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Ben swayed with the rhythm of the music, his right hand in Lola’s, the other pressed against her back. The faint hum of the songs filled the room, suppressed by the sounds of laughter and happy couples dancing or having a drink.
He was supposed to be happy.
It was prom night, and Ben was dancing with his girlfriend. Lola, who stayed by his side for the past year. Lola, who had beautiful, silky black hair, long thick lashes, full lips, and bright blue eyes. Just like someone else he knew, he thought.
But despite how great Lola was to Ben, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t right. Like he was living a lie. She deserved better than this.
Every day was filled with cheek kisses, a soft brush of hands, or Lola subtly flirting with him at the lunch table. And yet, as amazing as that might’ve sounded to some people, it felt wrong, like he was living in someone else’s shoes.
The only time he ever felt at home was when he was with Ricky. His Ricky.
The thought made his chest ache.
When they’d be lying down on Ben’s bed together, legs brushing, not a care in the world. Gazing into each other’s eyes like nothing else mattered.
And Ricky constantly filled up his brain. He’d even stay up some nights, worried about him, stressing over how he was doing and whether or not he was okay.
But he was supposed to think about Lola. He was supposed to be happily dancing with her right now, looking deep into her beaming blue eyes, in love with her.
The guilt that came with the fact that he wasn’t thinking about her, but rather about Ricky, was eating him alive. God, did he look good tonight.
He glanced over Lola’s shoulder–a quick glance–but it was enough to dig an even deeper pit in his stomach. There he was. Ricky, listening to Skeeter’s words, laughing too hard about something probably stupid.
Seeing him with Skeeter was tearing his heart apart. It hurt more than it should have, he knew. He tried telling himself that it didn’t matter. That it didn’t mean anything. But watching them together, talking and laughing like they’d practiced it over and over again, felt like someone had reached into his chest and twisted his heart, slowly and cruelly.
Ben’s heart sank back into his chest and flinched when he heard a voice, soft and worrying.
“You doing okay, honey?” Lola asked, her brows creasing with obvious concern. “Is it the shrimp again?”
Ben stood there and continued to sway, his grip on Lola’s hip loosening slightly. He looked at Lola—really looked at her—and the guilt immediately began to grab at his throat.
He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t hurt Lola like this. He couldn’t be dancing with her and pretend she was his one and only—not when he knew he didn’t love her.
Ben gulped slowly, the heat rising to his cheeks. “Lola, I—“ he paused, trying to find the right words, before deciding he would need some time to figure things out. He still wasn’t sure how he even felt about her.
“Yeah. I’m sorry,” he continued. “It’s the shrimp. I’m gonna head to the bathroom, okay?”
“Feel better, babe,” she sighed, releasing their hands as she watched him head toward the bathroom, head low and hands in his pockets.
—————————————————
“You can’t be serious!!” Ricky laughed, leaning back against his chair as he listened to Skeeter’s rants about sushi and drama. He liked being there for her, even when his mind wasn’t fully there.
Skeeter was always intrigued by things like that. Having someone to talk to about that stuff and being able to laugh about it meant the world to her, especially after what she’d been through and whatever happened with Heather and Emily.
So Ricky was glad to be there for her. However he could be.
Yet, tonight, his mind kept drifting to Ben, his thoughts blocking out the muffled sounds of Skeeter’s rants. God, he looked pretty.
It hurt seeing him dance with Lola. Day after day, he had to watch Ben kiss her on the cheek and flood her with compliments.
But it always felt so two-faced.
When Lola was around, he’d be talking her ear off, telling her she’s beautiful, everything. He would play the perfect boyfriend.
When she wasn’t, Ben would tell Ricky about how he felt like he was a bad boyfriend. How he didn’t love her as much as he was supposed to love her, and how he just wanted things to work out.
It just felt like, maybe—just maybe—Ricky had a chance. He had some stupid, reckless hope that Ben really did like him, and he was just putting on a show. But the chances of that? He was probably kidding himself.
Skeeter said so, too. She’d told him over and over that it was all in his head and that they probably just fought sometimes, like any normal couple would. She’d been through a lot and was only looking out for him, but he always found himself crawling back to Ben, hoping that it wasn’t true.
His gaze moved around the room, bitterly watching as Ben danced with Lola, when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. But–he could’ve sworn he’d heard Skeeter say she was going to get more sushi.
