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“Shit,” Ben muttered, yanking the tie from around his neck for what felt like the billionth time. At this point, it probably was.
Prom was tonight. A night Ben had been dreading. All the socializing, the dancing—it sounded like pure torture. But this was for Lola. He liked her. He really did. And if going to prom made her happy, he’d suck it up.
Only, he hadn’t been thinking about Lola at all. His mind kept drifting to someone else. Someone he’d call stupid, just to cover up how he actually felt. Ricky Collins. Ben hoped he’d see him tonight—Ricky in a suit, cleaned up, looking sharp. If Ricky even tried, Ben could already picture it. And, well— He would definitely look good.
He’d been staring at himself in the mirror too long, lost in that thought. About Ricky. Again. Ben shook his head, trying to snap out of it. He picked the tie back up, looped it around his neck, gave it another go—and failed, again.
With a frustrated sigh, Ben threw the tie onto the bed and flopped down beside it. Why was this so damn hard? Why couldn’t he just skip prom, hang out with Ricky, and fall asleep next to him instead?
“Might as well just not go,” Ben muttered, voice dripping with sass as he flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling like it had all the answers. His fingers toyed with the crumpled tie beside him, the fabric a wrinkled mess after multiple failed attempts.
Then—clatter. A loud one, right outside his window.
“What the fuck?!” Ben nearly shouted, jolting upright, heart thudding like it was trying to escape his chest. He scrambled to his feet, eyes darting to the window. But the panic melted into irritation as he spotted a familiar, annoyingly smug face.
“Jeez, Brookie. I’ve snuck in here a million times and you still jump like that?” Ricky grinned, casually brushing a leaf from his shoulder like he hadn’t just scared the hell out of him.
Ben scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Gettin’ ready for prom?” Ricky asked, stepping through the window with that same effortless confidence that made Ben want to punch something. Or maybe kiss something. It was confusing.
“Trying to,” Ben muttered, snatching up the tie again. “I swear I’m gonna strangle myself with this thing.”
Ricky let out a low chuckle and took a few slow steps forward. “How about I take that off your hands and show you how a real man does it?” he teased, reaching out with one hand, fingers wiggling like a magician about to perform a trick.
God, he’s so stupid. That smile. Those teeth. The way his eyes scrunch a little when he laughs. The dumb poems. Just so stupid.
Ben gave up with a sigh and dropped the tie into Ricky’s hand. He expected Ricky to demonstrate on himself, show off a bit, make some joke about how smooth he was. But instead, Ricky stepped closer, standing right in front of him, and looped the tie gently around Ben’s neck.
Ben froze.
Ricky’s fingers moved with surprising care, his voice soft and low as he explained each step—loop, fold, tighten. But Ben wasn’t listening. Not really. All he could do was look at him. The way his brow furrowed in focus. The warmth of his breath. The fact that they were this close, in Ben’s room, alone.
Just him and Ricky.
“There,” Ricky said finally, giving the tie one last tug and turning Ben toward the mirror. “That’s how you tie a tie.” He clapped a hand gently on Ben’s shoulder.
Ben glanced at their reflection, then back at Ricky. He noticed the way Ricky paused, like he wanted to say something else. His mouth opened just slightly, then closed again.
“You look beautiful,” Ricky said quietly.
Ben blinked. His mouth parted, but no words came out. It wasn’t the first time Ricky had said something like that. But tonight—it felt different. Like it meant something. Anything he said always felt like it meant something, what is he on about?
Then Ricky cleared his throat. “For Lola, of course.”
Ben nodded slowly, though something in his chest twisted. Why did it feel so nice to hear Ricky say that? Why didn’t he feel this way when Lola said sweet things to him?
Why did Ricky make it feel real?
“Ricky, I don’t—” Ben started, but the words caught somewhere in his throat. He let out a long, slow breath and walked over to the bed again, sitting heavily like the weight of everything was finally settling on his shoulders. His elbows dug into his knees as he buried his face in his hands, fingers tangled in his hair, gripping like he could hold himself together that way.
Then he felt it—fingers wrapping gently around his wrists. Not pulling, not forcing. Just… there.
The hands slowly slid down, until Ricky was holding his. Warm. Steady. When Ben finally looked up, Ricky was crouched in front of him, eyes soft, brows slightly drawn together in a quiet sort of concern. He wasn’t judging. Just waiting—like he wanted to understand, not fix.
“I feel like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not with her,” Ben finally said, voice barely above a whisper. Like if he spoke too loud, the truth would hurt more.
