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The damp evening air clung to the skin, heavy with the scent of wet concrete and the distant metallic tang of the river. The streetlamps cast pools of golden light on the slick pavement, their glow blurred by the occasional drizzle. The city’s usual clamor had quieted to a hushed murmur of distant horns and the gentle lapping of water against the docks.
Ben spotted Ricky immediately. He was slouched on the familiar bench near the river, his black leather jacket offering a thin layer of protection against the chill. The scene was achingly familiar; it had only been a few months since Ben had found him stranded here last. The difference now was in Ricky’s posture, the way his head hung lower than usual, and the way the glimmering lamplight caught on the bruised swell of his face.
Ben hesitated, one hand shoved in his pocket while the other hovered awkwardly at his side. A small part of him felt smug, ready to tease Ricky for landing himself in trouble yet again, but that instinct dissolved the moment Ricky glanced up at the sound of Ben’s approaching footsteps. His eyes, bloodshot and shadowed, carried a weight that wiped the smirk off Ben’s face instantly. The bruises were harsh and blooming, a black eye stark against his pale complexion. A fresh cut split his bottom lip, an angry red line against the scruff of his smirk.
He recognized the bruises, their familiar shapes and hues, the angry purples and blues blooming across Ricky’s skin like dark, painful flowers. Usually, they were marks left in the heat of their own skirmishes, brash, impulsive tussles that never lasted more than a few moments before cooling into sheepish avoidance. But this time, it was different.
The pattern of violence etched onto Ricky’s face and arms didn’t speak of any petty schoolyard fight
No, this was something brutal, something relentless. The cuts were deeper, the bruises darker, and the exhaustion in Ricky’s eyes said more than words ever could. It wasn’t just the physical damage that struck Ben; it was the weight behind it, the kind of force that came from someone who wasn’t holding back. It made Ben’s stomach churn in a way he couldn’t quite name.
"Back again, huh?" Ben started, his voice wobbling between a forced jest and genuine concern. He took a step closer, the cold pavement slick beneath his polished brown shoes. His fingers tightened briefly on the strap of his satchel. "Feeling sentimental?"
Ricky chuckled softly, though the sound was strained. He winced as he adjusted his posture, shifting to pull a crushed pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. “You’re hilarious, Brookie,” he muttered, the familiar nickname soft despite the rasp in his voice. He didn’t look at Ben as he fumbled with the cigarette, placing it between his lips with a wince when the paper grazed his cut.
Ben crossed the final steps between them, leaning over Ricky’s hunched form. His gaze lingered on the bruises now that the dim light of the lamp revealed them in full. His stomach churned, a visceral reaction he tried to suppress. They’d fought before, thrown punches, yelled until their voices were raw, but this wasn’t his handiwork. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out who was responsible.
“Jesus, Ricky,” Ben breathed, his voice lower now, laced with concern he couldn’t mask. “What happened to your face?”
Ricky glanced up at him, one corner of his mouth twitching in what might’ve been a smirk if it weren’t for the pain written across his expression. “Relax, Brookie. Nothin’ I can’t handle.” He reached for his lighter, the silver glinting in the low light as he flicked it open. The flame wavered, and for a moment, so did Ricky’s hand. He steadied himself quickly, lighting the cigarette and snapping the lighter shut with practiced ease.
Ben didn’t move, his hands itching to reach out and snatch the cigarette away, or maybe just to touch Ricky’s face, to make sure the bruises weren’t as bad as they looked. But he didn’t. Instead, he crouched slightly, leveling himself with Ricky’s hunched position. “Don’t give me that crap,” Ben said, his voice sharper now. “Was it..?”
Ricky hesitated, taking a long drag from the cigarette and exhaling slowly. The smoke curled around him, blending into the misty evening air. He looked away, his gaze fixed on the glistening river. “It ain’t like that,” he said finally, his voice soft but tinged with defiance. “He didn’t mean it.”
Ben’s heart sank. He wanted to yell at his stupid face to tell him this very much wasn’t normal. But the words caught in his throat. Instead, he settled for sitting down beside him, the damp bench seeping through his slacks almost immediately. “You’re kidding yourself if you think that makes it okay,” Ben said, quieter this time.
Ricky glanced at him from the corner of his eye, his smirk faltering for a split second. He tapped ash from his cigarette, the motion deliberate, as though it could distract from the tension sitting heavy between them. “What, you gonna start givin’ me speeches now? Didn’t know you were moonlighting as a preacher.”
Ben ignored the quip, his focus unwavering. The lamplight caught the glossy sheen of Ricky’s bruises, the way the cut on his lip pulled slightly when he spoke. He wanted to say something, anything, to break through Ricky’s nonchalant façade, but instead, he stayed silent, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. They sat like that for a long moment, the sound of the river and the hum of the city filling the space between them.
