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Thumbing through the stack of papers with a heavy heart, Hux wonders, not for the first time, what in the world he’s gotten himself into.
He knew—he knew—something was up. No three-hour extra credit project could be worth the amount of money Rey slyly offered for his participation—and that she hunted him down instead of Rose or Dameron should have also clued him in, in hindsight. He should’ve just turned on his heel and left the cafeteria; hells, if Father hadn’t forgotten to pay his rent again, he would have. Now he’s stuck with another presence in his flat for a week and he’s got only his naïveté to blame.
A weight falls on his shoulder—he jumps out of his skin, dropping his pen with a clatter.
Ben leans heavier onto Hux’s shoulder—ow—and shoves his phone in front of them, his arm barely missing the cup of caf on the desk. “So—uh, hey, everyone—”
For stars’ sake.
Hux shrugs Ben’s forearm off, sending him a sidelong glare. “Will you get that thing off my face?”
Ben, being Ben, just raises the phone over their heads, safely out of Hux’s immediate reach should Hux decide to disgrace himself by grabbing for it on record.
Right.
“Hey, everyone,” Ben starts again, all eyes and a wide, stupid grin on the screen. Only part of Hux’s face is visible from this angle, the screen mostly showing Ben and the room behind them. “It’s day one of the ‘Married for a Week’ social experiment and Armie is reading through the guidelines with highlighters—” Ben moves the phone to take in the papers and the stationery on the desk, the steaming cup, the laptop in the corner. “—because he’s just that big a nerd.”
“Some of us take this seriously, Ben,” Hux mutters, picking up his pen again. Ridiculous as he may find this experiment, he’s not about to half-ass anything that’s got his name underneath; unlike Ben, who likely signed up out of boredom. “Now go away, I’ve got work to do.”
“Hey, I’m taking it seriously, too,” Ben protests with a deep frown, the phone somewhat lowered in negligence. “I already read my copy.”
“You mean you skimmed it.” The document is fifteen pages long; there’s no way Ben’s read all of it since they got home. Hux isn’t even halfway through yet.
Ben rolls his eyes. “Live together for a week,” he starts, counting it out on his free hand, “share your free time and space, cherish each other, respect your spouse’s boundaries, organise one date night each.” Wait, what? “I fucking read it.”
His lungs sitting wrong in his chest, “Date night,” Hux repeats dumbly. “As in, romantic date?”
Ben gives him an unimpressed look—that’s frighteningly reminiscent of Phasma’s, on second look. “It’s called ‘married for a week’, Armie.”
And here he’d thought the bed-sharing was going to be the difficult part. How the kriff is he supposed to get through a date with Ben without giving himself away?
“Don’t worry, I’m cheap,” Ben reassures him with an awkward pat on the back, blissfully ignorant of Hux’s predicament. “I’ll let you buy me Flangth-2-Go and call it a date.”
The way out shines in front of Hux’s eyes like an emergency exit sign. Raising his brows, “Excuse you, I can pay for a proper date,” he bites out, putting on his haughtiest tone. “I’ll take you to a theme park and pay for half the rides. We might even go wild and share a funnel cake.”
Ben pauses with his mouth open, grinning around a remark of his own, then just shakes his head and looks back up at his phone in mock disappointment. “My charming husband in all his glory, folks.”
Being married to Ben isn’t too bad, if he’s being honest.
Sure, they’ve only placed Ben’s clothes in Hux’s wardrobe and proceeded to do their own things in separate rooms so far, but still; it’s the first time they spent almost a whole day alone in the same flat—and here’s the important bit—without jumping at each other’s throats. At the face of the fact that half the people who know of the experiment are waiting for disaster to strike and the rest are hopeful in their tentative, useless way, this has to mean something.
It has to.
Ben doesn't leave him alone for long.
Hux expected having a second person around to bring some interruptions to his routine. While Ben spends enough time around Hux’s flat to know where most everything is, he’s never stayed overnight; he can’t be expected to know where the good towels are or which kitchen appliances are safe to use after half past ten.
