Chapter Text
Ben hates moving schools all the damn time, but they swear to him it’s the last time. He needs the continuity for his education, and he really doesn’t want ‘home’ tutoring. (They tried, once, and it was the most ridiculous thing ever. He had even less friends, then.)
But even though they’ve said he can stay here til he graduates… yeah. There’s a social structure already in place. He’s an outsider, and it shows. The bonds are already there, and he’s on the fringes of too many demographics to fit in: too athletic to be a nerd, too intellectual to be a jock. Too tall to blend in, too rich to be assimilated.
Whatever.
He’s only got to cope with this for a few years, then he can run. Maybe get a cheap RV, or… he doesn’t really know. He’s not going to follow either of his folks, maybe he’ll just… flip burgers or something.
Until then, he has to deal with the politics. He’s on the team, but he’ll never make Captain. He’s got lower scores than he’s capable of, because he fudges some of his work so he isn’t singled out as a teacher’s pet. He’s just trying his best to coast, and offer thin smiles at most of the kids, to show he’s not nasty (even if sometimes he really doesn’t feel like smiling).
There’s one kid, though, who he can’t smile at. Hux, which is a stupid name. Also tall, but never going to be a linebacker. He’s the kind to have precisely-drawn schedules and three redundant pencils he’d never share with you. Ben sometimes wonders if he’s on the spectrum, considering he doesn’t bother with social niceties, and he doesn’t keep his intelligence under wraps, either. He’ll correct anyone on any subject matter, and Ben still isn’t over the part where Hux told him not to bother with their group assignment, because he’d just lower their score, and sent him packing to do it himself.
Yeah. Okay. So it was a while back, but it still stung. The whole point of group activities was learning how to work with people, and Ben had learned there were some people you couldn’t work with. Which was a lesson, but an unpleasant one.
Not that there’d be anything wrong with him if he was on the spectrum, it just would make some of his tics make more sense. The lack of eye-contact, or too much of it. The oddly affected speech, the hyper focus on his work… Ben can’t diagnose people, but he knows enough to guess. Sadly, he doesn’t know enough to know how to talk to someone like that, if they don’t want to be spoken to. That’s a bit beyond his area of expertise, and plus - why bother if the kid hates him so much?
Anyway, Ben forgot his jacket because he’d been distracted by the gnawing hunger in his belly, and now he’s gonna be even later getting home because he’s had to turn back to the last classroom to grab it. He bangs the door wide, and hears a sudden sharp intake of breath, swallowing a… sob?
“…uh. Hello?”
A tiny sniffle, and silence.
Whoever it is doesn’t want anyone seeing them upset, obviously. Ben bites his lip, wondering if the best thing to do is leave them and not embarrass them, or… fuck it. Being a teenager fucking sucks. This other kid knows it, too, and how many times had Ben hoped someone would see how shitty he felt, and offer to help? Too many damn times. What if the kid - what if it’s too much and if he doesn’t help…
“I’m gonna come back there,” he calls, figuring they’re in the supplies closet. “Don’t worry. I’m only going to–”
A scrape, and he realises something’s been pushed to block the door. Ben smiles to himself: the closet opens outwards, but the message is still clear. He’ll respect their privacy, but he isn’t going to give up now.
“I don’t know who you are, okay? So… I guess if you really want leaving alone, I’ll go, but not until I try to help. I know it kinda sucks right now. There’s exams and quizzes and shit. Maybe home stuff, I dunno. But you should talk to people. Even if it’s the counsellor, or your doctor, or a helpline…”
More silence.
“…if you… if you don’t tell people you need help, they might not know, and then you won’t get it.”
“Like anyone cares,” comes the sharp reply from a familiar (and surprising) voice.
“Hux?”
“Yeah. Laugh it up, Solo. I’m just… tired.”
Tired, and crying in a closet. Ben’s never seen him get shoved around, more like registered the snickering into hands about him. He’s not popular, but he’s not - to Ben’s knowledge - much of a victim.
“I’m not laughing. My dad sent me to a shrink, you know. So I’m really not laughing. Look, you don’t like me, I get it, but you need to try to like you. And I’m not saying it in–”
The door opens, and he sees the state Hux is in. Red, puffy eyes. Streaked cheeks. Sniffling nose. He’s really been sobbing, hasn’t he?
“Just pretend you never saw me.”
Ben shakes his head. “No. Look. I know we don’t… I know you don’t think I’m smart enough to talk to you, but promise me you’ll reach out to someone? I mean… even if you wanna just grab a coffee some time…”
Hux’s arms fold around himself, his bag flopping from shoulder to the crook of his arm. “It wasn’t that I thought you were stupid. I know you’re smarter than you let people think.”
“…then why did you tell me not to–”
“I don’t… people well. The whole… thing. It’s easier if I just don’t even try.”
Ben remembers feeling that way, all too well. It’s a fight to make eye-contact, to smile, to realise people are either lost in their own worlds, or don’t care enough to smile back. To drag yourself up, over and over, and reach out even though you’re afraid you’ll fall over.
“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one. In case you haven’t noticed, most kids are struggling with that.”
“Oh please,” Hux snorts, derisively. “Cry me a river.”
“I’m serious. Even the popular kids… but hey. If you wanna talk about other stuff, we can.”
Hux’s sleeve has slipped over one hand, but not the other. He’s worrying it with his fingers, nervously. “Right. Because I’m a font of all conversation and small talk.”
“You could start by telling me about your college ideas. I bet you have some, don’t you? Maybe even a career plan?”
“Don’t make fun of me!”
“I’m not!” Hands up, defensively. “Come on. Grab a coffee with me. Give me an hour to make you feel better. If you never want to look me in the eye again after that, cool.”
“Right. Because… you clearly want to spend time with me. This is a pity thing, or a mocking thing.”
“Uh… even if it is pity, so what? That means I feel sorry for you. Why don’t you give it a shot? If you still find you can’t people with me, what did you lose? An hour, and the cost of a coffee.”
“You mean you’re not even buying?”
Ben is about to say something, when he sees the tiniest of smiles in the corner of Hux’s lips. He’s trying to joke. “Okay, it’s my idea, I’ll spring for it. And a muffin.”
“No need to come across that fast.”
“What can I say, I like to make a good impression. And if you’re eating a muffin, you’ll take longer, and run away less fast.”
Hux rubs the heel of his hand into his eyes, and straightens up. “Make mine a latte. Decaf. No caffeine after lunch. Not if I ever want to sleep again.”
“Roger that,” Ben says. “I know a great place. C’mon. You can tell me all the things no one talks about, the stuff that happened years ago. You know, the noodle incidents.”
“I suppose… that could be fun,” Hux concedes. “Only if you tell me things, too.”
“Like?”
“Like where you came from, how are you keeping up with the curriculum if you move so much, and why do you want the world to think you’re stupid?”
Ah, so, nothing easy. “I’m gonna need a big mug.”
“Me too.”
But he’s sort of smiling now, so that’s a success. Yeah. Ben leads him out, and wonders why he didn’t see the signs sooner. Hux isn’t mean, he’s afraid. Fear does dumb things to people. (He should know that, too.)