“With Lola?” Ricky asked, easing up onto the bed beside him. He didn’t let go of Ben’s hand. Just shifted closer, grounding him.
“Yeah,” Ben said, his voice a little more fragile now. “I’m pretending to be this perfect boyfriend, like I know what I’m doing, like I feel what I’m supposed to feel. And she doesn’t see it. She doesn’t see how I flinch when she touches me too suddenly, how I pull away without meaning to. I haven’t even said ‘I love you.’ And it’s not her fault—she’s great. It’s just… it’s me.”
A silence stretched between them, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt full. Like Ricky was letting him have space to breathe.
Then Ricky gave a soft smile, squeezing his hand a little. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Brookie,” he said gently. “I’m holding your hand right now, and you haven’t even jumped.”
Ben blinked. His throat tightened. Before he even realized it, Ben leaned in, his head resting lightly on Ricky’s shoulder. It wasn’t planned—just instinct. A quiet craving for closeness, for the safety he only seemed to find with him. Ricky didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He just sat there, solid and warm, like he'd been waiting for Ben to find that comfort all along.
Ben let out a soft breath, letting himself stay there. “It’s easier with you,” he said, voice low, almost hesitant, like he was afraid of breaking the moment.
Ricky let out a quiet chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest, and Ben felt it more than heard it.
“I feel like you’re the only person I can actually talk to,” Ben went on, eyes staring somewhere distant. “Like I can just be direct, without needing to explain or make it pretty. You don’t expect me to pretend. With you, I don’t feel like I have to keep it all together, or be perfect. You make me feel like… like I don’t need to be so hard on myself all the time.”
His voice cracked just slightly on the last sentence. He swallowed.
“You saved me,” he said, quieter now. “You did.”
The silence that followed didn’t need to be filled. Ricky didn’t speak right away. Instead, his hand—still holding Ben’s—shifted just a little, thumb brushing slow, steady circles across his knuckles. It said everything Ben didn’t have words for.
And for once, everything felt like enough.
It was just them in Ben’s room. The low hum of the world beyond the window seemed to fade into nothingness, swallowed by the quiet that wrapped around them like a blanket. For a moment, it felt like time had paused, like this small, sacred space was untouched by everything outside. It was nice like this. Peaceful. Honest.
Sometimes Ben wished it could always be like this. Just him and Ricky. No expectations. No pretending.
My Ricky.
The thought struck him like a flash of lightning, electric and terrifying. Since when did he start thinking like that? When did Ricky become his anything?
Ben squeezed his eyes shut for a second, trying to shake the thought out of his head like water from his ears. You’re with Lola. This is wrong. He knew it, but the guilt didn’t make the thoughts disappear. If anything, it made them louder.
He lifted his head from Ricky’s shoulder, trying to pull himself back to reality—but all that did was give him a clearer look.
Ricky was beautiful. Ridiculously so. Those bright blue eyes—like the sky just before snowfall. That black hair, soft and glossy under the glow of the moonlight creeping through the blinds, a few stray curls resting on his forehead in a way that made Ben want to brush them aside. Just to feel it. Just to touch him. He could sketch Ricky for hours, and still never capture everything that made him feel like this.
Fuck, Ben thought. Can my brain shut up for five seconds?
Trying to center himself, Ben tilted his head and asked, a little too casually, “Are you going?”
Ricky blinked, brows tugging together. “Huh?”
“To prom,” Ben clarified, his voice calmer than he felt. He watched the moment of realization flicker across Ricky’s face, his features softening with it. That look almost made Ben smile, but he bit it back. Couldn’t let too much slip.
Ricky leaned back on his hands a little, one leg still swinging lazily off the bed. “Wasn’t planning to,” he said, watching Ben carefully. “Didn’t really seem like my thing. Why? You want me to go?”
Ben shrugged, playing it cool. “Just wondering. I mean, you’d look good in a suit.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them. Smooth, low, and way too honest.
Ricky raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smirk. “Would I now?”
Ben rolled his eyes and turned his face away, hoping to God Ricky didn’t notice the way his ears went pink. “Oh my fucking god, stop.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Ricky said with a teasing tone, a smug smile curling at the corner of his lips. “I’d look good in anything, after all.”
I’m going to kill myself.
Ricky winked at him, that damn, confident, ridiculous wink that made Ben’s stomach flip. All Ben could do was groan, throwing himself onto the bed dramatically, staring up at the ceiling like it had all the answers.
