Archive of Our Own

Opening

His father had died.

He should have felt at least sad at the news, but the truth was that he had absolutely no feelings at all. He had long stopped worrying about his emotions, about the scarcity of them, but that day everything just seemed worse.

Armitage looked at himself in the mirror, watched the reflection that the glass surface sent back to him, and sighed realizing how broken he looked. The dark circles under his eyes were blacker than usual. His usually aquamarine eyes appeared to have suddenly turned gray. Could that be the sorrow?

That mist-like haze that had descended on his face?

The news had been sent to him through the mail. Armitage had opened the letter, broken the wax seal on the parchment paper, and read it carefully. The words had jumbled together, making it difficult for him to read, but in the end it was all there: Brendol Hux had died, at his home in the suburb of Bibury, in the county of Gloucestershire. Making the difficult announcement was the house butler, Ben Organa Solo.

Armitage had reread the letter over and over again, but had dwelt mainly on the man's request. Ben's. "I hope to see you again soon."

Obviously Armitage would have to head to the house quickly, he would have to reacquaint himself with the stone cottage that had been owned by their family for centuries. He would have to check that everything was in order, get his father's affairs in order, take over the reins of the Hux surname.

An important surname that Armitage was proud of.

The idea of returning to the country, however, did not excite him. He had buried his childhood and most of his adolescence there, but now that he had been living in London for years, he found it difficult to leave aside all the comforts that London could provide. Returning to live there would have meant more than just setting foot in that stone cottage again. It would have meant setting aside all that he had become away from his father and his shadow.

It wasn't that he didn't love him, but Armitage Hux had wanted to make a name for himself for as long as he could remember, and finally, he had succeeded. He was a writer. Not a writer of children's fairy tales or silly romance novels, oh no.

He described the reality, the everydayness and the difficulty of the world into which they were forced, using delicate metaphors and a kind of connection to the war. The characters in his stories were soldiers, generals, officers and they fought for a distant justice, sure, but not elusive.

Now he would be forced to sit and write from what had always been his home, without the quotient of London around him, without the chaos in the streets, without the carriages running abruptly, without the police scrambling to nab some criminal. He would have no more inspiration. There would be no loud noises from which to take his cue to describe bombs. There wouldn't be a criminal to include in the next book as the hero's antagonist. There would only be silence, the chirping of silly birds, and a butler he hadn't seen since he turned fourteen.

No, the news of his father's death had probably left him completely unmoved, but the idea of moving back in there hadn't. It was slowly eating him up inside and Armitage, as he gazed at himself in the mirror and understood that soon he would have to say goodbye even to that mirror, to that little ritual he had created for himself and that he performed every day as soon as he woke up, realized that he didn't know why he felt that nagging anxiety.

Was it the sudden change in his routine?

Or was it the idea of reconnecting with that boy, that Ben?

Armitage moved away from the mirror, walked down the hallway that separated him from the living room, and sat down on top of the green leather armchair he loved so much. He should try to ship it to the new -or should he have said old?- house. He couldn't help himself.

He took his face in his hands as he let his mind go over his childhood and the day Ben had come into his life.

His parents worked for his father. Leia Organa and Han Solo. Armitage still remembered their names and faces. They had often greeted him and smiled as Armitage spent time in his father's study. He had often seen them welcomed into the house when Brendol needed to discuss something with them.

He had often spent time with their son Ben, but never had he anticipated that his parents would suddenly die leaving him an orphan like this.

He was little, he was way too little to be without his mom and dad. Armitage knew what it was like to lose one of his parents. He had lost his mom when he was about four years old.

Ben was only six, two years older than he had been.

Ben.

They had rescued him. They had taken him in.

They welcomed him into their home, educated him. His father had been a benefactor to him, and Armitage had grown up sharing his life with him.

He remembered Ben well, the little boy who looked at him with two huge puppy eyes, who cried at night, who could only fall asleep when he went to his room and played the violin for him.

Yes, the violin.

Armitage got up and walked down the hallway that separated him from his bedroom where he took a dusty case from the closet. Since when did he stop playing the violin? He often did, when he was nervous, but over the years it had happened less and less until the instrument had been relegated to that closet and Armitage had almost forgotten about it.

His memories of that time were vague and fuzzy. He remembered that Ben loved to hear the music of that Stradivarius and nothing else. He remembered the child sleeping in his bed, his body curled up under the warm blankets, his thumb between his lips.

He didn't remember Ben dancing to its notes. He didn't remember how the urge to learn to play that instrument had begun when he had realized how much those notes and that musicality could soothe Ben. He didn't remember at all how, as a child, his own world was built around the other child.

It was a hazy morning when he arrived in Bibury, when his carriage stopped in front of what would become his home. Or was it already, all along? Armitage wasn't really able to answer that question.

He sighed as he got out of the carriage, adjusting the smoky gray suit he was wearing, putting back the tie that had shifted slightly on the way. He looked towards the estate and noticed a decidedly tall boy standing in the doorway. His hair was black, slightly long, and not held in place by the pomade as his own was. Armitage cracked his lips slightly, finding it messy, but said nothing as the boy approached.

"Sir! Sir! Let me help you, we finally meet again!" his voice exclaimed and Armitage looked at him, barely widening his eyes. He had heard that voice before. That voice had been in his memories forever.

Ben Organa Solo.

That tall boy, so muscular, with those long legs, that black hair and that mature face was the child of his memories. 

Definitely, he was no longer a child.

Act I

Armitage was not used to being served and revered by anyone. Sure, all his life he had been from a good family, his father had always been wealthy, and this had laid the foundation for him to be surrounded by fine furniture, elegant fabrics, and legions of people working for his family.

This, however, was different. Seeing Ben, now so much older, far taller than he was, remain around him, almost trembling, as if he was always waiting for orders from him, made him feel uncomfortable. He often noticed how Ben looked at him, with that look that expressed an eager anticipation. An anticipation for what, Armitage did not yet understand.

Perhaps he was waiting for him to give him orders, to ask him to do this or that for him, but Armitage really had nothing for him to do. Ben, therefore, was taking the initiative all too often.

He was sitting on the porch, at the white walnut table set in front of the path that led to the river. Armitage could admire the flow of the water, could hear the sporadic chirping from the birds as they flew over the trees and hear a few squirrels playing in the branches. There he was, the typewriter placed in front of him waiting for the inspiration for a new book when Ben arrived.

Ben always dressed in a suit that Armitage was sure he hadn't picked out himself. His father must have picked it out for him, and Ben must not have been too focused on the latest fashions, nor had he gotten his white shirt properly altered. It was definitely tight. Not too tight that it compromised his movements or that it strained with every bend he made, but it was tight enough that it showed off every one of his muscles.

Ben must have been exercising, a lot. How else could he explain how his abs looked like marble even under that fabric meant to cover them. Armitage thought he could hear his father's voice each time his eyes rested on Ben, saying "indecent".

But if he was such, why hadn't his father altered his uniform?  Another question Armitage couldn't find an answer to.

He sighed as he noticed the tray in the boy's hands. Resting on it was a ceramic cup filled with tea, which from the scent of it,Armitage could be sure was rose tea. His favorite. In addition there was a teapot, decorated in the same way as the cup, with delicate red cherries on top of the white ceramic and a saucer with apricot scones.

Ben had taken care to set everything down on the table Armitage was sitting at, being especially careful not to clink the pottery as he set the cup, spoon, and teapot down in front of him.

The milk was missing.

Armitage never drank tea without milk, particularly that kind of tea. Some people might have found it far too sweet, already being rose flavored, but Armitage particularly liked it. Should he have pointed this out? That the milk was missing?

It didn't seem appropriate to him. Ben had already done far more than Armitage had asked of him. He noticed the boy remain in front of him, silent, the now empty tray in his hands, and looking right into his eyes. Ben was waiting again. But what?

Oh, right!

"Thank you so much Ben."

Ben bowed briefly, his eyes seeming to light up as Armitage wondered if that really was enough to make him smile so much. He watched the boy's back move away, admired his broad shoulders, wondering what they had been feeding him all those years to make him grow like that.

He still remembered when he had moved away from that house and Ben was a far too skinny little boy, growing up too fast and his body seemed unable to keep up with those changes.

He took the cup of tea in his hands and took a sip, but as he had already anticipated in his head, the taste was not what he expected. He stood up, making the chair underneath him creak as he shifted it backwards, his face a stiff mask as always. He wasn't good at expressing his emotions, all too often he had even been told he was scary.

He walked towards the kitchen, noticing Ben struggling with a pot on the stove from which a delicious smell was coming. When the boy noticed him, Armitage caught his anxiety as he turned and tried, with his gaze, to figure out what the problem was. "Sir I didn't hear you come in! What do you need! You can call me when you need something!"

Ben's voice was shaking, just as his body seemed to be shaking, and Armitage wondered why he felt so nervous in front of him. "I can get some milk myself, Ben, I have two hands too." he replied, lifting his shoulders, trying to express his calmness, but only succeeding in unnerving Ben even more.

He saw the boy's eyes widen as he walked to the ice box, removed the milk, took a ceramic milk jug from the cupboard and poured its contents into it. He even felt like he could read his lips as the boy whispered a "I can't believe I forgot the milk. Stupid, dummy, Ben!"

Armitage cringed, astonished at the other man's reaction. "Hey, it's not... nothing, you couldn't have known how I liked my tea." he quickly hurried to retort so that he could calm him down. He was not successful.

Ben didn't answer him as he walked stiffly and briskly to the porch, set the milk jug on the table and went back inside. Armitage had been watching him from the doorway, noting all of Ben's tiny ticks, like the slight scratching of his cheek or on the inside of his right hand whenever he seemed nervous.

Armitage would have liked to ask him to let go, that he didn't need all that reverence, that he just needed to see his Ben again, but he couldn't.

Ben was his servant.

Ben wasn't his friend.

Even when he was sitting on the couch, the newspaper in his hands and his eyes fixed on the chronicles of London, Ben was always at his service. It was as if the boy never rested, as if he was constantly at attention to be able to revere him in the best way possible. The first night he'd sat on the couch and picked up the newspaper, Ben had arrived after a few minutes with a tray and a glass of whiskey placed on it. He'd looked at him again with that expectant look and Armitage had chewed his lip, nervous.

He didn't like to drink, especially not at night. His father probably loved to end the day with a good glass of whiskey in his hands so he could swallow it and go to sleep without thinking about anything, but Armitage didn't like the taste of alcohol. He didn't like to feel his throat burn slightly because of it, just as he didn't like to feel his own head lighter because of the effect alcohol had on him and his brain.

No, Armitage didn't drink and he didn't like to drink and that made it very complicated to accept this drink before him.

On one hand he didn't want to hurt Ben who was just trying to do his job, on the other hand even if he accepted it he was sure he wouldn't be able to drink it.

"Thanks Ben, but unlike my father I prefer to drink hot tea in the evening too." he replied, letting his voice come out softer than usual. He wasn't good at expressing himself and he knew it well, so he was trying to make an effort to have the other boy not feel too accused by him.

Yes, sure, Ben had done wrong, but that didn't mean he should blame himself too much. It could happen to anyone to make a mistake, especially if all that time he had been used to doing this every night.

He noticed Ben stiffening and Armitage wanted to reach out and squeeze his arm, to let him know it was okay, but he forced himself to stay grounded. Squeezing his arm would be unprofessional, they weren't kids anymore and Armitage certainly shouldn't forget that.

"I'm sorry Sir, I should have asked first if you would like something to drink!"

