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“Yeah, no, you need to get that looked at.”
“It’s not even bleeding anymore, it’s fine. Go back to your room,” Joey says, shrugging Ben’s hand off his other shoulder.
Joey’s pissed at him. Ben had come back from the hotel bar just in time to hear an Oh, fuck from the bathroom. Joey wouldn’t let him in, which meant he definitely needed to get in, and a safety pin made quick work of the lock. His tech used to be a paramedic, so he’d gone and banged on his door.
“It’s very easy for something like that to get infected, Joey.”
“I cleaned it beforehand, I’m not a fucking idiot.” Joey’s pissed at both of them. He wiggles his fingers, mimes playing guitar, and pretends to jerk off. “See? Fine. I’m gonna patch it up and go the fuck to sleep.”
“That needs stitches, maybe even inside, and if you don’t go to the hospital with Ben, you’re going with me.” The implication being that he’s not afraid to throw Joey over his shoulder again, like that time he got real drunk and wouldn’t leave the club (personally, Ben would be very afraid to do that).
Joey sits in the chair next to him after he’s done at the desk and takes his hand. They wait in silence until, “Joey?”
“Want me to go with you?”
“No, I'll be okay.”
Joey gets up, gives him a kiss, and follows the nurse around the corner. Ben's kinda glad he wanted to go back alone; he's been a little queasy this whole time. He's also not surprised. Joey's not one to admit that he's human, fallible, that he needs help sometimes. If he did, he probably wouldn't hurt himself as much, or at least wouldn't have to be forced to get medical care for it. God. He's probably not even gonna tell Ben why he did it. He usually doesn't, but it's not like this is how it usually goes. Joey doesn't show his scars very often (he keeps his long sleeve shirts on during sex a lot), and if Ben does notice a new one, he'll just play it off like it's nothing. Maybe, when there's that many, it is.
They're out waiting for their cab. Joey looks like he could've used a hand to hold in there. Ben wraps him in a hug—he’s trembling a little—and rubs his back until he ducks away to vomit in the gutter.
Ben holds Joey to him in bed, stroking his hair. He still seems distant. “Are you afraid of needles?”
“No.”
“It’s okay, lots of people are.”
“I’m fucking not.”
“Okay, then what’s wrong?”
Joey takes a shaky breath.