Ben closed his eyes, trying to will his heartbeat into something normal, but it was useless—Ricky’s voice, his smirk, that damn wink, it all lingered like static in his chest, buzzing under his skin. The room felt warmer now, too small for how loud everything inside him had become. He hated how easy Ricky made it to forget himself, how one look could make his walls crack like cheap glass. It was supposed to be just prom prep, just a moment, but now it felt like standing on the edge of something he wasn’t ready to name. And Ricky—Ricky was just sitting there, completely unaware or maybe totally aware, being his usual, infuriating, magnetic self.
With a sigh, Ben finally pushed himself upright from the bed, eyes scanning Ricky from head to toe with quiet intent, like he was solving some internal equation that only made sense to him.
“What?” Ricky asked, raising an eyebrow, a little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, always ready with some smartass remark.
Ben didn’t answer. He just stood, walked over to his wardrobe, and started pulling things out with a quiet kind of determination—one, two, three. A worn white button-up, a pair of black trousers, and a tie that had seen better days but would do the job. He tossed the shirt first, and Ricky caught it midair, brows raised in confusion.
“What’s this for, Brookie?” Ricky asked, holding the shirt up like it was some foreign object, waving it dramatically like a flag of surrender.
“Prom,” Ben said simply, turning back to his wardrobe. “I want you to go.”
He grabbed a pair of black trousers from the bottom shelf—ones his mum had insisted on buying last year, probably thinking he’d “grow into them,” even though they hung off him like a bad joke. But Ricky was broader, taller—they’d fit him perfectly. Ben tossed them over without much ceremony, trying to keep his tone flat, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like this wasn’t him offering more than just clothes.
Ricky didn’t protest, didn’t throw out some snarky line or roll his eyes the way Ben expected. He just sat there quietly, watching as Ben moved through the room, grabbing what he needed with focused urgency. It felt like forever—each second stretching—but finally, Ben pulled out the tie he’d been searching for. Deep burgundy, a little wrinkled, but it meant something.
This time, he didn’t toss it across the room. He walked over and placed it directly into Ricky’s hand, their fingertips brushing for a split second—soft skin against soft skin—and Ben couldn’t stop the stupid thought from flickering through his mind: How the hell does Ricky get his hands so smooth?
Ben glanced down at him, heart thudding a little harder in his chest. Ricky looked up, holding the tie now, brows furrowed in confusion like he wasn’t quite sure what was happening.
“You can change in here,” Ben said, turning quickly toward the wardrobe and shutting it with a dull thud. “I don’t want my mum seeing you changing in the bathroom. She’d have questions.”
His voice was even, but everything else inside him felt like it was spinning.
Ricky didn’t say anything, just stared at the tie in his hands for a second before looking back at Ben. There was something in his gaze that made the room feel smaller, like he was trying to figure out what exactly was going on here. Ben didn’t have an answer for him.
He turned toward the wardrobe, fiddling with the shelves just to keep his hands busy.
After a moment, Ricky spoke up. “You really want me there?”
Ben nodded quickly, not trusting his voice enough to answer. “Yeah.”
Ricky gave a small, almost nonchalant shrug. “Okay then.”
Ben barely registered the sound of Ricky standing up behind him, the faint rustle of his leather jacket as he pulled it off. It wasn’t until the fabric of his shirt shifted that Ben realized he’d been holding his breath. He looked away quickly, gripping the edge of his desk.
“I won’t look if you’re worried,” Ben muttered, his words coming out faster than he wanted them to.
Ricky just laughed softly. “I’m not modest, Brookie. You should know that.”
Ben rolled his eyes, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, unfortunately, but, I’m respectful with boundaries,”
He focused on his desk, anything to avoid thinking about what was happening behind him, even if the sounds of shifting clothes felt way too loud for his liking.
A few minutes passed in silence, and Ben’s patience started to wear thin. “Can I look now?” he asked, already getting annoyed at how long it was taking for Ricky to throw on a couple of clothes. How does it take this long?
“Yeah,” Ricky replied, his voice sounding a little unsure.
Ben turned in his seat, finally looking up, and there Ricky stood—looking effortlessly perfect, as usual. The guy could make a wrinkled shirt and loose tie look like he’d just stepped off a runway.
Ben stood and walked over to him, stopping right in front of Ricky, taking him in. “You look…” Ben trailed off, eyes lingering on the shirt—wrinkled in all the right places, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, tie slung low around his neck. The trousers sat perfectly around his hips, making Ben want to curse under his breath. “Amazing,” he finished, wiping a little dust off Ricky’s shoulder without thinking.