Armitage sighed as he noticed Ben's voice getting shrill and weaker than usual. He was probably trying hard not to burst into tears, and Armitage wondered if Ben still used to cry most nights. He wondered if he had someone to comfort him when that happened.

"Don't worry Ben, do you feel like bringing me a cup of tea? Preferably white tea for the night." he tried to ask, to make up for it, to help the other feel appreciated for his services.

The smile with which he was rewarded did not disappoint him at all!

Ben just wasn't happy.

The whole situation was testing him. Armitage didn't seem to be happy with his work, all too often the other man got up on his own to retrieve something from the kitchen that Ben had forgotten to bring him. Even now, although it had been several days since Armitage had returned home, Ben was still making mistakes. Sure, he could finally remember the hot tea in the evening and to always bring him some milk to drink it with, but there were times when he would forget Armitage's favorite piece of cutlery, the knife he used to spread butter on his toast at breakfast.

He forgot how much the other hated certain foods, and too often he had seen his plate still full of certain vegetables or a cut of meat that was not to his liking. All of this made him feel inadequate. He had been working as a butler all his life, how was it possible that he was still making all those mistakes!

If Brendol was still alive, he wouldn't have let him get away with it, while Armitage was always smiling at him and trying to make him feel better. He shouldn't have. He should have been irritated by Ben's lack of manners, irritated that Ben kept forgetting what Armitage preferred.

He let out a soft grunt as he finished washing and drying the dishes, putting them right back in the cupboard, careful not to let them clash against each other. He sighed as he noticed the slightly flushed knuckles of his right hand. Yet another mistake he'd made that day, he'd punched the kitchen wall and was now feeling it. Fortunately Armitage hadn't noticed or Ben didn't know how he would be able to continue to look him in the face like nothing was wrong. He knew it wasn't something normal the act he'd done, but he'd always had trouble managing his emotions, especially when they were of strong anger against himself as they were at that moment.

He sighed again before walking towards his room. He stripped out of his uniform, remaining in his black boxers and lay in bed looking up at the ceiling. Armitage's homecoming was not what he had expected. Everything was different and he couldn't figure out how to approach the other man.

They weren't friends, if they ever had been.

Armitage was his Lord and Ben had no choice but to make him happy. Make him feel appreciated, served and revered as he was accustomed to. He was not to be distracted by admiring the color of the other man's hair in the sun.

Also because how stupid was it to look at him and compare it to the memories he had from when he was a child? He was just wasting precious time that he could have used to work a little more on the house, to make it even more welcoming to Armitage.

He huffed running a hand through his black hair.

"He's not my friend!" He forced himself to sleep after repeating that sentence to himself, as if doing so would help him get it through his head.

Act II

Young Armitage had heard the choked sobs coming from Ben's room and couldn't help but walk inside to find the boy curled up on the bed, his head in his arms, his body looking like it wanted to become a tiny ball, and his voice heartbreaking.

He hadn't said anything, hadn't approached, hadn't hugged Ben. Instead, he had stepped back and closed the door. He went to his room, retrieved his violin and retraced his steps backwards, and this time he entered Ben's room. He had entered, closed the door and then started to play.

His body straight as the spindle of a needle, his hand holding the bow that moved in rhythm on the violin making a slow melody resonate throughout the room: Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9.

It was a complicated melody, but Ben, a few days earlier, had expressed an appreciation for it. Armitage had been playing it in the living room with his teacher, and Ben, who had brought them a drink (it was his way of thanking them for their hospitality after all), had chirped an "oh, that's the most exciting one I've heard you play in days," and Armitage felt himself light up.

He'd been perfecting that tune with every second he'd had, to the point of slightly cutting his fingertips.

His hands ached from the amount he'd used them, but in that moment for Armitage there was nothing but his violin and the way its notes caressed Ben's body in a way he wasn't able to.

He had never really hugged anyone. From what he remembered, even when he was very young, he hadn't had those affectionate exchanges with his father, so at a time like this he felt inadequate. He didn't know how to comfort Ben, not like anyone else would have done, so he had decided to do what he did best. Play.

He had played, he had heard Ben's sobs subside, he had smiled as he watched the child's face untangle itself from his own arms and slowly lift his eyes to his own.

They were two huge eyes, and Armitage thought they were indeed puppy-like. They were liquid now, full of tears not yet shed, and for a single moment Armitage remembered his mother and her words.

"Music is a secret passageway, use it to fly away from here." he repeated to him in a low voice, Ben's eyes widening at hearing it and nodding, rubbing his face, sitting up, bringing his attention to him.

The music would be over soon, Armitage felt his fingertips aching where he had hurt them in those days during rehearsals, but he didn't stop, he didn't stumble, he kept playing, his eyes on Ben, not wanting to miss any of his reactions.

The reason why he was so attentive to Ben was still unknown to him, but it didn't matter. He saw Ben stand up and stumble toward him. Armitage tried not to let himself go into a comment about how unseemly it was that Ben's feet were bare and he hadn't covered them up before he started twirling around him because the way the boy's body moved had him almost hypnotized.

He never wanted to stop, but all good things came to an end and Armitage found himself lowering his hands that held the violin and bow while Ben, as if he had been a puppet tied to wires, stopped. The music had stopped and the strings holding him had snapped.

Ben was dancing to that tune again, but Armitage wasn't watching him this time. Armitage was locked in his bedroom and playing to calm himself. 

Ben had practiced all those years alone. Sure, he didn't have Armitage's melody around him as he danced, but he could put on some music and let his memories do the rest. He had learned to dance, he could even improvise a waltz with someone if they asked him to. Of course, Armitage's father, Brendol Hux, knew nothing about it. If he had known that Ben put more effort into learning to dance than cleaning the house, he would not have been happy.

He didn't know why he felt the need either. It wasn't something he planned, it wasn't even something he needed in his life. What did he need to know about how to slow dance? Especially on his own? Absolutely nothing.

He didn't have a lady to twirl, not that girls particularly interested him, and he didn't even have Armitage to show his progress to.

Yet, as if he had always known that sooner or later Armitage would return to that house, he had learned to dance and now he was doing it and it didn't matter that the other boy couldn't observe him. Ben felt somehow united with him. He felt like he was transported back in the time when Armitage was taking care of him, that crying little boy who just wanted to go home, but didn't have a home anymore.

Ben wished that Armitage would notice his progress. That he would compliment him on his work, but each time he only ended up feeling worthless. Why did Armitage insist on doing things himself? Why wasn't he asking him for them? It was his job after all! To serve his lord and that lord was Armitage Hux!

Ben grunted as he let the music envelop him again, ending those constant thoughts that would get him nowhere.

This situation was stressful. Finding himself in the house where he had grown up made Armitage anxious. His breath caught in his throat more times than he would have liked. Ben was making him uncomfortable, and his work as a writer was becoming more and more complicated to follow from there.

He needed to play.

He'd often been asked why he didn't just pursue a career in music, and Armitage had found himself all too often not knowing how to answer. The simplest answer would have been "my father didn't want this for me," but he knew it would identify him as weak in the eyes of others.

Usually he would just smile and not respond.

Now, however, in that bedroom everything was becoming more difficult.

Who knows, maybe he could have tried a career change at some point.

-Do you really want to play for a living, son? I mean, you're good, I gladly paid for the lessons you've always diligently followed, but you know I did it because the violin is, always, a great way to let others know how patient and assertive you are. Learning to play it is difficult, that's what I wanted to teach you. The difficulty. However, choosing a career in music is.... weak. Are you a coward son? Are you unable to stand up to me?

The bow trembled between his fingers, bent slightly downward, and let out a shrill note. Armitage stifled an irritated cry.

Armitage hurriedly put the instrument back in its case.

He closed it, ran his fingers over the black leather that would always protect the instrument and sighed, shaking his head. He had to stop losing himself in unrealistic scenarios.

On the other side of the door Ben sighed and stopped dancing. The music had been interrupted and its strings, once again, had been broken.

Ben, no longer a child, put his hand on the door that overlooked Armitage's room and sighed, letting his forehead touch the cold wood of the door. That dividing wall.

"What happened to you..." he had whispered to a completely oblivious Armitage.

Not that Ben had really expected an answer.

Ben had missed Armitage. He had missed his melodies, the sound of that violin filling his ears, allowing him to breathe again, to "get away from there" and back to his mother.

Ben had missed Armitage after he’d had walked away from that house to grow up and become a man far away from there. He had hoped, at every party, that Armitage would walk through the front door and see Ben there, ready to show how much he had grown, how good he had become as a butler.

It had never happened.

Armitage had never even responded to his many letters. Not that it had stopped Ben from writing him more, but it hurt to have to rely on Brendol to tell him how Armitage was doing. The man wasn't particularly good at chatting with others, and Ben always felt anxious when he had to discuss anything with him other than work. He still remembered when he had asked him if he could start getting paid for his work, so he could afford to buy something for himself from time to time. Ben remembered how uncomfortable he had felt because it was already so much to be able to live there, eat the same food he cooked for the man, and have nothing to worry about.

That was one of the things he would have to deal with Armitage. He hadn't told him his monthly compensation for his work and Armitage hadn't asked. Perhaps he expected him to work for free because he received room and board?

Ben didn't know--he still found it particularly tricky to talk to him about it.

He shook his head, recomposed himself, adjusted the collar of the shirt he was wearing, and hurried back to the kitchen. He had tasks to complete and a dinner to bring to the table.

And as Ben returned to what was his job, Armitage sat on the bed, the fingers of his hands still trembling.

He was tired, it was probably just that, though he knew deep down that it couldn't be simple fatigue. It often happened to him, when he thought back to his father, the trembling. 

The man had always been very strict, but Armitage was grateful for that. If he had grown up and become the man he was, he owed it all to him.

He didn't remember much about his childhood, but he did remember that Ben, when he had left him in that house, in his father's care, was still a puny child with two huge eyes.

But  now, he was a man. He lay on the bed as he let his gaze go to the ceiling wondering why Ben was so important to him. Why was it making him nervous to see Ben around him as he busied himself with his work? Armitage should have been calm, he should have felt safe in that house and he should have found it all normal. He had always been surrounded by people who cared for him since he was little, especially since his father didn't have time for him.

So why, now, all of a sudden, did it seem so hard to even accept that there was a servant around him at all hours of the day and night? Maybe because that boy was Ben? Maybe because Ben wasn't just anyone, but the one who had been his first and only friend in his entire life? He remembered spending a lot of time with him both before and after Ben's parents died. He remembered how happy he had felt to be considered important by the other, how he appreciated knowing that Ben loved to hear him play the violin.

He was beginning to remember so many little things that, for all those years, he had put aside.

All the letters Ben had always sent him asking how he was doing and which he had never answered, not even once. Yet, the boy had not brought it up to him when they had reunited, nor had he made him feel guilty about it.

Perhaps Ben had asked his father how he was doing when he didn't have the courage to answer his letters himself. Or maybe he'd simply accepted that Armitage was an asshole who didn't give a shit about him. Armitage didn't know and didn't really have the courage to ask him.

He didn't even know how much time had passed when Ben called him downstairs because dinner was ready and finally on the table. Armitage got up with a slight grunt and hurried to join him, sighing because, for the umpteenth time, the table was only set for one, and Ben was standing next to the chair where Armitage was supposed to sit. 

"Are you going to eat at the table with me sometime?" he couldn't stop himself from asking.

Ben didn't answer, but Armitage noticed the boy's body stiffening even more as a hand casually went to scratch his neck. Armitage sighed: Ben was always a lump of nerves he couldn't calm down.