“You planning to come out of your cave anytime soon?”
—and sometimes Ben bothers him just to be a nuisance.
Hux keeps his eyes on his essay, squinting at the sentence he’s rewritten too many times already. If not acknowledged, Ben just might go away on his own.
“I know those headphones don’t work, jackass. Stop trying to ignore me.”
Taking off his headset, Hux swivels in his chair with a deep sigh, putting the pair between Ben and himself like a shield. “Pray tell, Ben, what part of ‘I’m busy’ is so hard to understand?”
“The part that means you can’t step away from your desk for five minutes. You haven’t even eaten yet.”
He will, once he’s done with the cursed essay. “I do step away,” Hux points out, gesturing at his teacup. “Who do you think keeps this filled, mouse droids?”
Ben pulls a face. “That doesn’t count—and don’t even get me started on tarine,” he adds, pointing a finger at Hux. “I’m this close to throwing away your kettle.”
Hux just raises a brow. I’d like to see you try, he wants to say, but that mildly irritated mother hen schtick has a way of taking the fight out of him and Ben, curse him, isn’t ashamed to use it.
Ben shifts in the doorway, burying his hands deep into his pockets. “Look, just take a break. Come sit with me for an hour; that’s all I’m asking. You can go back to whatever after.”
Hux sighs again, just shy of a huff. “Have you got any idea how much I can get done in an hour?” he grumbles, though he’s already turning back to save and close his plethora of files. If it will make Ben shut up and leave him alone at last, it’s a worthy sacrifice.
Once everything is in place and the lid of the laptop is closed, Hux steps into the sitting room, where Ben is already zapping through shows. He makes a detour to the kitchen to drop his dirty cup and grabs his half of the pizza before joining Ben on the sofa to watch whatever Ben chooses.
Assuming Ben will choose something.
Eventually.
Stars.
“Just give me that,” Hux snaps, snatching the remote. At least now they can see what’s playing on a channel before switching to the next one.
“What?” Ben whines. “Not my fault that there’s nothin’ good on.”
“There’s never anything good on at this hour, Ben. You either settle for a random rerun or talk show and hope for the best—or you go on the Holonet.” He stops at Darth Maul flicking his double-edged lightsaber, handing the remote back to Ben. “Here, Star Wars. Fine?”
Ben takes it with an honest-to-god pout. “That’s no way to treat your husband, you know.”
Ignoring the stupid skipping of his heart, “Temporary husband,” Hux corrects around a slice of pizza, more for his own sake than Ben’s. If the tips of his ears are a little warm, it’s no one’s business but his own.
Just an hour, his arse.
He’s got no idea what time it is. Past midnight is all that he can figure; time lost its meaning somewhere between the Battle of Naboo and a laugh track in a show he didn’t even vaguely recognise. With his watch trapped under Ben’s sleeping bulk, he’s got no way to check, either.
On the screen, credits roll on and on. He doesn’t even remember what was playing last.
His eyes flick down to Ben—face smashed awkwardly into Hux’s arm, one eyelid slightly open—and back to the telly. His side is starting to cramp from the position he’s twisted himself into, his other arm already asleep under the weight, but Ben managing to sleep before the wee hours of the night happens rarely. Surely disturbing him now would be too cruel.
Stars, this was a bad idea, wasn’t it? He should have just closed the door on Ben’s face. They should’ve kept to their own spaces, done their daily video update things or whatever to keep Rey happy and called it done, over with, back to the regular broadcast of biting and ribbing. Instead, it’s only day one and they’re—what. Not cuddling, not quite, but it’s not far from it, either. Ben is effectively draped on his side; all Hux needs is to rescue his arm and wrap it around Ben’s shoulders instead. Pull Ben closer into his chest. Bury his nose into—
Hux thumps his head on the back of the couch and takes a deep, long breath. This was a fucking terrible idea.
Six days—just six more days. He can keep from destroying his friendship for that long.