Ricky blinked, then cracked a small smile. “Tha—” he stopped himself, catching his own words. “Yeah, I know,” he said instead, crossing his arms. “Too bad it isn’t a blue tuxedo.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “Stop going through my shit, you fucker!” he said, nudging Ricky lightly, though not enough to actually hurt him. “I was slugging!”
Ricky just smirked. “So drawing me in a blue tux cures that? I’m touched, Brookie.”
Ben wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or both.
Because there Ricky stood, dressed in Ben’s too-old, too-wrinkled clothes, and still somehow looking like every part of him belonged. And that did something awful to Ben’s chest. Something tight and twisting, like a screw turning deeper with every second Ricky smiled at him.
He shouldn’t feel this way. He knew he shouldn’t.
It wasn’t safe. Not now. Not in a world where one wrong look could get your nose broken, or worse. And yet, here he was—heart skipping like a damn stone across a frozen lake, cracking everything beneath it, just from the way Ricky’s forearms looked in rolled sleeves.
He swallowed hard, eyes dragging across Ricky’s face. That familiar smirk, always a little crooked. The kind that looked like he was in on a joke no one else got. And Ben hated how much he wanted to know what that joke was. He hated how badly he wanted to be the only one Ricky smiled at like that.
His stomach churned. Not with nerves—nerves he could handle. But guilt. Real, sticky guilt. The kind that made you feel like you were doing something wrong just by thinking.
Lola was sweet. Kind. She called him handsome when he couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror. She held his hand like she was proud of it. And yet…
She didn’t make him feel like this. Like he couldn’t breathe right.
Ben glanced at the floor, pretending to adjust his cuff, but really just trying to hide his face. He couldn’t let this show. Not even a little. Because he didn’t want Ricky to see the mess he was in—what his brain was doing, what his heart was screaming.
You like him.
The words echoed, low and cruel. Not spoken. Never spoken. Just there, all the time now, gnawing at the back of his skull like termites in the walls.
He couldn’t like Ricky. Not really. Not in a way that meant anything.
Ben clenched his jaw.
No one could know. Not about Ricky. Not about this. Whatever this was.
But then Ricky turned his head and looked at him—really looked at him—and all that fear got tangled up in something softer. Because there was something in Ricky’s eyes that wasn’t teasing for once. Something unsure, like maybe Ben wasn’t the only one feeling everything too much.
And that thought? That maybe?
It scared Ben more than anything else. Because hope was dangerous. Hope was stupid. Hope made people reckless.
But still, he couldn’t stop it from blooming in his chest like something alive, something wild.
Ben didn’t know what he was doing. He was standing so close to Ricky, his heart racing in a way that felt wrong, but also right.
Without thinking, his hand moved to Ricky’s neck, fingers trembling slightly as he gently cupped the warm skin there. His other hand followed, threading through the thick strands of Ricky’s black hair.
Ricky didn’t pull away. In fact, he stayed still, as if he was waiting. Ben could feel Ricky’s breath hitching, a barely perceptible twitch at the corner of his lips. Was it a smile? A sign? Ben couldn’t tell, but he couldn’t back away now.
He looked into Ricky’s eyes, searching, asking, for something. And when Ricky’s hands found their way to Ben’s face, cupping his cheeks with surprising tenderness, Ben knew.
This was it.
They both leaned in, their noses brushing first, tentative, like they were both testing the waters—before the world crashed in.
Knock knock knock.
“Ben, your mum invited me in!” Lola’s voice, loud and oblivious, rang through the house.
Ben jerked back, instantly breaking the fragile bubble. He stared at Ricky for a second, chest tight with something he didn’t understand. His heart was still hammering. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing the nearest blazer off the chair and throwing it on.
He moved toward the door, trying to act like everything was fine, but the weight of what just happened felt like it was dragging him down. He paused, hand on the doorknob, and turned to see Ricky already halfway out the window, sliding out like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Ricky?” Ben called out, his voice more fragile than he’d intended.
Ricky looked back, catching Ben’s eyes for a brief moment. It was like a silent understanding passed between them. “I’ll see you there, right?” Ben asked, almost pleading, though he wasn’t sure why.
Ricky’s lips curved into that familiar, teasing smile. The one that always made Ben feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one thinking about things that didn’t make sense. “Always, Brookie.”