Act III

He didn't think he would ever get this assignment. Armitage, the one who would get up himself to retrieve the milk if it was missing from the table, had put something very unique in his hands. He had asked him to care for the office that had been his father's.

Until now, that office had remained locked. Armitage hadn't set foot in it for about a month and a half, but that morning, while Ben was doing some chores around the house, specifically in the master bathroom upstairs, he had seen Armitage standing in the middle of the office looking around with a strange, almost anxious look on his face.

Ben had probably made too much noise in shifting because Armitage had immediately turned to him and looked at him as if, only then, he had realized where he was and what year it was.

 "I would like for you to set up the office. I'd like to start working here, soon it will be too cold to write outside on the porch and it doesn't seem ideal to use the dining room. I can't take care of this..."

He hadn't given a real explanation as to why he couldn't just fix it himself, like he did with everything else, but Ben had appreciated it. He'd smiled at him as he'd replied that he'd obviously take care of it and then watched him leave the office, heading probably downstairs to the couch where he'd be reading the newspaper for several hours.

Ben was then alone in Brendol Hux's office and the first thing he started doing was picking up all the papers that had slipped (or had been thrown by Brendol himself) onto the floor. He had started picking them up without caring what they were and placed them on the desk. Once the floor was cleared he set about sweeping, cleaning the dark mahogany and then waxing it to make it shiny again. When Brendol Hux was still alive, Ben wasn't allowed to set foot in that room. He couldn't clean it and Brendol would either do it himself or, if he had to, have another girl come in. Brendol didn’t want any servant other than Ben, but he wouldn’t admit the boy in his office.

Ben had never understood why, but he had never asked for any explanations either, too afraid of the man's possible reaction to do so. Now that he could spend some time in there, he wondered if Brendol had been worried that Ben might steal something from him. Still, it didn't seem like the most reasonable motivation to him. After all, Ben could move anywhere in the house and there were expensive items everywhere that he could easily resell, so why set out to steal right in the study?

It would have been stupid and too risky.

Brendol Hux was not a reasonable man, however, so Ben had always preferred to play it cool and simply accept every oddity his lord threw at him during his work days. After all, Ben had everything to lose and should never forget who he worked for.

Now that Armitage had replaced his father, everything was different, but at the same time things had become no more peaceful for him.

Things were still difficult, and Ben wondered if he wasn't the problem. Maybe he was too stupid to even be a butler, despite the fact that he had literally been raised to be one. Maybe there was some missing connection in his brain. So many maybes that they had never really found an answer.

Ben had been homeschooled using the same teachers that had been Armitage's, but he wasn't even vaguely as smart as the other. Didactically speaking he had always been a mess and he was grateful to Brendol for taking him to work in his home so he didn't have any problems. Looking for a job could be difficult and complicated for someone like him.

He sighed as he admired the floor shining again, thanks to his care. He quickly went to sort out everything around the desk, starting with the couch that needed brushing and ending with the small bar cabinet in the corner that Ben slid out the door. Armitage didn't drink; that piece of furniture would be useless in his study.

He then moved on to the large bookshelves that ran along the walls of the study and dusted them off, admiring the precious books stored inside, and only then did he return to look at the desk he had just covered with papers.

Several hours had already passed, maybe he should have prepared at least the lunch, but Armitage had been clear: this was his task.

If Armitage had wanted something special for lunch he would have asked him, right?

Ben found himself rocking slightly on the spot as he thought about what to do, but eventually he got back to work. Armitage had never given him a direct command like this, and now he couldn't help but feel almost trepidatious. He wanted to do it. He had to do it!

He sighed when he looked around the room after another couple of hours. It was completely refurbished and now all that was left were the papers he had accumulated on the desk. He walked over to them and began to sort them out. There were papers of all kinds, papers from the bank rather than what seemed to be Brendol Hux's work.

Ben was starting to get tired. His stomach was growling because he hadn't touched any food yet, and his tongue seemed to have become far too dry, as if he had had a leaf in his mouth. He was probably starting to get slightly dehydrated.

He tried to speed up the process and while he was piling up paper after paper wondering what Armitage would do with them, he noticed, in a couple of documents, the name of his parents: Han Solo and Leia Organa.

Of course, this did not surprise him because his parents had worked for Brendol Hux, or at least, his father had. Finding his mother's name had been strange. He picked up the paper trying to figure out what was written on it. He could obviously read, but some of those words were complicated, surely they were lawyer or banker terms. He sighed as he was about to rearrange it on the pile of papers he had already constructed when the word "blackmail" jumped out at him.

Blackmail?

Who were they blackmailing?

He didn't have time to read further when he heard Armitage's footsteps on the stairs. He immediately shuffled through  the pile for papers that seemed to be related to the one he had in his hand, sliding them into the garbage baghe would bring downstairs. He had to keep them with him, he had to have time to read them carefully and try to figure out what his parents had to do with a blackmail and he couldn't let Armitage take those papers away from him.

Lifting his gaze to the other when he entered the room, Ben Sighed, biting the inside of his cheek. "Sir, do you need anything?" he asked immediately, rising to his feet, immediately ready to serve him.

Armitage shook his head, his gaze going all over the room, an expression of astonishment appearing on his face. Ben felt pleased with that reaction; he was genuinely proud of the work he had done so far.

"First... woah, I didn't think that mess could be fixed in such a short time, you really surprised me, Ben. And second... I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight. You obviously didn't have time to make dinner, and from what I understand you didn't even have lunch. What do you think?" Armitage's voice was quiet, his tone was confident, and Ben found himself staring at him with his mouth slightly wide open. Was he really saying that?

Out?

A dinner out?

"Of course Sir, gladly Sir!" what the hell would he wear? He hurried to retrieve the garbage bag and carried it downstairs, not without first taking out the papers he wanted to keep for himself and with which he returned to his room, hiding them inside his desk drawer.

He would think about it later.

Armitage was waiting for Ben outside the house, standing by the carriage that would take them to the restaurant he had chosen for that evening. He was wearing one of his usual smoke gray suits. Elegant, without too many decorations and which fit him like a glove. When he saw Ben coming he couldn't help but be amazed.

He had expected clothes very similar to the uniform he wore every day, but Ben had surprised him with a sleek black suit, a white shirt peeping out with its collar underneath it. "You look great, I didn't know you owned a suit like that." He didn't want to remark on the fact that he thought Ben was a poor man, but that was still probably the wrong thing to say.

Ben remained slightly dazed as they both climbed into the carriage. "It's the dress I wore to your father's funeral."

At that answer Armitage fell quiet and silence fell over them as the coachman proceeded briskly to the restaurant.

He had chosen a quiet, not too fancy place and sat down at the table with Ben noticing how uncomfortable he looked. "I know you don't get out much..." he commented, coming across as abrupt even when he didn't mean to be. He noticed Ben's blush creeping up his cheeks and nose and sighed slightly. He let him look through the menu, but when the waiter arrived he ordered for both of them a cheese appetizer and a meat main course. 

"Oh..." he heard Ben comment in a half-hearted voice and brought his gaze back to him as the waiter presented them with an excellent bottle of wine and left with the food order. 

"I figured since you don't get out much you wouldn't be familiar with the choice of what to eat."

Ben looked at him strangely, but Armitage could see, deep in his eyes, a certain fury held back from coming to the surface.

"I assure you, I know very well how to order my own food!"

It was the first time Ben had slightly raised his voice to him and not addressed him in his usual polite and courteous tone. Armitage fell silent, and dinner, much to his chagrin, continued and ended in silence.

Ben was not quiet, he felt upset. His body trembled slightly and his chest felt like it would explode with anger..

Armitage. He was his friend. They had even shared a bed more than once at one time, and now he thought he couldn't order for himself? Who did he take him for?

He wanted to scream with all his energy and if given the chance he would probably even start beating his fists against the walls.

Instead, he remained silent eating his pie and drinking the wine Armitage had offered him. This outing, which had seemed like a pleasant thank you for the work he had done that day, had turned into an opportunity to remark, once again, how different they were now. Once best friends, they were now nothing more than a lord and his butler, nothing more and nothing less.

Armitage didn't even trust him to choose what he should eat. Ben felt like throwing up. The food, while delicious, was like hay between his lips.

The return trip was even quieter than the outward trip, and as soon as they returned to the mansion, Ben quickly apologized to Armitage and locked himself in his room.

He immediately threw himself on the bed after taking off the clothes he thought he would look good in and looked at the desk. Reluctantly, knowing that checking those papers at that moment was not the best choice, he decided to take them to bed with him and start reading them.

The muffled cries he sobbed into his pillow were so painful that he felt his chest burn from the effort.

He needed to talk to Hux about it. He had to ask him for an explanation, but at that moment the only thing he could do was clutch to himself and cry. Crying for his parents, crying for himself, crying for that stupid dinner that had only confirmed his doubts: Armitage considered him a poor idiot.

Armitage believed that he couldn't order something by himself, Armitage believed that he was such an idiot that he couldn't understand instructions, that's why every time Armitage preferred to do things by himself rather than asking him. Him! Who was his butler!

Ben screamed again, stifling them with his pillow before tightening his fingers around the sheets beneath him and wishing he could rip them off.

They had once been friends. Now they weren't even Lord and butler. They seemed more like two distant people, unable to truly understand each other.

Act IV

The night was chaotic and full of thoughts. Knowing he had found those documents had led him to be unable to sleep peacefully, his sleep always disturbed by a thousand and one thoughts. Did Armitage Hux know about his father? Was he aware of how his family had made their fortune? Or was he, too, in the dark?

Ben continued to wonder as he rolled back onto his mattress and stared at the ceiling of his room. The first light of dawn was beginning to drive away the darkness of the room, the glow carrying everything into a sort of penumbra. Ben knew that, very soon, he would have to get up to start taking care of the house, but something inside him was still screaming.

He wished he could break something. To be able to let out his anger with force because continuing to hold it inside his chest like that made him feel stuck, his throat seeming to turn to stone, his breath escaping in faint gasps.

His hands trembled as he donned the uniform. His entire body trembled as he reached the kitchen and began preparing breakfast for that morning. He knew that, with an excuse, he would have to get out of there and out of that house. He couldn't bear the thought of being forced to stay there an hour longer.

He had to get out, scream, shout to the world how painful it was to have discovered those documents. He had to run, smash something, make the knuckles on his own hand turn red until that feeling covered everything else.

His heart pounded painfully as he felt Armitage come downstairs and settle into the living room, the newspaper in one hand and his gaze occasionally falling right on Ben. Ben could sense it even though his back was turned to him.

Armitage was peering at him, probably because of the way they had parted the night before, and Ben felt the irresistible urge to turn around and start screaming. Scream and scream until his lungs had been emptied of all the air in his body. He didn't, of course. He stayed focused on the stove, on the sausage that was searing on the stove, on the eggs that were not to lose the goodness of a still half-liquid yolk, and on the toast that was taking on color thanks to the light coating of butter he had spread over it.

"Quite a morning today, isn't it, Ben?" he nearly lost his grip on the bottle of milk in his hand when Armitage's all-too-ringing voice filled that silence. Ben was forced to turn to the source of the voice and try to smile as befitted a good butler and replied, through clenched teeth. "Good thing because I've got to go to the village for groceries."

It was a lie, but Ben felt no guilt in uttering it. He needed it if he didn't want to hurl the same bottle in his hand against the wall behind Armitage's back. He needed it if he didn't want to scream so loud that he would scare him to death.

He saw Armitage open his mouth again, probably to ask him if he was still angry from the night before, but he turned away before the other could really speak and it was back to silence.