“You’re an idiot,” Ben muttered finally, his voice carrying none of the bite he’d intended. “You sit here, acting like this is normal, like it’s fine. But it’s not. And you know it.”
Ricky turned his head slightly, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead. A strand clung to the dried blood near his eyebrow. For once, his smirk was gone, replaced by something softer, something that tugged at Ben’s chest in a way he didn’t have the courage to name. “Yeah, well,” Ricky said, his voice barely above a whisper, “it’s all I got.”
The admission hit Ben harder than he expected. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes lingering on Ricky’s profile, the sharp angle of his jaw, the faint dimple that appeared even when he wasn’t smiling. There was a connection between them, one they both ignored as much as they clung to it. It was in the way Ricky always sought him out, even when he pretended not to care, and the way Ben’s anger always melted into concern the moment Ricky looked at him.
Ben sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Come on,” he said, his tone softer now. “You’re not sleeping out here. Let’s go.”
Ricky glanced at him, his lips twitching upward ever so slightly. “You takin’ me in again, Brookie? What’ll the neighbors think?”
Ben rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Shut up and get moving.”
Ricky stood slowly, wincing as he straightened. He flicked his cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with the heel of his boot. As they walked away from the bench, the lamplight casting their shadows long against the pavement, neither said a word.
The quiet creak of the bedroom door felt deafening in the stillness of the Brookes’ modest home. Ben shot a nervous glance over his shoulder as he slipped inside, Ricky following close behind. The faint yellow light from the streetlamp outside spilled through the window, casting long shadows on the neat but slightly cramped room. The faint scent of old books mingled with fresh laundry, a reminder of how unlike Ricky’s world this place was, orderly, calm, safe.
Ben turned to Ricky, raising a finger to his lips in a silent command for quiet. His parents were heavy sleepers, but he wasn’t about to risk waking them. Ricky, despite his bruises and obvious discomfort, grinned faintly, the corner of his cut lip pulling upward. “Brookie,” he whispered, his Boston accent soft and teasing, “feels like I’m sneaking into some girl’s room after curfew.”
Ben’s ears flushed pink as he glared at him. “Shut up,” he muttered, shutting the door with a soft click. He turned to find Ricky already making himself at home, slouching onto the edge of the bed like he belonged there. His leather jacket creaked as he leaned forward, the motion accentuating the bruising on his jaw. Ben couldn’t help but wince at the sight.
“Take that off,” Ben said, nodding toward the jacket. His voice was firm, but the softness in his expression betrayed him. “I need to see how bad it is.”
Ricky arched an eyebrow, his smirk lingering despite the pain it must’ve caused him. “Careful, Brookie,” he drawled, shrugging off the jacket with deliberate slowness. “What did you really bring me here for?”
Ben rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. He rummaged through a small drawer on his desk, pulling out a tin of ointment, a clean cloth, and some bandages. By the time he turned back, Ricky had settled against the headboard, his white shirt rumpled and stained in spots that Ben hoped weren’t blood.
Ben crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, placing the supplies beside him. His gaze lingered on Ricky’s face for a moment too long, taking in the sharp planes of his cheekbones and the way his dark eyes still held a flicker of humor despite everything. Ricky noticed, of course he did, and his smirk widened ever so slightly.
“Something on my face?” Ricky quipped, his voice low.
Ben ignored him, though his hands trembled slightly as he reached out. He took Ricky’s face gently in his hands, his fingertips brushing against the stubble on his jaw. Ricky flinched slightly at the contact, the motion subtle but not lost on Ben. “Hold still,” Ben murmured, his voice softer now.
The room felt impossibly small, the silence heavy but not uncomfortable. Ben dabbed a corner of the cloth into the ointment, the cool, herbal scent filling the air as he carefully pressed it against the cut on Ricky’s lip. Ricky winced but didn’t pull away, his eyes fixed on Ben’s face. The lamplight from outside highlighted the curve of Ben’s brow, the determined set of his jaw. He was close enough that Ricky could see the faint freckles scattered across his nose, the ones he usually only noticed when they were arguing face to face.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Ricky said quietly, his usual bravado dimming for a moment. “I’ve had worse.”
Ben’s hand stilled, his thumb brushing lightly against an unbruised patch of skin on Ricky’s cheek. His eyes flicked up to meet Ricky’s, and for a moment, the world outside the room seemed to disappear. “Yeah, well,” Ben said softly, his voice thick with something unspoken, “you shouldn’t have to.”
Ricky’s smirk faltered, his expression unreadable as he looked at Ben. The air between them crackled with something neither of them could name, a tension that felt both dangerous and inevitable. Ben swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus as he moved to clean the bruise on Ricky’s cheek. His hand lingered as he worked, the warmth of Ricky’s skin seeping through his fingertips.
