clearly preparing to practically stalk him once it let out. Armitage had forbidden Ben from confrontation – if he could help it – after being a strike away from a ‘stern’ letter being sent to his parents, so a glare had had to do for the little creep.

Ben clenched his teeth, frowning but resigned. He didn’t like to legitimately upset Armitage; those times the man used a deceptively softer voice and there would be a pained anger in his eyes that hurt to have pierce his own. Still…

"If they touch you with their gross, obsessed, stalker hands, I’ll kill them."

"Good god, drama queen, don’t seethe. If anyone touches me, I’ll do something about it. You shouldn’t needlessly add more black marks to your name."

The side-eye Armitage gave him had Ben deflating into a mere pout. Snuggling him closer, even curling his legs around the man, he muttered, "I hate people."

"I know," Armitage smirked; the little curl of his pink lips Ben couldn’t help but press a kiss to. Armitage pushed him back lightly. "Now," he swiped down to the next message notification, "let’s see… Matt wants advice on a birthday gift for Techie. I’ll give you a list later and you can chose from there."

He huffed a chuckle. "Thanks, dear," he teased, relaxing his hold a little again.

The ‘shut up’ was evident without Armitage needing to say it.

"Next… Hmm. Your father and Luke will be in town soon and want to meet up. Also to check on your bike."

"Ugggh. She’s my bike," Ben wrinkled his nose, irked at thought of others putting their hands on his Silencer. "Why does my dad have to mess with her every single time he sees her? It’s like I can’t build my own things and have them be good enough to meet ‘Han Standards.’"

"It was the first thing you ever built without him around, he’ll probably never feel it’s perfect for you."

"‘Around,’" Ben scoffed. "You make it sound like he cares."

Armitage sighed, his voice going a little soft, "he does, Ben. Even if he’s a shit father, at least he cares."

Ben heard the bitter edge to Armitage’s words and hushed up his grousing about Han. Brendol was a sore spot for both of them, and Ben never liked making Armitage relive the pain of mere thoughts of the older man if he could help it. Ben’s relationship with his dad always tended to bring that about, though it had gotten better over the years, for his relationship with Han and Armitage’s feelings. The distance since they’d left for university probably had a little to do with that.

"Ah," the man declared suddenly, bringing Ben back.

"What?" Ben peered at the phone with renewed interest.

"I see the reason for the strangely excessive amount of notifications. It seems Kris is having a moment. Looks like she and Aiden are.. back together? I didn’t know they’d broken up again?"

Ben pushed out a weary sigh, the screen packed with message bubbles staring back at him. Practically melting onto Armitage in a boneless heap, he said, "yeah, it was about two months ago."

"What number is that now? Ten?"

"Twelve."

Armitage shook his head, scrolling through the stream of fat texts as numerous as usual in these circumstances.

"She should just say yes already. Or find some better solution than this."

Ben agreed. Aiden had asked her to marry him so many times now, and considering no matter whether they were on or off the pair of them didn’t think about anything but the other, it was getting ridiculous. Early on, Kris had tried to date a couple people in the interim of their break ups, but the relationships – if they could really even be called that – were always short and uneventful beyond her still moping behind a smile.

"Well, Kris isn’t exactly the marrying kind," he remarked. And that was true, but really. Really. Twelve times was stupid. There had to be a better compromise.

"There’s a message from Aiden as well; same general content but less ranting."

"Ugh." Ben dropped his head onto Armitage’s shoulder and rubbed his forehead there in exhausted defeat.

"Yes yes, you poor baby."

"Why must you patronize me?"

Armitage just hummed, ignoring him while doing a last check of the messaging app before then returning to the home screen, which was a picture of he and Armitage together. Ben loved it; Armitage looked adorable wrapped in his arms, wearing one of Ben’s sweaters, his hair loose, and a genuine smile that few alive had ever witnessed. More than once Armitage had tried to get him to choose something else, or stole Ben’s phone and did it himself, but Ben would change it right back.

The bzzzbzzzbzzz of Armitage’s phone vibrated on the nightstand, trembling the haphazard items on the dark surface.

"That’s your half hour warning. Just put on clothes and go. You’ll be filthy but present."

Ben held Armitage close and reclined fully against the headboard, groaning at the ceiling.

"Don’t wanna."

Armitage brushed his fingers along Ben’s bare arm. "If you go, I’ll go with you."

He snapped his head down, nearly colliding with Armitage’s in the process. "Seriously?"

Ben stared as the man’s tempting pink lips curled into a smirk. "Yes," he pressed a slightly awkward angled kiss to Ben’s parted ones, brushing his tongue across the bottom lip then nipping him lightly. "If you’re a good boy."

It felt like a switch flipped and in an instant Ben shifted to deepen the kiss, grinning with a mild sense of victory when Armitage turned in his arms.

"I’ll be a good boy," he slid a hand under the t-shirt Armitage wore, tracing up the tempting dip of his spine, "the best boy."

"We’re not fucking," Armitage said firmly, though he still straddled Ben’s bare thighs.

"Mhm."

"We’re going to get dressed."

Ben rolled his hips up, just enjoying the feeling. "Definitely."

"You promise?"

Those lovely slender fingers tangled in his hair.

Ben smirked, the triumph tasting greater. He pressed into the hold and bit Armitage’s lip with an eager groan, his hands stroking the warm skin beneath his borrowed shirt as he rocked them together again.

"Cross my heart."