Then, with that casual grace that was all Ricky, he disappeared out the window.
Ben sighed, letting his hand fall from the door. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty window.
Why had he done that? Why had he kissed him—or almost kissed him? Was that what had happened? It didn’t make sense. He didn’t like guys, did he? At least, he didn’t think so. He liked Lola. He was sure of that.
But then why had his heart raced like that when Ricky was near? Why had his hands moved before his mind could catch up? And why, when Ricky was just inches away, had everything felt so right?
Ben shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the present. He wasn’t sure what any of this meant, but he couldn’t deal with it now. He had to get downstairs before Lola started asking questions.
Still, as he walked out of the room, the taste of what could have been lingered in his chest. And he couldn’t shake the thought of Ricky’s smile, the quiet promise in his eyes.
As he walked down the stairs, he couldn’t help but replay the moment over and over in his head—how Ricky’s eyes had looked at him, like there was more to the story that neither of them was ready to write. And then, the smile. That damn smile. It kept dancing around the edges of his mind, making everything feel confusing.
When Ben reached the bottom of the stairs, Lola was there, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. She was standing in the living room, hands on her hips, staring at the doorway as if she was waiting for some grand entrance.
“Finally,” Lola said, turning to face him with a grin. “I thought you’d get stuck in your room or something.”
“Sorry,” Ben muttered, trying to sound normal.
Lola studied him for a second, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to figure him out. “You okay?” she asked, her voice soft but somehow too sharp.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” Ben said quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t feel right.
Lola didn’t seem convinced, but she shrugged it off. “Alright, well, my brother’s out front. Let’s go before he starts wondering where we’ve been.”
Ben nodded and followed her outside, but as they walked down the front steps, his thoughts kept drifting back to Ricky. He couldn’t shake the image of him leaning against the window, the way their hands had been almost touching, the way everything had seemed like it was on the edge of something big. Something he didn’t understand.
When they finally arrived, the lights hit them like a wave, blinding for a second, followed by the thumping bass of the music that shook the walls. People filled the room, dancing, laughing, lost in the moment. The scent of perfume and cologne was thick in the air, and Ben could feel the energy buzzing around him, making everything seem louder, faster, and more overwhelming than it should be.
His eyes scanned the crowd and landed on his sister. She was dancing with Brady, her laughter ringing through the chaos, her blue dress twirling around her like she was a part of the music itself. She looked happy. She deserves this, Ben thought, feeling a tightness in his chest. She deserved this night, this happiness. A smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Then Lola’s hand slipped into his. Ben glanced down at their intertwined fingers. Her grip was warm, steady. He looked up at her and saw her bright smile, the same smile she wore when everything was right, when the world was simple and made sense.
But for some reason, tonight, it didn’t feel like it made sense.
Lola gave his hand a little squeeze, her voice light but teasing. “You’re not gonna stand there all night, are you?” Her words were meant to pull him back in, to shake him out of whatever fog he was in.
He swallowed, trying to push the tight feeling in his chest down. “Yeah, sorry,” he muttered, trying to focus. He wasn’t sure if he was sorry for being distant or for a certain something else entirely.
They walked through the crowd, the noise and energy wrapping around them. Ben couldn’t help but glance up again, his eyes darting over the sea of faces until they found Ricky’s. Ricky was standing near the punch bowl, laughing with the greaser goon gang, but when their eyes met, everything around Ben went quiet, like the music and the people blurred out. Ricky’s gaze softened, a small smile forming on his lips, and Ben’s heart skipped. He quickly looked away, shaking his head slightly, feeling the rush of confusion flood through him again.
Lola noticed the shift in him, her grip on his hand tightening just a little. “Ben?” she asked, her voice soft. He could hear the concern there, but it felt like a reminder of what he should be focused on—her, prom, the night.
He turned to her and smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t feel real but had to be given anyway. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
But he wasn’t.
As they walked deeper into the crowd, Ben felt like he was walking through a dream he couldn’t quite wake up from. His eyes kept drifting back to Ricky, like gravity was pulling him, but the moment he’d seen Lola’s face, the worry in her eyes, the weight of everything hit him again.
He wasn’t sure if he could keep pretending.
The soft opening notes of I’ll Never Smile Again by Frank Sinatra floated through the air, and it felt like the whole room shifted with it. People started moving into slow dance positions, couples instinctively finding each other, swaying in time with the slow beat. Ben had seen it all before, of course, but tonight, everything felt different.