He smiled. His hands were still shaking as he set the breakfast on a tray, poured the freshly brewed coffee and carried it to the coffee table in the living room. He felt his lips tug into a fake smile that he turned on Armitage without making eye contact. His demeanor was completely different from the one he had, up to that point, assumed towards him. Maybe Armitage himself would notice or maybe not, Ben didn't care.

Once the tray was set up he returned to the kitchen to clean the dishes. His body was as taut as a violin string and perhaps there was something in his gaze that caused Armitage to remain silent. Ben was grateful for that.

Armitage had not yet finished his breakfast when Ben announced that he was leaving. He seemed on the verge of saying something, maybe even stopping him, but then the moment passed in a second, just as he had arrived and Ben found himself outside in the fresh air. He started to walk towards the village knowing it would take him at least forty minutes to get there that way, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered, just the fresh air tickling his body, just that cold air invading his lungs as he screamed and screamed and lunged at a tree found on the path and hit it hard, again and again.

His hands soon turned red, his knuckles were broken by the bark of that same tree that, poor it, had done him no wrong. Yet, Ben, blinded by grief and anger did not stop, he struck it again until he slid to the ground trembling, his eyes filled with tears.

Armitage's father, Mr. Hux, Brendol Hux killed his parents.

Armitage's father, Mr. Hux, Brendol Hux had been his father and his master after he had killed his real father.

He didn't know how long he stood there, leaning against that tree, about halfway between Hux's house and the village, but it served him well. His body was still trembling when he got to his feet, but his need to scream had subsided. He looked down at his bloody hands, knuckles completely cracked, and smiled maniacally. Just seeing himself like this made him feel better, as if some of his anger had finally been fed.

He walked home without thinking that he had nothing to show Armitage, nothing to explain why he had gone to the village. In the end he hadn't gone and he was ready to accept the consequences of his actions, even to have his pay for the day cut off, but Armitage amazed him.

The house was immaculate. The household chores he had not taken care of had been taken over by Armitage himself. Outside, stretched out in the sun, were the crisp white sheets for freshly done laundry. Inside there was a nice smell coming from the kitchen that could only mean that the other had even taken care of dinner itself.

Ben should have felt grateful because it meant he could relax, that he had nothing to catch up on, but he couldn't help but feel an indescribable motion of resentment towards the other.

"What...why?!" he asked without being able to compose a meaningful sentence when he found Armitage in the kitchen, poking at a roast to see whether or not it was cooked. Ben watched, almost shocked as Armitage turned to him with a chef's tongs in one hand and a sweet smile on his face. "I figured after last night this was the least I could do."

Ben felt the urge to scream again, that same urge he'd managed to swallow a few hours before was back in his stomach and making it boil.

"This is my job. Taking care of the house is my job." he replied feeling the familiar fire warm his face and chest, his throat burning from the effort of keeping that tone of voice as low as possible. It seemed to him that he had to lock his own voice inside a cage, his vocal cords vibrating with pain. Everything was absurd. He was a butler, but the man he was in charge of continued to be indifferent to his work. In fact, worse. He mocked him by doing the work for him, better than Ben ever could, as if to taunt him, to point out that, hey, you're really bad, I have to take care of everything myself.

Ben bit his lip as he closed his right hand into a fist, injuring his palm with his own fingernails in an effort to avoid destroying anything, such as the neatly stacked dry dishes he had on hand. He noticed Armitage's face darkened and then his eyes widened in amazement, and he wasn't ready when Armitage quickly walked up to him and took his hand.

He took it towards himself and looked at it critically, Ben trembling as he felt small again under his gaze, like when they were children and only wanted him to notice them. Not that much had changed since then. "It's nothing," he huffed, feeling an almost rancid taste on the inside of his mouth. Bile?

How long had it been since he'd eaten? Since the night before and even there he hadn't touched much food, too disappointed with how the evening was going to go to really enjoy that meal at the restaurant. He saw Armitage shake his head and sighed again.

"Come on, there should be something in the bathroom to fix your wound. It looks like you've been in a fight. Is there anything I should know?" Ben felt inadequate under that punctilious, watchful gaze, but he managed to shake his head. No, there was nothing he needed to know. Right?

"I can take care of it myself, I'm not a child," he replied, feeling his own voice use a particularly testy tone. He had to calm down or he might even risk his job.

Armitage let go of his hand with a look that seemed hurt and for a second Ben felt guilty. It wasn't his intention to hurt him, but he couldn't expect to keep playing that way with him either. Ben couldn't stand that.

He turned his back on him again and began to walk down the wide corridor that led to the bathroom where he would find the gauze to protect his wounds. He distinctly heard the sound of Armitage's feet following him, but he didn't comment. He had no right to tell the other one where he might or might not go in his house.

He sighed as he let the cold water run over his hand noticing, through the mirror just in front of him, the figure of Armitage still standing in the doorway. "I know I was wrong last night. I'm sorry about that, I apologize, Ben."

Ben opened his mouth to say something, but realized words were lacking. The other one, the one who was the Lord who owned that house and as a result and in a way owned him as well, was apologizing to him. He blushed strangely at his own thoughts and that emotion bubbling in his stomach, so different from the fire of anger he had felt moments before.

"You apologize." he finally managed to answer after several minutes of silence. An almost awkward silence that had permeated the entire room, broken only by the sound of that water that kept running down his hand, making his injured knuckles burn. He bit his lip, shaking his head, as if silently asking Armitage not to interrupt him, not to start talking too, because if he did that, Ben simply wouldn't be able to continue.

"You apologize to me and I'm grateful, but I can't accept it," Armitage's hurt expression hit him in the chest as if someone had just stabbed him in the back, but he didn't stop, he needed to talk and let go of how painful this could be towards the other. "All these years I have written you several and numerous letters that you have never answered. All these years I wondered how you had grown, how you were. All these years I read your books with pleasure because they were an open window on the life of the only friend I ever had." he closed the water while he dried his hand in a soft towel noticing Armitage's eyes shining with a feeling he could not recognize.

"I don't know why you never responded to me, I think it was because you were, simply, too busy and it's okay, I'm not mad about that." it wasn't what upset him. It wasn't what made him feel like he was on the edge of a cliff as he looked down into the darkness, the darkness, the terror of a confirmation that would come if only he asked for it. "You apologize to me because you were wrong. Could you apologize to me for the death of my parents? No. You can't because if you could do it you would have done it already!" now shaking again, the towel fell to the floor as Ben, in a rush he didn't recognize as his own, stretched out his fist-clenched hand against the same sink, slamming it down hard. He felt no pain, his feelings were able to swallow any other sensation.

Armitage looked at him confused, still in the doorway, unable to speak or move. Ben returned that gaze, his eyes filling with tears again as he remembered the documents he had read.

Killer.

Death.

No witnesses.

We should kill the son, too.

Ben hit again, this time the wall next to him, so hard he could distinctly hear the sound of his own bones against the tiles that covered the same wall. "Your father… your fortunes are stained in red. The blood runs fast through your hands, doesn't it! Is that why you're able to write about serial killers, thugs, blood and war and death in your books? It runs in the family!" Ben wasn't even sure if that voice he heard echoing around the room was his own.

Was he really yelling like that? At Armitage? But he couldn't stop himself as he moved closer and closer to him noticing how the other man's body appeared almost rigid there, leaning against the door, unable to even lift his gaze to him. "Ben... I... I don't know about what..."

Ben cut his breath in his throat as he went to slam his open hands on either side of his head, looking down at him, his body imprisoning Armitage's. "Shut up. You know damn well what I'm talking about. Your father had the... My parents because... Is that why you were so sorry as children? That you always comforted me at night when I cried?!"

From the look in Armitage's eyes he should have known to stop, but he couldn't, by now the dam had collapsed and everything was spilling out onto the other. "You killed them. It said you were going to kill me too. What stopped you? That I was small? The delicious idea that you could use me as your butler and servant for the rest of my life?"

He had screamed the last part almost choking on his voice, his throat starting to burn even harder, his chest tightened in a fiery vice, his breath barely coming in, and there, as Ben tried to catch his breath, Armitage used that opportunity to speak up. "I don't know what you're talking about Ben. I'm serious. Why the hell would my father plan a murder! We didn't kill your parents, Ben! How can you believe that? My dad's been good to you. He took you in, always treated you like a son, and working for us wasn't always your idea? Ever since you were a child? To pay us back?!"

Ben looked at him. He looked at the other man's face, slightly pale, looked at his red hair, looked at his moistened, wide eyes, far too wide. Why was his pupil so large? Was he telling the truth? Did he not know anything about this?

"I found the papers when I was fixing up your father's office, don't tease me. I know what I saw. I know what I read. You wanted to kill me too..." a sob escaped his lips as he let Armitage off the hook by moving away from him, even taking a few steps backwards, toward the hallway. "I found the papers." he repeated, as if to convince himself as well as Armitage. "And of course I wanted to work with you. I was a small child, I had just lost my parents, you had taken me into your home… of course I only ever thought about how to reciprocate your generosity and instead.. .instead..." why didn't Armitage believe him? Why did he simply not accept for truth the words he was pouring out on him? Why did he have that strange, doubt-filled expression on his face, as if he were considering the option that Ben had just lost his mind?

"I can show you the papers. Stop looking at me like I'm crazy!" he yelled again, slamming a fist against the wall beside him. He saw Armitage jerk, as if he was frightened that that treatment would be reserved for him as well and not only for the walls or objects of that house. Now he didn't just think of him as a liar, but as violent? Ben grunted forcefully before walking briskly to his room. It took him a while, but then he came to hear Armitage's quick footsteps trying to catch up with him. He led them both to his room, retrieved the papers and handed them to the other, looking at him seriously. "Here. Read."

And Armitage read. He read everything, word for word, his hands shaking on the paper of those documents and then his gaze lifting to his, his face so pale. "It... doesn't mean anything, they may not be true. It doesn't say why my father would even think of doing such an action. Your father...your father worked for him, Ben!" then Armitage's tone grew harsher, decidedly annoyed by the way Ben was treating him. "It also says that your parents were blackmailing him, but of course that part isn't important to the fairy tale you've created in your head, is it?!"

And Ben felt everything inside shatter. How could he, even in the face of that evidence, not believe him? How could he blame his parents? They surely had a reason why they were blackmailing his father!

He screamed. He screamed forcefully, lifted Armitage practically by the weight and moved him off his bed. "Get out. Get out. Now!" he heard the other leave, practically fleeing out of his room and then, as soon as he was sure Armitage had been far enough away, Ben turned to the console in front of the bed and began destroying everything by knocking over the lamp, the letter holder, whatever was on that cabinet. Not satisfied, he continued until he tore one of the many paintings on the wall with which the house was decorated, punching it until the canvas was destroyed. He watched with pleasure as the drawings became incomprehensible while he tore and destroyed that work of art, one of Armitage's favorites.

Delightful was the feeling in his hands at that moment. A destroyer.

Act V

Armitage had never seen Ben react like that. When he had come out of his room he had heard him screaming and smashing objects. His only thought was the fear that he might hurt himself.

He arrived in the kitchen and fixed dinner anyway. He had cooked a roast chicken with a glazed sauce, accompanied by rosemary potatoes and buttered spinach that he had picked himself from their garden. He still couldn't understand his father's mania for having only one servant in the entire house. That mansion was huge and Ben must have been really good at his job if he was able to keep it at that level of cleanliness while also taking care of him.