Ricky watched him silently, his usual quips forgotten as he studied the way Ben’s brow furrowed in concentration. He noticed the faint tremble in Ben’s hand, the way his lips pressed together like he was trying to hold back words that might betray him. Ricky’s chest tightened, a strange mix of guilt and gratitude twisting in his gut. He wasn’t used to this, someone caring, someone looking at him like he was worth fixing.
As Ben finished with the ointment, he leaned back slightly, his hands still hovering near Ricky’s face. “There,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s better.”
Ricky’s gaze flicked to Ben’s lips for just a second, so quick it might’ve been missed if Ben hadn’t been so close. The silence stretched, thick and charged, neither of them daring to move. The dim light cast soft shadows across their faces, highlighting the raw vulnerability in their eyes.
“You’re too good at this,” Ricky said finally, his voice low and teasing, though it lacked its usual edge. “You sure you ain’t a nurse on the side?”
Ben huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Just... shut up for once, Ricky.”
The words hung in the air, more tender than biting. And then, almost unconsciously, Ben’s hand moved again, his thumb brushing against Ricky’s cheek. His touch was light, hesitant, like he was afraid Ricky might bolt at any moment. But Ricky didn’t move. He stayed still, his breath shallow as he watched Ben, the space between them shrinking with every passing second.
“Anything I can do to repay you?” Ricky asks, his voice tinged with mock sincerity as he shifts his gaze to the small mirror near the bed. He leans forward slightly, inspecting the cleaned and bandaged cut on his lip. His thumb grazes it gently, a mix of vanity and quiet curiosity in his movement.
Ben, still standing by the bed, crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. “You could try not bothering me from now on,” he replies dryly, though his tone carries more exasperation than actual malice.
Ricky lets out a short laugh, his usual teasing smirk creeping onto his face as he leans back against the headboard. His posture is casual, confident even, but there’s something softer in his eyes now, as though the weight of the night has chipped away at his usual bravado. “No can do, Brookie—you know me,” he retorts with a shrug, his grin widening when Ben’s expression twitches with annoyance.
“Call me by my name,” Ben snaps, though the sharpness in his voice is tempered by the way his lips curl into a faint smile despite himself. “My actual name.”
Ricky tilts his head as if considering this request deeply, his dark eyes narrowing playfully. Then, with deliberate slowness, he announces, “Benjamin. ‘Middle-name.’ Brookes.” Each word is delivered with dramatic pauses and an exaggerated flourish of his hands, like he’s unveiling some grand revelation.
Ben groans, rolling his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tug upward in spite of himself. It’s an involuntary reaction, a crack in the armor he always wears around Ricky. “You’re seriously insufferable,” he mutters, shaking his head. But the warmth in his voice betrays him, and Ricky notices. Of course he does.
“Ben,” Ricky murmurs, his voice dipping into a register so soft it feels foreign coming from him. The single syllable hangs in the air, weighted and fragile. It’s not teasing, not mocking, just honest, almost reverent. It makes Ben pause, his smile faltering slightly as he looks at Ricky.
Ben’s gaze darted to his lips, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure Ricky could hear it. The world outside faded, the city, the river, the weight of everything they weren’t allowed to feel. In that moment, it was just them.
“That sounds weird,” Ben says after a beat, his voice quieter now. He scratches the back of his neck, his faint smile losing some of its levity but none of its sincerity.
Ricky chuckles, low and genuine, nodding as if they’ve come to some unspoken agreement. “Yeah,” he admits, his grin fading into something softer, almost fond. “Weird.”
For a moment, the silence between them feels thick again, but not with tension this time. It’s something else entirely, something fragile and unspoken, as though neither of them knows what to say but both understand what lingers in the air. Ricky leans his head back against the wall, his dark hair catching the faint light from the window. Ben watches him out of the corner of his eye, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest as though to shield himself from the unspoken weight between them.
“You know,” Ricky says finally, his voice light but quieter than usual, “you’re not half as annoying as you think you are.”
Ben snorts, shaking his head as he looks away. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should,” Ricky quips, his smirk making a brief return. But the look in his eyes is softer now, less guarded, as though he’s allowing himself to relax for the first time in a long while. He glances at Ben again, his gaze lingering a moment longer than it should, and there’s something almost wistful in his expression.
Ben shifts awkwardly, clearing his throat as he moves to tidy the supplies he’d used to patch Ricky up. He doesn’t look at him as he speaks, his voice low and a little hurried. “You should get some sleep. You can stay here tonight... but just tonight.”
Ricky watches him for a long moment, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth again, though it’s tempered by a quiet gratitude that he doesn’t dare put into words. “Hm, you said that last time…” Ricky says, amused but Ben almost shoves him off the bed, causing him to change his tone.
“Thanks, Brookie,” he says, leaning back against the headboard again and closing his eyes. “You’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.”
Ben rolls his eyes but doesn’t respond, turning his back as he finishes putting away the bandages. The faintest smile lingers on his lips, though, as he glances over his shoulder at Ricky one last time before flicking off the lamp.