Lola moved in front of him, a small smile playing on her lips. She reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder, then extended her other hand out to him, her fingers expectant. Ben hesitated for just a moment before he placed his hand over hers, trying to ignore the fluttering in his chest.
Just like Ricky taught me, Ben thought, his mind replaying those quiet lessons from the other night, when Ricky had gently guided him through the steps. He placed his other hand on Lola’s waist, just as Ricky had shown him, and they started to sway.
The music filled the space between them, slow and heavy, and Ben followed the rhythm, just like Ricky had taught him. He glanced at Lola, his eyes catching hers for a split second, but the moment their gazes met, something in him froze. He immediately looked away, his throat tightening.
Why couldn’t I look at her the way I look at Ricky? he thought, frustration bubbling in his chest. Why is it so easy with him?
Ben mumbled under his breath, barely audible, “Sorry.” His voice sounded almost foreign to him, like he wasn’t sure who he was apologizing to. It felt wrong. The rhythm, the dance, it all felt wrong. The closeness of Lola’s body, her smile, everything felt… out of place. It wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She was supposed to be the one he could look at with ease.
Lola’s smile faltered just slightly, but she quickly masked it. “It’s… okay,” she said, the words light, but the tone behind them was obvious. That smile wasn’t real. It was the kind of smile people wear when they’re trying to convince themselves everything’s fine, even when it isn’t.
Ben wanted to apologize again, wanted to explain, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t put into words why he felt so distant from her, why he couldn’t connect the way they were supposed to. His body moved with the music, but his mind was elsewhere, somewhere he didn’t want to admit.
After awhile, the music switched from slow to fast, people around Ben jumping into the new rhythm, laughing, shouting, dancing however they felt. But Ben just stood there, his feet not moving right, his body offbeat. Everyone else was into it, but he couldn’t find the energy to join in.
Donna and Brady were laughing with Lola now, Donna talking a mile a minute, and Lola trying to keep up with her and still dance at the same time. Ben could feel himself slipping out of the moment, out of the group. He wasn’t feeling it. Not like them.
Ben stepped toward them, but then stopped, suddenly feeling the weight of everything. He didn’t belong here.
“I’m gonna head out for a bit,” he muttered, the loud music swallowing his voice. “Don’t think I’m feeling too great.”
It was a lie, obviously. He wasn’t sick. Just… overwhelmed. He knew Donna could tell, she raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t say anything. She just gave him that look like she knew there was more to it, but wasn’t gonna push it.
“Hope you feel better, love,” Lola said, with a smile. “I love you,”
Ben nodded and gave a smile as he said a quick goodbye, and then left, walking away from the crowd like he could breathe again once he got a little distance.
The bathroom was the first place that popped into his head. Quiet, empty, no one else to bother him. He really hoped no one else was in there. The last thing he wanted was to run into some couple sneaking away from the dance. He just needed a break, some space, to think.
As he walked down the hallway, his head was spinning. What was going on with him? Why couldn’t he just be happy tonight?
Ben pushed the bathroom door open, expecting a quiet moment to himself. He needed a breather—something to cool the rush of nerves swirling in his chest. But when he stepped inside, his eyes went wide.
Ricky was already there.
The faint scent of smoke hit Ben’s nose, and he froze. Ricky was leaning against the sink, casually blowing out a puff of smoke from a cigarette, looking annoyingly cool. As always.
Ben blinked, his heart pounding in his chest. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
Ricky smirked, taking another drag from his cigarette before letting the smoke escape from his mouth. “What’s it look like? I’m taking a break. This place is too damn loud.”
Ben didn’t know what to say. He had expected to find some privacy, but now it seemed like he couldn’t get away from Ricky if he tried. It was like fate had decided that tonight, they were going to face whatever was going on between them.
“Are you just… gonna stand there staring at me, or are you gonna join me?” Ricky asked, his voice low and teasing, but his eyes had a knowing glint in them.
Ben’s chest tightened. “I didn’t come in here to hang out, Ricky.”
Ricky raised an eyebrow, as if challenging him. “Sure you didn’t.”
Ben let out a frustrated sigh. He wasn’t in the mood for Ricky’s usual games tonight. He just wanted to get a grip on his thoughts, but now, everything seemed to be swirling around Ricky like smoke in the air.
Ben muttered under his breath, “God, you’re impossible,” as he walked into the bathroom, the cool air hitting his skin like a much-needed slap. He stepped past Ricky, leaning his back against the wall with a sigh. He wasn’t sure why he was letting himself get so worked up over this, over Ricky—over everything—but for some reason, the frustration was still there, crawling under his skin.