His father would have to pay him a lot more and Armitage decided that he would do it instead of the man. He would raise his salary that same day. He looked at the tray in his hands and went to carry it out of Ben's room, knocking lightly to alert him to his presence. "I've made dinner, and I'd appreciate it if you will eat dinner anyway, despite the anger you feel. It's not good for you to be fasting." he registered that his voice sounded more monotone and neutral than he had intended, but after all, he had never been able to show his feelings and emotions openly, so his anxiety for the other was relegated to the bottom of his stomach where it burned.

Even for himself he took his dinner to his room where he began to think and brood about what Ben had yelled at him, about those documents that the boy seemed to have found in his father's study and sighed. He put aside the tray with the dinner still intact and forced himself to leave the room, cross the long corridors that kept him away from his father's study and enter it. As soon as he stepped inside, a strange itching sensation went through his body, as if a thousand and more tiny needles had started to prick his skin under the clothes he was still wearing.

He sat down at his desk sighing. That office was still impregnated with the smell of his father, and it all led him to reminisce about memories that he had decided to bury within himself. The way his father had raised him, all the times he had punished him because it was necessary.

Corporal and humiliating punishments that had dug into Armitage, still a small child, the knowledge that his father did not love him and had never loved him. His birth had been dictated by the desire to continue his lineage, his bloodline that Brendol believed was important and that, for Armitage, was something fictitious and ethereal that made no sense and never had.

He opened the desk drawers, remembered how his father used to smoke cigars and drink far too much alcohol when he was there, and sighed. He remembered, looking at his hand that went to get the cigars from the first drawer, the burn he had received on the back of it one of the many countless times his father had called him there to discuss his unacceptable behavior with him.

He was only five years old and the unacceptable thing had been his soiling his pants while playing outside in the backyard. He had not played since that day. He bit his lip and sighed as he went to find more papers, something Ben had forgotten. Papers that might have been kept hidden.

He got up to go to the bookcase to look at the tomes it contained and noticed that there were some without any author. He took one in his hand and, after opening it, realized that it was some kind of diary of his father. He returned to his desk and began to read some pages. He went through them quickly trying to find what interested him and, finally, there they were, black on white, ink on page, the names of Ben's parents.

The two of them were blackmailing his father, but in those memoirs it didn't say why, it just read about how his father had contacted someone named Snoke to fix it.

Snoke .

He remembered that one of his father's friends, an elderly gentleman with multiple wrinkles and scars on his face, called himself that. He'd always been afraid of him and that face despite knowing full well that the poor man had been the victim of a horrific explosion and had miraculously survived. Yet every time he stepped foot in their home, Armitage could feel every hair on his body stand up at attention. Fear crawled through him as if by instinct.

Snoke was the key to figuring out if Ben was right, if those papers were telling the truth, if his father had really killed the poor boy's parents. He stood up from his desk again looking at the grandfather clock that had just gone off to announce that it was midnight. He shook his head, he was not sleepy, he had to get to the truth.

He began striding across the floor of that room trying to regroup his thoughts. Snoke. Snoke . The man was long dead so he couldn't go and ask him for the truth.

Snoke. Snoke . Was there anyone who was connected to him? Some other name? Anything at all? It was there that, almost suddenly, another face made its appearance among the memories. A disfigured face, though less so than the old man's, the face of what Armitage had always believed to be the man's son: Ren.

He was still supposed to be alive, but would he tell him the truth? No, surely not, which is why Armitage had to act accordingly, trying to beat his father and the others at their own game. He looked everywhere until he found his father's diary and there, among the various phone numbers he mustn't forget, was the one that was right for him. It didn't matter that it was almost one o'clock in the morning, he knew that if Ben was right that call would not be so unexpected for the receiver.

In fact, just after three rings, a warm, penetrating voice answered the phone. "I never thought I'd get another call from this number."

Armitage held his breath for a few seconds, sweat beading on his forehead in the light of the lamp he had lit. He had to keep his cool, if Ben was right this guy could be dangerous.

"I'm Armitage and I'm trying to take over my father's business. Along with his connections. I was wondering...if I needed to, would you be willing to do for me, what you did for my father?" he had to weigh his words, let him know he knew what he was talking about.

Ren laughed, and Armitage felt a pang in his heart. That laugh was scary. It was an visceral, intimate fear, just like when he laid eyes on Snoke's face.

"Oh, the little son, of course. You are the heir of the Hux, I had no doubt your father raised you well. Yes, I am willing, for the same modest amount I was asking your father. Tell me, child, is there anyone I need to take care of?" he asked and Armitage felt a chill run down his spine: there was no doubt about it, Ren was talking about murder.

"No, not at the moment, no. I just wanted to make sure I could trust you to get the job done as perfectly as it was done with the Solo’s..." that would give him confirmation and the whisper he heard on the other end of the phone pinned him in place. "Sure, but don't talk about old jobs on the phone anymore, baby, you never know who else might be listening." he didn't need to respond because, immediately after those words, he heard the clear sound of the phone line and, he too, hung up the handset.

Ben was right.

His father had killed Ben’s parents and who knows how many others.

"Sir?! Sir?!" Ben's voice rallied him from his thoughts and when he aimed his eyes at the boy he felt odd that he had to lower his gaze to find him. Ben was taller than he was, so why....

The realization that the boy was kneeling at his feet as he tried to shake him made him tremble slightly. A strange warmth crossed his face. He must have fallen asleep at his desk the night before. "Ben... I'm sorry. You were right." were the first words he spoke, and as he noticed those huge doe eyes widening even more, a slight smile painted itself on his face.

He paid no attention to his own thoughts, to the way he was addressing Ben in his mind. Those weren't important.

"S-sir...? What are you saying?" Armitage sensed, in Ben's tone of voice, a deep insecurity, and it frightened him. Had his father made that boy so insecure? What had he done to him? Had he punished Ben as he had punished him throughout his childhood?

"I got confirmation that my father killed your parents. His associates are a man named Snoke and his son Ren. I'm... sorry. I knew my father didn't shine for honesty, but I didn't think he would go as far as murder." he revealed. He could feel his voice trembling and barely sighed. Yes, that whole story was turning out to be even heavier than expected. He stood up from his chair as Ben also brought himself back to his feet and walked toward the exit. "Come, let's get some food and water to the office, we need to...investigate, Ben. We need to figure out why your parents were blackmailing him, what they found out. I want to know how deep the rot in my last name goes."

Armitage looked over to Ben, sitting on the floor among a thousand papers and open books, and thought that this kid had been through a lot in his life. A lot more than Armitage himself could imagine, and he felt sorry. For everything. "Ben, I never got your letters," he murmured in a low voice, breaking the silence.

It was late afternoon and, since that morning, they hadn't left the room except to go to the bathroom. They had remained silent, only talking when one of them found one more piece of evidence about the murder or the fact that Ben's parents were blackmailing him.

It took Ben a few seconds too long to focus his attention on Armitage, but when he did his gaze was strangled, as if he didn't understand. "But I sent them."

Armitage nodded, pinching his lip with his teeth. "I believe you. That's why I'm asking if you mailed them yourself or gave them to my father who would mail them along with the papers he sent out almost daily."

Ben remained silent for several minutes, but then the realization stiffened him on the spot. The same realization Armitage had come to as he wondered how he had never received any of the boy's letters, only the one about his father's death. Having received the latter meant that the address was correct and, therefore, there was only one explanation that could explain that mystery.

His father.

"I used to give them to your father because every day or so he went down to the village for his papers. He never let me send them for him..." Ben's voice was slightly shrill, the boy was definitely disappointed.

Armitage longed to hug him, but fought that insulting urge with all his might. A Hux never hugs. A Hux does not allow his emotions to take over.

Unfortunately, his father's words still rang strongly in his head.

Ben nodded as the hands holding the papers in front of him shook vigorously. "I see..." he said only before turning back to those papers with more vigor.

Armitage had to admit he was starting to get tired, having slept at his desk that night was taking its toll, but his attention was rekindled when he saw Ben, who had already removed his uniform jacket, begin to roll his shirt up his arms, reveling the soft skin beneath. Armitage found the boy's wrist terribly fascinating. That bone that pronounced slightly, the fact that he had huge hands and yet the attachment to his arm, that wrist, still seemed minute.

When his gaze went back to more exposed skin, he had to hold his breath slightly: Ben's arms were slightly muscular. Armitage had to go and undo his tie slightly because the shirt he wore with it had suddenly become too tight around his own neck. He felt his own skin, under his fingers, hot and knew that he had just blushed intensely. Unfortunately, perhaps because of his pale complexion, he tended to blush, turning red not only on his cheeks, but also on his nose, ears, and down his neck. He sighed, hoping Ben wouldn't notice.

Something inside him was stirring. There was definitely a reason why he kept having certain thoughts about Ben, but Armitage wasn't ready to deal with them yet.

Him, in love with a man? No way.

His father would never have allowed it. Yet Armitage was aware that never any girl made him feel what that pulse had ignited in him. A pulse, simply a flash of skin, but it had reset every cognitive faculty he had left. He was tired, exhausted at times, and now that pulse had caused him to feel his own throat tighten. He had to get out of there. He coughed to get Ben's attention and before he could betray himself he let his own, slightly hoarse voice speak for him. "I need to go to sleep, Ben, but we're going to get to the bottom of this, I promise."

He didn't wait for the boy's response as he walked briskly out of the room leaving him behind, his body shaking slightly, the crotch of his pants starting to feel uncomfortable as his brain tried to picture more exposed skin. After his arms his chest would be exposed. A chest definitely muscular, but not too much, with nipples...small or large? Maybe small? No, they were definitely big when they became turgid and with a large halo.

He brought a hand to his own hair, tugging at it slightly, barely grinding his teeth. Enough.

The cold water of the shower helped him settle his mind again, and once between the sheets, Armitage fell asleep, unable to stop thinking about Ben's red lips.

Act VI

The days went on and on, anxious to find information about what they had discovered, something that might make them understand why Brendol Hux had killed his parents and why they had blackmailed him.

Ben had been excused from his role as a butler, and both he and Armitage were either eating meals that didn't need to be cooked or going to the village. Ben felt mortified that he could no longer truly be of service to the other, but he understood that it was an essential issue. They really couldn't avoid it. He sighed as he looked over to Armitage, hunched over his father's desk, an irritated frown on his handsome face and his usually always tidy red hair slightly tousled, as if he'd run his fingers through it too often.

Ben realized that the other man's suit was also different than usual, less tidy. It showed several creases, especially on the arms, and he just shook his head. No, something was wrong with him. Something was strange. Armitage was usually composed, tidy, calm while now he seemed all the opposite. He was no longer a quiet statue as always, he was frantic in his searches and his movements were not controlled and orderly, but restless. Ben had noticed that he was eating less and this could also be seen on his face that was more hollow than usual. His cheekbones, already sharp, had become even more striking. The red hair that was his trademark made his face even paler and, in general, Ben wondered if he wasn't getting sick.

He'd tried to talk to him about it, but Armitage had dismissed those concerns with a simple wave of his hand, recommending that he get back to work because they couldn't waste any time. Sometimes Ben wondered if it wouldn't have been more appropriate to simply put that discovery aside. There was nothing more that could be done for his parents, they had been lying buried in the cold earth for far too long now and Brendol Hux was dead, so no one else could perish at his hands. Armitage, however, was of the opposite opinion. He wanted to expose the rot in his family and rid himself of the dark weight that that surname carried and which had, by now, become too heavy for him to bear.

Ben understood that, too, but he was still concerned. His angry outbursts had subsided in noticing how much Armitage was doing for him, and the feeling that the other had abandoned him was now a distant memory. He was angry with himself for never asking himself that particular question. Why does he never answer my letters?