He turned his head to see Kenny, unsteady on his feet, his bloodshot eyes locking with Ricky’s. “Yo! Ricky!” he exclaimed, reeking of alcohol, his words loud and slurred. He stumbled forward, nearly tripping, as Ricky stood there. Staring.
“You doin’ good?” Kenny asked, barely giving Ricky a chance to reply as he continued. “I got some booze. The hard stuff. I can give you some. On the house!”
To be honest, Ricky wasn’t surprised–the greasers would never pass up the chance to sneak in alcohol.
Ricky opened his mouth, about to deny the offer, but the words died on his tongue. His eyes flicked back to the dance floor – to Ben and Lola swaying together, her bright eyes fixed on Ben like he was her whole world. Like they were meant to be.
But thinking about them any more was only going to hurt him further. He needed to get his mind off Ben.
Ricky’s eyes shifted back to the bottle in Kenny’s hand, the temptation practically killing him. A drink or two couldn’t hurt. At least it would shut his brain up. Damn it, Brookie.
——————————————————
Ricky gulped down the last of his drink and groaned as he placed it down, turning to Skeeter, who’d been shoving a mouthful of sushi in between her lips. She noticed Ricky’s gaze on her and turned back to him, raising an eyebrow.
“You doin’ okay, Rich Rich?” she asked, her gaze flickering between Ricky’s eyes and his drink. “I think that’s a lot of alcohol.”
“Y-yeah, I’m fine, Skeetss,” he mumbled, slurring his words, his Boston accent more prominent now. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, I just needed to get my mind off Brookie.”
Skeeter slowly nodded and took another bite of her sushi as she leaned further back into her chair, crossing her legs.
She really worried about Ricky sometimes. He’d been Skeeter’s best friend for a while now, and she did what she could to prevent him from going down the same hill she did. Emily was the worst and best thing that had ever happened to her–her everything. But that meant Skeeter had to keep her distance. To pretend they were just friends, and keep all their intimate brushes of hands “accidents.” They had to keep their feelings hidden deep down in fear of what would happen to them.
And it ended up happening, anyway.
Yet, it’s not like Skeeter could change the way Ricky felt about Ben. It’s not like every story is the same, anyway. Maybe Ben did like him. But even so, they’d have to be careful.
Ricky watched as Ben continued to sway with Lola, noting his slow and steady movements, an endless pit forming in his stomach. Even with the alcohol, he still couldn’t pull away from Ben. Great. That’s just what he needed tonight–to be drunk and pining over a boy he couldn’t have.
He was just about to suggest to Skeeter that they go outside and have a smoke, just to get away from the loud music and the overwhelming crowd–though really he meant the sight of Ben dancing with Lola–when his gaze fixed back on Ben, who had let go of Lola and had been sullenly heading toward the bathroom.
Ricky stood up without thinking.
“Hey, where are you going?” Skeeter pressed, grabbing hold of Ricky’s wrist. He slightly tripped and stumbled on his feet, looking back at her with an eager expression, like he was going to explode if she didn’t let go.
“I’m just goin’ to the bathroom,” he mumbled, tugging on Skeeter’s arm. Her eyes shifted toward Ben, closing the bathroom door behind him, and her stomach immediately sank. If Ricky, drunk and not himself, went after Ben, he was really going to say some stupid shit. Shit that would only lead him only deeper into his problems.
“Rich, no,” she blurted, a sharp bite in her tone. Skeeter didn’t mean to sound that way, but how else was she going to get her point across? “You’re drunk, you can’t go after him. I know how you get when you’ve had too much. Just come have some sushi.”
Ricky gently yanked his arm from her grip. “Skeets, cmonn’,” he insisted, his voice tired and worn from the alcohol. “I’m not gonna say nothin’. I just… I need to see him. That’s all.”
Skeeter’s expression softened as she looked at him–his flushed cheeks, the nervous twitching, the aching desire to see Ben. “Are you sure that’s all you’re gonna do? Talk to him?” she interrogated gently.
Ricky nodded quickly, patting Skeeter’s shoulder. “I swear,” he declared proudly.
She let out a long but slow sigh, then finally fully let go of his wrist. “Fine,” she mumbled. “But seriously. Don’t get yourself in any—“
She barely had time to finish her sentence before Ricky ran off clumsily, waving her goodbye and shooting her a quick thumbs up.