The sound of muffled music from the dance floor filtered through the thin walls, and Ben could hear the tempo of the song change, slowing down.
Ricky flicked the end of his cigarette into the sink, the ember dying as he turned toward Ben, his face still unreadable. They both stood in silence for a moment, not saying a word, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—more like a shared understanding they didn’t need to voice.
Eventually, Ricky spoke up, his voice low, like he was hesitant to make a sound at all. “You wanna dance?” he asked, an edge of amusement in his tone, but there was something else there, too—something softer, like he was asking without pushing.
Ben shifted his weight against the wall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The idea of dancing with Ricky made something twist in his stomach, but he wasn’t sure if it was nerves or something else. Maybe both.
“Here?” Ben said, half laughing, half questioning, as if the bathroom was the last place anyone would expect to slow dance.
Ricky raised an eyebrow, the same small smirk on his lips. “Who says we need to be out there to dance?”
Ben hesitated for a second, glancing over at Ricky. His gut told him to back off, to keep his distance, to not let the air between them get any thicker. But, somehow, he just… didn’t want to. He didn’t want to walk away from this. He didn’t want to let it all go.
So, with a deep breath, Ben pushed off the wall, stepping closer to Ricky, who had already moved a little to give him space.
Ben’s heart beat faster as he met Ricky’s gaze. For a split second, everything else disappeared—the loud music, the crowd, the expectations. It was just the two of them in this tiny bathroom, like the world outside didn’t matter.
Ricky, sensing the shift, held out his hand, an invitation. He didn’t say anything, just waited. Ben’s eyes flickered down to the outstretched hand and then back up to Ricky, who was still watching him with that knowing, patient look.
Ben swallowed, the nervous flutter in his chest turning into something more. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but something in him just said fuck it.
He took Ricky’s hand.
Ricky didn’t hesitate either. Without a word, he pulled Ben a little closer, guiding them into the rhythm of the music, despite the space being cramped. They just swayed together slowly, close but not too close, as the song played on in the background.
Ben couldn’t stop the way his heart raced, but this time, it wasn’t from panic—it was something else. Maybe it was the simple act of moving with Ricky, something that felt natural, something that felt easy in a way Ben hadn’t expected.
His hand rested lightly on Ricky’s shoulder, and Ricky’s hand was steady on his waist. The world outside felt a million miles away, and in that small, quiet space, Ben let himself breathe.
All Ben could focus on was Ricky’s presence, how their movements seemed to flow together, like they belonged in this space, at least for this moment.
They kept moving, just the two of them swaying gently to the muffled sound of the slow song echoing through the walls. Ben’s head was spinning, and not from the music or the leftover punch he barely touched. It was Ricky. It was always Ricky.
There was a moment where their eyes locked and neither of them looked away. Ricky’s hand slid just a little higher up Ben’s back, and Ben didn’t flinch. Didn’t step away. If anything, he stepped closer.
And then it happened.
Ben leaned in. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t some dramatic movie moment. It was soft. Careful. Their lips met halfway, and it was quiet. Still. Just the faint buzz of the music, the distant echo of people living lives they didn’t belong to.
Ricky didn’t pull away. He kissed him back. Gently. Like he’d been waiting for Ben to do it first.
Ben’s heart dropped in his chest—like it fell all the way through him. For a second, everything felt warm. Easy. Like maybe it could be okay.
But then—
Then it hit him. The weight of it. What it meant. What it could mean. What it wasn’t supposed to mean.
He pulled away.
Not harshly. Not like he was angry. But like he was scared.
Ben stepped back fast, his hand falling away from Ricky’s chest like it had been burned. “Shit,” he breathed, eyes wide, and his back hit the wall behind him.
Ricky didn’t say anything. He just watched, like he knew this would happen. Maybe he’d seen it before.
Ben ran a hand through his hair, his breathing uneven, thoughts already spiraling. “I—I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean—” But that wasn’t true, and they both knew it.
“I have to go,” Ben muttered, almost to himself, and without waiting for anything—an answer, a look, a word—he turned and pushed the bathroom door open.
The music outside slammed into him, loud and blinding. People were laughing, dancing, like nothing had just shifted off its axis behind that door.
Ben didn’t look back.
He just kept walking. Out of the dance floor. Out of the gym. Out into the cool night air, where he could finally breathe, even if it didn’t feel any better.