Perhaps if he had, he would have realized that those letters had never reached the recipient. The real question was: why? Why did his father want them apart? Why did he want them apart? What had he seen in their friendship that needed to be ripped up like a weed?

His head was filled with a thousand more questions and tiredness was felt in every fiber of his body as they tore through the man's office rummaging through every nook and cranny, discovering his every secret.

"Maybe...maybe I'm on to something!" the strained and broken voice of Armitage at several points woke him up. Ben found himself lying on the office couch, probably having fallen asleep without realizing it, and a warm blanket was draped over his chest to warm him. Had it been Armitage?

It had to have been him, there was no one else in that house. A strange smile painted itself on his face as he brought his gaze to him. As soon as he noticed his face, the smile vanished, replaced by concern. "What have you found!" he hastened to ask as he got up and joined him.

The document that lay in Armitage's hands could not be true. Brendol Hux was a murderer, a thug, but...a slave trader? How far had his darkness gone? How far had his actions taken root? He wasn't a man, he was a demon. No human being would ever really want to see others under slavery.

Or was that not the case?

Ben realized how often wars had occurred in humanity and how often men of power, just like Brendol Hux, had made themselves strong over others and used them. He bit his lip as he looked at Armitage's hand clenched in a fist. He was gripping it too tightly because the knuckles had turned white and Ben found himself wanting to rest his own hand on it in an awkward gesture of comfort.

Armitage's hand was cold beneath his own and he saw the other looking at him confused.

"It's not your fault," Ben said only, as if he could somehow read Armitage's mind. And it was true, it wasn't his fault that he had never noticed what was going on in his house. His lips were still smeared with milk when he'd left home at seventeen, so he couldn't really imagine what was lurking in his father's soul. Just as Ben had never understood it either, who was now torn between the benign figure of that man, who had done so much for him anyway, and the hard, blind reality, the fact that he was a monster.

"And it's not your parents' fault," Armitage answered him, and that confused him. How had he anticipated his own thoughts? The realization that his parents had preferred to blackmail the man rather than take all the evidence they had to the police.

He watched as Armitage stood up from his desk and felt cold under his hand, even more so than when Armitage's was against his. He sighed as he watched him, not speaking, letting him shuffle around the room moving back and forth. He understood what he was feeling. Ben was outraged by what he'd discovered, but his feelings hadn't stirred yet. They had remained dormant while he tried to think about what they had read, about those documents, about the names of those people who had become only numbers and letters, slaves without an identity. He realized that the women who came, from time to time, to clean his office were definitely part of that traffic and he felt like vomiting at the idea of never having noticed. That he hadn't fully understood the pain in their eyes.

He let his mind figure out what they had just found as Armitage continued to walk in front of him making him feel slightly uncomfortable. Worried about him.

What Ben had discovered was why he had become an orphan. His parents had been murdered, and from the paperwork in his hand, Armitage's father, the man who had also been a bit of his father, the man who had taken him in and given him a purpose in life, was the culprit.

Brendol Hux. Ben had mixed feelings about the man. On one hand, he couldn't help but feel affection for him. After all, he had given him a family when Ben had just lost his own. On the other, he'd never really been able to connect with him, and from what he'd been able to see, it had been complicated for Armitage as well.

Who was Brendol Hux really? A wealthy tycoon who had welcomed into his family the son of his now deceased employees? Or the cruel rich man who had killed those people because they had discovered his greatest secret?

A slave trade from the Indies. That seemed to be the real reason for that murder. Apparently his father, Han Solo, had discovered the trade and had told his wife, Leia Organa, about it. Both of them had then decided to confront the man believing that they would come to an agreement.

Thinking, in their hearts, that they were making the right choice. Indeed they were. The problem was that Brendol Hux would never allow someone to ruin his name and the "empire" he had built.

It was Armitage who succeeded, once again, from his own thoughts. "Come on, I need a drink."

He nodded, strangled. Armitage hardly ever drank, but now even Ben needed some of the liquid. It would warm his throat and cloud his mind. Yes, it was what they both needed to be able to sleep that night. The next day they would have thought about what to do, by then the sun had already set, it was useless to think about it at that moment. There was really nothing they could do at night.

He followed Armitage into the living room where he pulled out two glasses from the liquor cabinet. "What would you prefer to drink?" he asked as Armitage shivered beside him, unable to sit still and motionless to wait. "Wine. But bring some rum too."

Ben watched the other man's back as he walked out of the living room and into his room, down the long hallway of that house, and pinched his lower lip with his teeth. Did Armitage really want to continue the evening in his room? He had never entered it because the other preferred to set it up and clean it himself, not without his disappointment, but now... now he would be allowed to enter it.

He hurried to follow him after placing the necessary things on a tray and, once in the room, he placed it on Armitage's desk, who had already sat on the mattress. Armitage's room could almost be described as spartan. Everything was meticulously arranged and tidy, there wasn't a speck of dust out of place and the only objects that gave a bit of liveliness to the environment were the paintings hanging on the walls. Strange paintings, with colors tending toward the cold and dark, as if Armitage was trying to surround himself with darkness. Perhaps he could feel it in his bones, because of that familiar name that had always been stained with blood.

He saw Armitage get up and pour himself some wine while loosening the collar of his tie. He watched him motionless in the middle of the room, not having the courage to do anything. "Help yourself, Ben, I never liked to drink alone," he whispered in a warm voice he had never heard him use before.

Ben immediately helped himself to the rum, rather than white wine, as he did not like the idea of mixing alcohols and, between the two, he preferred the latter. He poured himself a generous quantity and started sipping it while staying near the desk.

"Tomorrow I'm going to try to figure out who else is mixed up in this traffic, I'm going to try to free those people, the ones in the documents, I'm going to dismantle my father's empire piece by piece if I have to." Ben nodded feeling grateful to hear the anger in the other man's voice. In that way his own anger was able to remain quiet in his chest.

"I'm sorry about your parents Ben, I swear I had no idea..." he saw him taking another glass of wine that he drained in a moment, then, to Ben's surprise, Armitage took the bottle of Rum and brought it to his lips, drinking directly from the neck of the bottle.

Armitage's eyes looked clouded, definitely shinier and he had to admit he felt attracted by that deep blue. He barely swallowed, shaking his head slowly. "I know you had nothing to do with it, really. I know better." there was no longer any doubt about the matter. Armitage Hux had never been entangled in the family business, knew nothing of how dark his father was.

"We have to find a way to stop Ren. He's dangerous." he growled in a low voice and Ben agreed with him, but everything seemed so far away in that moment, like it didn't make sense.

For Ben, that name was not new. Although Brendol always tried to keep Ben from crossing paths with the businessmen he surrounded himself with, Ben had often inadvertently overheard part of their conversations. He knew their names, but he had never suspected that the previous master's darkness would reach that far.

"I saw them often, but I didn't think... I didn't believe...'' his justifications weren’t worth it at alll. None of them had ever believed that Brendol Hux could go that far. How could they? The man had been particularly good at hiding his illicit dealings under the name of other, decidedly legal, enterprises.

The slaves didn't have names. They were ghosts in the system. No one knew about them, the police weren't looking for them, and it was enough for the men who bought the slaves to hide them and, like this, prevent anyone from finding out anything. It became complicated to accuse someone who was now dead, especially if the accusations were based on ghosts from a past that was now gone.

Those names had never existed and probably no longer existed.

How were they going to prove the guilt of his father and everyone else? Of Snoke and Ren?

It was at least difficult, if not impossible.

Armitage didn't want Ben to deal with it. The other was shaken to have come to find out that his beloved parents were dead, let alone be able to sustain such a process.

Somehow he wanted revenge for them, but he still didn't know how to get it without risking his own life, but more importantly Ben's. Ben had already been through so much, it wasn't fair that he had to suffer more.

Ben saw Armitage reach for the bottle again with his hand and decided to stop it. He placed his own on it, made him lower his and then looked him in the eye. Ben was slightly taller than him so he had to barely bow his head, his black hair falling down in raven locks in front of his gaze. Armitage stood there, his red hair and blue eyes looking at him strangled by that gesture. "Why?" he only asked, but Ben didn't know why, he just knew he didn't want him to keep drinking like that. His head was spinning and he could very well tell how much the other man was spinning too because his eyes were glazed over and clouded with alcohol and, perhaps, something else.

It was as if something around them clicked. It was an instant, a pulse, and their faces grew closer and closer until he saw Armitage place his hands on his cheeks and pull him closer. Ben felt himself being kissed and closed his eyes, trying to savor the moment, parting his own lips to allow Armitage's tongue to slide inside his mouth, exploring his warmth cavity, playing with him, making him moan just a little. He felt his own cheeks warm as he realized that this was his first, and so far only, kiss. He was probably clumsy and awkward, but he still tried to reach out to the other after the initial moment of bewilderment at that gesture and that was where the spell broke.

Armitage pulled away from him, looking at him confused, his lips half open, his breathing heavy. Ben was in no better shape.

"Now...we should sleep."

Armitage's voice was impassive, his body was back taut as a violin string, order and composure had once again descended upon his body, and Ben found himself nodding, forced to leave.

Between the covers that night, he couldn't help but think back to that kiss, how soft Armitage's lips had been, how sweet the kiss had been, even if it was mixed with the taste of alcohol. He'd smelled the scent of the other man's cologne mixed with his own sweat, and he'd been intoxicated by it. He could almost count the tiny freckles that lightly covered Armitage's nose, even the long red lashes of his eyes were there, close enough to count.

Ben brought a hand to his lips, stroking them slowly, pretending his fingers were Armitage's lips rubbing against his own and producing that delicious friction he was sure he had just fallen in love with. But what was love? Ben didn't know, he just knew that that kiss had opened up a lot of questions about himself and about Armitage. About the place he was to hold in that house from now on, about what Armitage expected of him.

Plus there was the question of homosexuality. Was Ben gay? Did that kiss mean Armitage was, too?

Confused he lay on his side clutching himself. He wished his parents were still alive so he could ask them, to ask him how wrong his feelings were and whether or not he had the right to feel them. Too bad no one could answer him.

Act VII

Weeks passed by, and they never talked of that kiss. Armitage remembered that like a dream, he was too drunk to properly understand what he did.

Armitage looked down at the glass of wine Ben was filling for him with a slight blush on his cheeks. Ben's wrist was uncovered again and he could see the veins intersecting under his pale skin, yes, but never as pale as his own. He noticed the muscle in his arms flexing as he poured a drink, noticed Ben's hair that was growing perhaps a little too long, his eyes and handsome face focused on what he was doing.

Armitage felt, for Ben, something that was hard to understand. Generally accustomed to not having feelings and burying them deep within himself, Armitage could not untangle the ones that, at that moment, lodged in his chest.

Ben made his legs shake at times. Especially when he saw his muscles in action as he set up the house.

Ben made his heart beat hard. Especially when he saw him looking out the window, with a certain wistfulness in his eyes.

Ben made him want to play. Especially when he saw the sadness trying to be buried behind those long black eyelashes.

Ben made him lose his breath. Especially when he thought he wasn't being seen and dropped the perfect butler's mask.

Those feelings were trapped inside of him and Armitage was unable to understand them, which is why he had thrown himself heart and soul into searching for clues regarding his father, Snoke, and Ren. He longed to find connections, ways to incriminate everyone who was still alive. Unfortunately, it wasn't easy and most of the people involved were already dead. That, however, was a very meager reward and Armitage did not wish to compromise.

Sure, it was easy to smile thinking that those people were no longer among them, but they hadn't paid for their crimes, and their children still had a bloody legacy on their hands. Maybe they didn't know anything about it and their souls could still be saved, but something still had to be done.

