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It was mostly boredom which brought him down the store’s toy aisle that day. And maybe, just maybe, a bit of nostalgia, a young man’s desire to still be a boy. For a time before screamed words and tears and misunderstandings. Before the accident; before the scar shooting up the side of the right face like a crack in the pavement.
Before then he was certain, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that his family loved him. Now he was still expected to believe it even when the words never left their mouths, even when their gazes said otherwise.
But they were trying and, Ben supposed, that had to mean something.
After all, he was there running errands for his mother, who had insisted he visit that evening. In his fear of being late he’d left too early, and now had a basket full of things she’d asked for and time to kill.
As he wandered past a section labeled Pretend Play and stopped to admire a foam sword, he heard the voices of two boys at the end of the aisle. They couldn’t have been more than thirteen. They stood by a small tower of stuffed animals.
One boy held up a stuffed cat, dark gray fur with yellow eyes, laughter in his voice as he said to his friend, “Look at this one! The face is all wonky!”
“It’s so ugly. I should get it for my dumb sister!” his friend answered.
“Not like anyone else will want it!” The first boy said. The other began backing away into the next aisle, arms raised in a way that unmistakably meant toss it here!
The boys tossed the toy back and forth, oblivious to Ben watching as they laughed. Somewhere several aisles away, a mother’s voice called their names. They dropped the cat onto the nearest shelf, nowhere near where it went, and hurried off, talking loudly.
Ben would never be quite sure why he walked over and picked up the discarded thing. Sure enough, one eye was slightly lower than the other and the stitching on the mouth on that side was crooked, making its intended cheery smile look slightly sad.
The defect was on its right side, Ben realized, his hand lifting to hover over his face before dropping down to smooth the hand down its soft fur as though it were a real cat.
He glanced at the tag and when he saw the low price, his mind was made up before he knew it. He tossed it into the basket, his mind already formulating an excuse to tell the cashier, something about a present for the birthday of a daughter of a friend he didn’t have. By the time he reached the register he’d even invented the theme of the party and the imaginary giftee’s age. He was almost disappointed when the cashier scanned the stuffed animal methodically along with everything else, not a question asked.
When he returned to his apartment building that night, the awkward visit with his mother blessedly over, he’d nearly forgotten about the cat, still tucked away in a white plastic bag on the floor of the passenger seat. He grabbed the bag on instinct, trudged up the stairs to his door, let himself in, shed his shoes and coat and tossed his keys into a bowl before he finally looked inside and remembered his silly impulse buy.
What was I thinking? He said to himself as he held the soft thing between his hands. I should take it tomorrow and donate it somewhere or something. I should clean my place, while I’m at it, bring a whole box…
But he kept hearing the boys’ mocking voices. Wonky. Ugly. Not like anyone else will want it.
The cat wound up on Ben’s bedside table, sitting between his touch lamp and his alarm clock. When he plugged his phone in to charge and set it on the table for the night, its blue glow reflected off the toy’s eyes in a way that made its sewn-on smile seem just a bit brighter.
It was ridiculous, it was just a toy. Yet somehow Ben fell asleep feeling like he’d done something good for the first time in a long time.
*
It wasn’t a particularly romantic metaphor, but Hux coming into his life was like getting a new prescription of contacts. He thought he’d seen things just fine before, but with Hux suddenly the world was in sharper focus, its colors more vibrant, all its joys and failures more pronounced.
Nothing seemed more pronounced to Ben than the deep line across his face when he looked at the mirror, pulling at the skin around it like it was trying to suck in the rest of him.
Hux said he didn’t mind the scar. He touched it and kissed it no differently than he touched and kissed the rest of Ben. When Ben told him how he got it, Hux didn’t even flinch.
Hux looked at him like he was some rare, amazing discovery. Like he was the one lucky to have Ben, and not the other way around.
The first time Ben brought Hux over – they usually went to Hux’s, but Ben’s was closer this time – he was too busy kissing every part of Hux’s face and neck he could to consider being self-conscious about his small apartment in an ugly building. It was only through sheer force of will that he managed to take his hands off Hux long enough to unlock the door, pull him inside, and lock it again.
They were too caught up in each other for Hux to notice or comment on a thing about the place. They kissed and grasped and laughed, shedding clothes as they made their way in awkward stumbles to Ben’s bedroom.
Ben hoisted Hux up in his arms, humming eagerly when Hux’s hands buried themselves into his hair and gave a little tug. He was ready to toss him onto the bed and forget about everything but Hux, Hux, Hux…
“What is that?”
Hux had gone still, his attention focused elsewhere. Ben pulled his lips away from Hux’s collarbone long enough to turn and follow Hux’s gaze to – his bedside table, where the stuffed cat sat proudly in the spot it had occupied since Ben bought it nearly a year ago.
(Its name was Nine – for nine lives – but no one but Ben ever needed to know that.)
“That’s, uh…” Ben sputtered, mind too foggy with lust to come up with a good answer. He could say it was a childhood toy, but it wasn’t old and worn enough, it only ever left that spot on the nights Ben decided he could at least pretend he wasn’t watching cooking shows by himself and brought it into the living room. Another thing no one else ever needed to know.
Hux slid out of his arms and crossed the room to pick up the toy. Ben started forward before stopping himself as Hux lifted it carefully. He felt half on fire with embarrassment and half icy cold with worry that Hux would damage it somehow.
As Hux examined it, Ben stood tall and braced himself for mockery. Because what else would his boyfriend, Hux, 24, responsible, say to him, 23 and only marginally less responsible, upon finding a stuffed animal placed lovingly right where he could see it before he went to bed each night?
Hux turned it over in his hands, examining the paws and tail and ears, feeling the soft fur, before his hand wandered to its face, first to the perfectly normal left side, then to the right.
He lingered there, fingers dancing over the imperfections. He stared at the cat, then looked up at Ben, then back down. His lips were twitching as though he was trying not to smile. As though he knew Ben would think he was being laughed at.
To his surprise, Hux walked over to him, still holding the stuffed animal. As he looked up to Ben again, his gaze swept across his scar before meeting his eyes. And when they met, Ben saw in Hux’s eyes a flicker of understanding.
It’s like you.
Hux finally let himself smile, then, and it wasn’t mocking or even teasing. He nodded once, turned, hands smoothing over the fur again as if he couldn’t help it. Ben couldn’t blame him, it was incredibly soft. He set the cat back in its spot and turned back to Ben.
“So,” he said. “Where were we?”
And that was the night Ben fell in love.