The walk home felt longer than it ever had. Ben kept his hands shoved deep into his pockets, head down, like maybe if he didn’t look up, the world would stop spinning. Every few steps, he’d glance behind him, half-expecting Ricky to be there, calling out his name or saying something stupid just to make him laugh.
But the street stayed empty. Quiet. Still.
When he got to the house, he opened the door slowly, careful not to wake anyone. The house was dark, the only sound being the ticking of the old hallway clock. It always ticked a little too loud at night.
Ben slipped off his shoes and padded up the stairs to his room. He closed the door behind him, leaned his back against it, and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Everything in his room looked the same, but felt different. His tie was still half-undone, and his blazer hung crooked off one shoulder. He dropped both onto his desk chair and sat on the edge of his bed, hands gripping the mattress.
What the hell did he just do?
He’d kissed Ricky. He had kissed Ricky.
And it wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t a mistake or a moment of confusion.
It had felt… right. Which made it all the more terrifying.
He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. The guilt rolled in slow, like fog. Not just about Lola, though that was part of it. She didn’t deserve this. None of it.
But mostly, it was the part of him that had been trained to believe that what he did was wrong. That it meant something was broken in him.
But it hadn’t felt broken. Not for that one second. It had felt like relief.
Still, he couldn’t stop the voice in his head telling him it wasn’t safe. That someone could’ve seen. That this wasn’t just a mistake—it was something that could ruin him.
Ben laid back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere outside, a car passed by. Then it was quiet again.
He didn’t cry. He just laid there. Still dressed in his prom clothes, staring up at nothing, wishing the world would just slow down enough for him to catch his breath.
And in his mind—against every desperate attempt not to think about it—he kept replaying the moment their lips touched.
Over and over again.
Ben must’ve dozed off, but it wasn’t a peaceful kind of sleep. He woke up with his heart pounding, his mouth dry, and the same heavy feeling sitting on his chest. Outside, the sky had gone dark—really dark. The kind of dark where everything’s quiet, like the whole world’s holding its breath.
And then—
Tap tap.
Ben froze.
Tap tap tap.
His head shot toward the window.
There he was. Ricky.
Ben sat up slowly, heart thudding against his ribs. Ricky was leaning on the fire escape, one hand in his pocket, the other tapping gently against the glass. Ben’s throat tightened at the sight.
He hesitated, then stood, walking over to the window and unlatching it. The moment it was open, Ricky climbed in with practiced ease, as he’d done it a hundred times before.
They didn’t say anything.
Not at first.
Ben backed up, arms crossed, jaw clenched like he was trying to hold himself together.
“You left kinda fast,” Ricky finally said, voice soft.
Ben shook his head, looking down. “I couldn’t stay.”
“I figured.”
Silence.
“I kissed you,” Ben said, like he was confessing to something awful. “I kissed you, and it felt like my whole fucking world flipped upside down.”
Ricky nodded slowly, taking a step closer but not touching him. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”
Ben turned away, running a hand through his hair. “What are we supposed to do, Ricky? We can’t—we can’t be like this. People’ll find out. They’ll hate us. My mum, Lola… I don’t even know what I am, and—” His voice cracked, and before he could stop it, his eyes burned.
Ricky didn’t hesitate this time. He crossed the space between them and pulled Ben into him, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders like he was holding him together. Ben broke.
He buried his face into Ricky’s chest and just breathed. It came out in gasps, ugly and shaking. Ricky held him tighter, his own breathing uneven, his cheek pressed to the side of Ben’s head.
“I’m scared too,” Ricky whispered. “You think I’m not? I don’t know what the hell this means or where it goes or how we’re supposed to live like this. But—” He pulled back just enough to look at Ben. “You’re the only thing that’s made me feel real in a long time.”
Ben looked up at him, tears still clinging to his lashes.
And then, without a word, Ricky leaned in.
This time, Ben didn’t flinch. He didn’t overthink it. He just kissed him back.
It wasn’t perfect. It was messy, shaky, full of fear and relief all at once. Both of them had tears on their cheeks when they pulled away, and they just rested their foreheads together, eyes closed.
“We’re gonna be okay,” Ricky said, like he was trying to believe it himself.
Ben didn’t answer at first. Then—quietly, like a secret—he said, “Just… don’t leave yet.”
“I won’t,” Ricky whispered.
And they just stood there, holding onto each other in the middle of Ben’s dark, quiet room—two scared boys trying to figure out how to be brave.