Even if it meant losing his legacy.

"I think we should stop here." Ben's voice broke the silence and Armitage, as he took the goblet the other was kindly offering him, couldn't help but wrinkle his nose and tighten his lips. No, they shouldn't have stopped, the game had just begun.

"I know it's hard to find a way to make them all pay, but we shouldn't stop. Maybe the slave trade is still thriving even though my father is dead. Maybe there are still people being forced to work under torture and abuse. Unable to free themselves and thus find a better life. No, we cannot stop." he repeated again. He saw Ben's gaze stop on him and sighed softly. That look caused him to shiver, his body tensing even more. Ben wasn't wearing his uniform jacket, and that white shirt didn't hide the boy's chest muscles well enough.

Armitage wondered how he found time to work out.

"I know you want to get revenge. I know you want to do good and you want to help me, but...this whole thing.... Is dangerous. Ren may soon realize what you're doing. He knows where you live. He knows how to take you out quietly. Don't you see how much you're risking!" Armitage watched the man as he heard those words.

Was he worried about him? Why? For fear of losing his job or because he really cared about him and his safety? Armitage wasn't sure, but his chest warmed at the realization that someone cared about him.

"I want to do something, Ben. I can't just sit on my hands. I want to do something. I want to pay back your parents. I want to...pay you back." he admitted quietly.

He saw Ben's eyes grow wider and hastened to add, "With everything my father did to you, it seems the least I can do."

He didn't want to show his emotions too much. He wasn't sure Ben reciprocated those feelings, and the idea of opening up to someone for the first time and getting a slammed door in return wasn't something he was looking for.

"Do you care about me?" the voice of Ben sounded warm. Armitage wondered what it would be like to hear that voice whisper in his ear, to have those seemingly strong arms embrace him, hold him close. He wondered if it would be possible to taste the flavor of the boy.

He looked at the glass of white wine still in his hands and wondered how many he had drunk to have certain thoughts in his head. He felt strange, his mind was almost clouded and he was sure that if he would have laid down and then stood up again, he would have ended up on his back.

"You care about me too!" his reply, in a particularly shrill voice, put him to shame. How could he answer Ben like that? What was he, four years old?

He could hear his father's voice echoing in his head. A voice that, all his life, had taunted him, reminding him every day how pathetic and weak he was.

How he had to hide his feelings because a Hux doesn't cry. A Hux doesn't let his emotions get in the way of his actions. A Hux is strong. A Hux knows how to react to any situation. A Hux doesn't fall in love, ever.

Ben's gaze looked hurt and Armitage wished he could reach out to him. Ben was leaning against the wall near the desk while he, on the opposite side of the room, was sitting on the corner of the bed. It would only take him a few steps to shorten the distance between them. A few steps to smell Ben's intoxicating scent. A few steps to reveal to him that he was sorry for that answer. A few steps to make him feel better.

A few steps he didn't take, remaining, stubborn as ever, in his place. "We're friends." he said, guiltily. He was trying to make up for it, but that word, that "friends" was like poison in his mouth. It burned his tongue and lips and Armitage sighed. They were not friends. They were a butler and his boss. 

He who had jerked off thinking about Ben, about his look, about his body. He couldn't have the audacity to call them two friends. He had no right to do so.

And yet, those words seemed to hurt only him.

Ben's gaze was distant, melancholy. Armitage wondered what he was thinking about. If he was thinking of his parents, or if, by chance, memories of when they were children and being together was not so complicated were surfacing in his mind.

Sure, he'd never been able to really express his emotions, but he remembered being able to hug each other once in a while. Or maybe it was Ben hugging him and him letting himself be hugged?

He couldn't remember. Everything was too hard, maybe the alcohol was too strong, maybe they had already opened the third bottle, or maybe he was just not used to drinking at night anymore.

He saw Ben approaching. He was brave, he was able to take those steps that separated them, he was able to close the distance between them.

He saw him sitting next to him on the bed and looked into his eyes. Those warm, big eyes that he had missed so much.

He saw Ben take the goblet from his hands and put it, together with his own, on the bedside table next to the bed and then go back to look at him.

Armitage wondered what Ben saw in his eyes. They were blue and his father had often commented in annoyance that, just like his red hair, they were the characteristics of a weak, despicable person, like his mother. To become a true Hux he had to go against his own nature.

Armitage had done just that. For years, ever since he had been born, he had spent his entire existence seeking his father's approval.

That approval had never come, and only now was Armitage coming to terms with that feeling, of never being good enough for anyone. He hadn't been enough for his father once and he wasn't enough for Ben now.

He wasn't able to avenge what had happened to Ben, he wasn't able to dismantle one by one all the families that had used his father's slaves, he wasn't even able to get Ren indicted. Nobody could give him some information, nobody could testify against him.

"We should kill him." his voice was harsh, the taste in his mouth was a far cry from the wine he was sipping, more like bile. A gag of vomit made his stomach and throat burn, but Armitage resisted the urge to run to the bathroom.

He watched Ben's face crumple, growing darker, his wide eyes fixed on his own.

"No." he didn't even need the name; Ben knew exactly who Armitage was talking about.

"We can't kill him, we'd end up putting ourselves on the same level as him." Armitage sighed when Ben added those words.

"Yeah." he finished the drink in one gulp before getting up to go get more. It was a second, a slight dizziness, his head getting emptier and lighter, his legs getting softer and his knees giving way slightly. He didn't have time to stand on his own two feet before Ben was immediately at him. His hands encircled his waist, his breath came closer and his scent flooded his nostrils.

"Ben..." that name ripped into a soft moan made him blush. He looked over to the other, turned in that awkward grasp, and noticed that Ben's cheeks were also flushed and his eyes slightly brighter than normal.

Had he been drinking too much, too?

Armitage felt a strange feeling, a longing he couldn't understand. He had always been empty, waiting for something he didn't know, waiting for something he didn't understand. For years he had waited, almost in vain. For years he had hidden a desire that he was unable to compose in words, only to keep it hidden in his heart. In silence.

A desire for someone to hold him close. Just like Ben was doing in that moment.

Why have a feeling like that? It didn't make sense. The Hux, after all, didn't feel emotions.

Why would he need someone to hold him? What good would that do for him? Nothing.

Ben was scrutinizing him. Armitage could feel his heavy gaze upon him, watching him from above. He barely swallowed and then, without even knowing why, he said what his heart had been silent about for so long. "Why is this hug not even really wanted, it's so...warm? Why do I feel the need for someone to hold me?" yes, he really must have had too much wine.

Ben was still looking at him and Armitage wondered if that look was filled with his own emotions. Ben's eyes were crystal clear and Armitage could read in them a tenderness he had never been able to observe before, as if Ben was pleased by that question.

"I know you've never really known affection, Armitage, and you're asking me to help you, right? To make you understand what you're feeling? Do you really want that? Do you want me to be that person you feel you need?" Ben probably must have had too much to drink too because those words seemed to come tearing out of his lips.

Armitage, almost hypnotized by Ben's eyes, found himself nodding, swallowing nervously, and then the other boy's lips moved closer and closer to his. Armitage's head was spinning.

Armitage felt stiff and noticed that Ben paused before finishing that kiss. Armitage was well aware that they were about to kiss, but somehow the other had stopped before it happened. "Don't be so stiff..." he heard him whisper in his ear, and it was only then that he realized that he hadn't reciprocated Ben's squeeze, but had simply remained still, letting his hips tighten by him.

He relaxed, his whole body seemed to catch its breath, and then slowly brought his own hands to Ben's chest, gently caressing his muscles. Shyly he brought himself to reciprocate the squeeze coming to touch his back, feeling his shoulder blades and that perfect body under his fingertips.

Their bodies were really connected in that way and he could feel Ben's heartbeat. It seemed to go in rhythm with his own and that meant the other was, at least in part, anxious as well. Their hearts were beating in an accelerated way. Why?

He saw Ben move closer again, he could feel his heart speed up even more, overtaking the other boy's and then it happened. Ben's lips were on his, they brushed, they caressed and then slowly they both parted, letting their tongues begin their frenzied dance. He felt Ben's tongue probing every corner of his mouth: his teeth, his palate, and then slowly his tongue. The supremacy seemed to be Ben's, but soon Armitage began to feel a new strength.

His vigor, which had been hidden until that moment, came out and although at first Armitage had been the one who was unsure and hesitant, now he was the one who had taken Ben's face in his hands, who had moved even closer to him, who had taken control and the dance that until that moment had taken place in Armitage's mouth, passed into Ben's.

The boy pulled Armitage tighter and closed his fists on his jacket, squeezing it between his fingers as if to confirm that no, it wasn't a dream, it was real.

They both gasped for breath as they broke away from the kiss. Their legs were weak.

Armitage wished he could ask Ben what he thought about what had just happened. What it all meant, but he shook his head, disturbed.

Ben's eyes were wide, he was nervous, he kept looking frantically from one side of the room to the other and then, with an impetus that Armitage interpreted as disgust at what had just happened, he ran out of the room leaving him alone.

Alone, as always.

Yet, the sensations he had felt from that kiss were still there, inside him. It had been intense, something he had never felt before. His father's words rang strongly in his head: find a girl, fuck her and get an heir, that's all you need.

But was that really it?

Did he really just need an heir?

No, he needed those emotions. He needed to feel suffocated by a kiss. He needed to feel his own body rocking as if he had been on a boat, in the middle of the sea, the waves lapping lightly at his body just as Ben's tongue had lapped at his. It was a dance that he could never explain in words, but it had ignited his soul.

Ben, however, seemed to take a different view.

Armitage's heart did a couple of somersaults as he wondered if he had just ruined everything.

Act VIII + Act IX

Ben didn't think he could ever kiss Armitage. Something about what had happened that night had made him feel strange. He found himself in his room, lying on his bed, still dressed, staring at the ceiling.

He brought his fingers to his lips and remembered how warm Armitage's were.

He had felt feelings he had never felt before. The strange feeling of wanting to protect the other boy at all costs and not because he was being paid to take care of him and his home, but because he really wanted to.

He wanted to see the smile on Armitage's face, wanted to see those clear eyes light up, finally, with happiness.

Ben wondered if he'd ever actually heard him laugh, or get excited about anything other than his own work, and realized that no, that had never happened. The only time he had ever seen the shadow of a smile on that always serious face had been because of something the other had read in some newspaper, in the morning, during breakfast.

Ben wanted more. He wanted to see Armitage laughing his head off, falling to the floor with laughter because he was no longer able to stand, tears in his eyes stinging from all the laughing.

He wanted to see Armitage's cheeks red from his kiss, his lips swollen and soft, his gaze lost. He wanted to see Armitage become his in every way possible and imaginable.

Both had suffered their entire lives. Even if the other had been able to count on a father that didn't mean he had felt affection. Brendol Hux had no affection for anyone but himself and had left his son to beg for crumbs of a love that would have been due to him a priori, without the need to conquer it.

Ben, on the other hand, had been left without his parents and had had to find love from the ground or by taking care of those who had given him a home. What kind of love was that?

A servant love, a due love, a fake love.

Yet, when they were little, he and Armitage had been close. They had clung to each other and Ben still remembered how the other had always tried to help him, especially in his saddest and most heartbroken moments, those in which he was unable to get over the death of his parents. Armitage had always been there for him. He had even played for him.

 He sighed wondering if it was normal to feel all that love for another boy. Society wasn't going to see it right. Armitage deserved an heir to his name no matter how stained it was with the blood of innocent people. Who was he to deprive him of his destiny?

...But who was his father to deprive him of love?

He fell asleep with a heavy head, his body shaken by slight tremors and a sleep populated by strange nightmares.

The next day was certainly no better. The tension between him and Armitage could be cut with a knife. In the morning, while preparing breakfast for the other as he did every day, he noticed that Armitage was watching him more often than usual, lifting his gaze from his newspaper too many times. It was obvious that he couldn't stay focused on it, and Ben wondered what he was thinking about. Could it be that he was thinking about that kiss too?

Maybe he wasn't.

Maybe Armitage simply regretted letting himself go and was now looking for a way to communicate that to him without finding it.

When he brought him the tray with the breakfast, their hands brushed almost unintentionally. Armitage was leaning over to put the newspaper away while Ben reached out to pour the milk into the coffee cup.

A shiver ran through Ben's entire body at that light touch and the boy knew he couldn't hide those feelings, he would never be able to, but he had to.

He quickly got up, left Armitage to his breakfast and went back to the kitchen trying to keep himself busy with the daily cleaning. He knew that Armitage, that day, would go talk to some of his fellow judges to better understand what they could do. They weren't going to open any cases, he was simply going to ask how much they could get.

If what they would get was too little compared to the courses they would have to take, Ben was willing to give up his revenge.

In fact, he had already come to terms with himself. His parents had been complicit to some degree, even though they didn't know it. When his father had found out, they had decided to blackmail Brendol for money so they could take care of him in the best way possible.

He wasn't sure they were completely saints and although, for years, he had simply wished they had never died, now he wasn't so sure that having them by his side would actually improve his life, quite the contrary.

He wasn't going to discover Armitage, he wasn't going to go to work for him, and last night would always remain just a dream.

He understood that for Armitage it was different and had become almost a matter of principle by now: to do something to ease the burden on his conscience, to wash away that blood whose hands were now soaked, but to what end? What could they have done for those men? Nothing.

Most of them were already dead, just like Brendol and those who had been at the head of that grievous crime. The only one left was Ren, but he was elusive, no one knew where he was and the only way to contact him was through Armitage and no, Ben didn't want to put him at risk.

He was still lost in thought when Armitage left the house and was even more lost in thought when he returned that very night.

Ben hadn't really cleaned up, had been lost in thought for too long, returning to the kiss the night before rather than those nights when, as children, he danced to the music of the other's violin. He had made dinner, though, and had chosen Armitage's favorite dish: a chicken pot pie.

He had served it on the table and then sat down, too, strangely enough. He usually remained standing, attentive and ready to serve Armitage in whatever he needed, but now they were no longer just a master and his butler.

"There's nothing we can do. Even making it a global case, no one would really pay for it. All that's left now are the heirs of those madmen, and their hands aren't bloody." Armitage's voice was low and Ben knew the other felt disappointed. Disappointed in himself for not being able to give Ben the revenge he deserved.

"It doesn't matter. A revenge is not what I would really need, Armitage. A revenge is not what I need. What I need is to do something in the name of those slaves. To do something in the name of my parents." since when had he had that idea in mind? He didn't know. It had probably come about by accident that day as he continued to mull over his past.

He saw the other nod doubtfully and sighed as he began to eat. "It's okay, I'm not in pain...not anymore." and that was the simple truth.

His past wasn't so painful anymore, he didn't need to run from it, he now knew how things had been and could take note of it. His parents hadn't been saints and, all things considered, having known Armitage was worth more than anything else.

Sure, smiling was hard, but he could do it for each other, he could do it to make him feel better.

But Armitage didn't seem to feel better, and dinner didn't go as Ben had planned. They remained silent, absorbed in their own thoughts again, and when Armitage went to his room, Ben could once again hear the sound of the violin echoing throughout the house.

He sighed in the large, silent kitchen, and as he cleaned up he couldn't help but feel his heart grow a little heavier, a little less quiet.

Not for his past, oh no, for his future.

What lay ahead of him?

Years and years spent serving Armitage? Pining for him from afar? Feeling a love that would never be returned?

Or leaving, trying to forget him, never again being able to look at his gaze in the morning, the way his hands gripped the newspaper or his lips quirked in a disgusted grimace at the page about politics.

Even that night, alone in his room, he ran his fingers over his lips, trying not to let the feeling of that kiss escape his mind forever. Those lips pressed against each other, tongues dancing to silent music, but so reminiscent of the sonnets Armitage composed on the violin.

Armitage was not satisfied. Everything he had done was not enough. His friends had been clear: before the law those people had committed no crime. They had no slaves under them because they were now dead after helping their names make their fortunes.

They were all important families, a staggering inheritance, even heads of companies that now fed a good portion of the population. Bringing them before a judge would have been completely useless. The only one who could still pay was Ren, but in order to draw him out, Armitage would have to expose himself far more than he really could.

Not that he didn't have the courage, but he couldn't afford to die, not yet at least.

Ben needed him.

He'd been thinking about it all day, in fact, since the night before. His feelings for Ben were now clear to him despite his father's voice reminding him that he would burn forever in hell if he sinned in that sodomotic way, but it didn't matter.

His father's voice was now a faint whisper and no longer echoed in his mind as it once did.

Armitage longed to do something for him, to give him not only a purpose, but a way to live that wasn't tied to him. His father had not only taken Ben’s parents from him, but also his freedom. He had taken him to work under them, and now Ben was left with what?

An entire existence in his service?

And if that wasn't his destiny, what could he aspire to? To serve in another house? Under the yoke of another master?

No, Ben deserved more. Ben deserved to have something that was all his own. Ben deserved to smile, to be happy. Ben deserved to be free.

When he brought the news home to him, he hadn't expected the other man to react that way. He had expected to see him much sadder and more disappointed. That hadn't been the case and Armitage had felt his own heart tighten even more. Ben was simply too good, his heart was too innocent, and Brendol, his father, had tried to taint him, to destroy him, and he couldn't afford that.

He hadn't been able to talk to him for the rest of the dinner, hadn't even been able to admit that he was planning something, a gift for him, a way to set him free. No. He had remained silent like a fool, remembering all they had been through together, wondering how pathetic it was to believe that someone like Ben, so innocent and clear, could decide to join someone like him, dirty, bloody and wrong.

Later, playing his violin, he remembered all the times he had done this for Ben. He remembered how much it mattered to him to see the child smiling happily, how important it was to see him happy. Even then, the idea of seeing him cry killed him. Ben had to be happy.

And he owed it to them.

His family owed it to him.

That night, when he fell asleep, Armitage had made his decision.

He was going to set Ben free and, at the same time, put a stop to that whole thing by giving the boy a revenge that tasted more like hope.

Epilogue

The decision to buy an orphanage in Ben's name had been a not-really-thought-out choice.

When he'd discovered that none of the names he had led to a living person or a person who actually existed, the judge he'd contacted as a courtesy, had told him to stop and go no further.

They had managed to put the police on alert. Armitage knew they would check every house and business, from the first to the last, to make sure there were no enslaved people inside them, but beyond that they could do no more.

His father had never left any real notes about the murders committed by Ren and Snoke. There were hints, sure, but they weren't enough to impress them, especially since the only hints they had were about Snoke and, Snoke, was now dead. Ren was untouchable.

Armitage had freaked out, but he hadn't been able to do anything more than accept defeat. The only thing he had chosen to do was to have Ren deliver a message "If anything happened to him or Ben, the police would consider him the prime suspect and would not let up, this because of the knowledge Armitage, as a Hux, had."

That alone made him feel comfortable, made him think that story could have even ended worse than it did. Maybe they needed to be grateful for what they had.

Choosing the orphanage was the only way he could think of to make Ben feel capable of changing something, even if it was just for those unfortunate children.

Ben's smile was the only thing he cared about.

And so he had. Armitage had had an orphanage

 built in honor not so much of Ben's parents, but of Ben himself.

The satisfaction of seeing that smile on Ben's face had been all he needed; he wanted no other kind of reward. Ben didn't want to believe it, but Armitage had assured him that it was all true, and not only that, that orphanage didn't belong to the Hux family, but solely and exclusively to Ben. Armitage had taken care of all the necessary paperwork to prevent anyone from arresting the right of it.

That orphanage was Ben's. Ben was free now, he had a future, a future that did not consist of serving anyone other than simply himself. He could take care of children like himself. Children who had no parents, but a heart to fill before society, with all that rot, could tear the innocence from it.

Armitage had watched Ben take his stand at the orphanage and no longer be able to care for him and his home. The feeling of being alone, silent, in that huge mansion that had never really been "his home" had hurt him. He often felt Ben come back in the middle of the night and leave so quickly the next morning that he wasn't even able to say goodbye.

Armitage knew it was only a matter of time, that sooner or later he would move into the orphanage for good. Hadn't he been the one to have a room built especially for Ben? Yes, it had been him.

He had nothing to complain about now. He couldn't complain about it if he was the one who had given Ben the opportunity to move away from him like that.

He hadn't heard from Ren again and had no intention of doing so, but there was, all along, the fear that the man might decide to hurt them, so Armitage had taken his precautions. He had left everything he knew about him in the hands of some of his friends so that if anything ever happened to him, or to Ben, they could try to incriminate him.

Thankfully, though, Ren seemed to have disappeared into thin air, like the darkness that is destroyed by the rising sun.

He picked up the violin and sighed. That house was now a mess. It had been several months and Armitage, stubborn as he was, still hadn't taken on any other staff to help out and that meant dust everywhere, messy shelves and cupboards, laundry to wash and hang out.

He played in his room pretending to see Ben around him, dancing as only he could. He imagined his smile, his laughter that had always warmed the room and knew he could not put it off any longer.

If that was the future he had chosen for Ben, he had to make sure that he, too, was freed from his chains.

He left the house thinking of heading to the orphanage to talk to Ben. To understand, to listen, to know what he would do. If Ben could not have spent his future waiting and serving, neither could Armitage. He couldn't stay and wait for a love that probably had no real chance of being born. At the orphanage, however, Ben was not there. Armitage then decided to go down to the village to buy some tea. He had run out of it and had been putting off going out for a long time.

When he returned home, he immediately smelled the scent of a dinner he hadn't prepared and a spotless kitchen, with the table already set. He was confused, but when he saw Ben everything fell into place. Ben was not in the orphanage because he had gone there to take care of the house once again.

No, Armitage corrected himself, not of the house, but of him. To take care of him.

He noticed that Ben wasn't wearing his usual uniform, but one of the suits Armitage had bought especially for him now that he had a job to attend to every morning, and he smiled. He liked him better that way, the suit jacket resting on a chair and that blue shirt that brought out so much of the complexion of his face. He looked at it, at his nose that he so adored and at those slight moles that, more than once in those nights, he had dreamed of licking. "Ben, what are you doing..."

But he wasn't able to finish the sentence because he found himself pressed immediately against the wall of the hallway he was walking down to get to him, Ben's body pressing him against the cold surface. "Thank you..." were the only words he heard before he felt, again, those lips pressed against his.

At first, again, Ben prevailed over him, but Armitage soon recovered and turned the tables. He pulled Ben close, his hands running down his body, caressing and squeezing him tightly before pulling away and catching his breath, looking into his deep black eyes. He read what he felt as well and his heart took a dive.

The future they had both chosen was certainly not one of waiting, but of union.

Of hope.

Of love.

Armitage wouldn't have to wait, Ben would be there.

Ben was no longer a prisoner, but free to be there.

And, while they were kissing, two magnificent paintings were watching them. Armitage commissioned those some weeks ago and they were, finally, hanging on the wall, remembering the most important people in that house. Brendol’s one, however, was tossed away.