“—trouble…” she groaned, eating the last of her sushi as she watched the greaser hastily enter the bathroom.
—----------------------------------------------
Ben groaned as he leaned back against the bathroom wall, crouching down and burying his head in his lap. His head was spinning like crazy, and it felt like the walls were closing in on him, inching closer with every second. The music from the dance was drowned out by the sounds of his thoughts and the bathroom lights buzzing above him.
Why couldn’t he just be normal? Why couldn’t he love Lola the way he was supposed to?
He squeezed his eyes tighter, trying to block out the thought of Ricky and Lola, or maybe whoever wrote those stupid love letters that made his stomach flutter.
Those letters were sweet and gentle, and described Ben in ways that made it seem like they really knew him. Like they had seen right into his heart. But he didn’t know any girls. Not besides Lola.
Maybe it was– No. But he wouldn’t mind if…
Nevermind. He couldn’t think right now.
Ben’s breath hitched when he heard the door creak open, the cold air from outside the bathroom sending a chill down his spine.
Ben slowly lifted his head as he wiped his eyes, looking up to meet Ricky’s. The smell of alcohol and cheap hairspray filled the bathroom, his hair disheveled and his face flushed.
Neither of them said anything for a moment. The silence stood between them, nothing but the sound of faint music and each other’s slow breaths filling the air.
Ricky was the one to break that silence.
“Hey,” he muttered, his voice rough from the alcohol. He shut the door behind him and leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them. “You good?”
Ben sniffed, turning his head to stare at the tiles he’d been sitting on. They were old and dirty, but he couldn't care less. He couldn’t let Ricky see him like this.
“What are you doing in here?” Ben asked, stuttering slightly. He pushed himself back against the wall as if he hadn’t already been far back enough to distance himself. “Shouldn’t you be with Skeeter?”
Ricky shrugged and walked toward Ben, nearly falling over halfway, and collapsed onto the floor beside him. “She’s doin’ her own thing, and I, uh— I wanted to see you, Brookie,” he slurred.
Ben slowly looked back up at Ricky. His eyes were glassy, slightly red, and his hair was messy, like he’d run his hands through his hair more times than he could count. His wrinkled purple tie was practically falling off his collar.
“Ricky, are you…” He began, his thoughts running faster than his mouth. Ricky let out a soft hum, waiting for Ben to continue.
“Are you drunk?” he asked, squinting his eyes at Ricky with concern.
To be fair, he didn’t doubt it for a second. He found it kind of goofy when Ricky came back to his room, disheveled and confused, slurring his words and practically falling on Ben’s shoulder.
Ricky’s hands defensively flew up, leaning back with a small chuckle. “Mmaybe I am, maybe I’m not.” He steadily leaned in closer with a grin. “Who’s askin’?”
Ben lightly punched his shoulder, and Ricky yelped, rubbing the spot where he’d been hit.
“Seriously,” Ben pressed. “Where’d you get alcohol from?”
“Why, you want some too?” Ricky teased, quickly scooting back before Ben could throw him another punch.
Ben gave him a death stare, glaring at Ricky like he was ready to bury him six feet under if he didn’t speak. Ricky flinched slightly, but leaned back into Ben’s side as he spoke.
“Kenny gave me some drinks,” he muttered softly, a little ashamed. He hadn’t planned to get drunk, but the thought of Ben was too overwhelming. “Thought I could use one or two. But what about you?? Why’re you in here? I thought you were dancin’ with Lola??”
Ben groaned, rubbing his temple. “I mean— I was,” he mumbled, voice low and rough. “But it… didn’t feel right. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”
Ricky blinked slowly, trying to keep focus, his body leaning slightly closer. He tilted his head, squinting at him. “You can’t dance, Brookie? I can show ya again,” he offered.
Ben’s face heated up, but he tried playing it off by huffing a dry laugh. “No, no… I know how. Just with Lola. I couldn’t do it with her.”
“Ohh,” Ricky said, dragging the word out. He leaned back against the wall and nodded like he understood, even though he looked like his mind was someplace else. “Yeah. I get that. It’s like—y’know when you’re wearing a jacket that doesn’t really fit right?? Like it looks fine, but the sleeves feel weird and it kinda pulls at your neck and you can’t breathe or somethin’.”
Ben squinted at him. “A jacket??”
“I dunno,” Ricky shrugged, shifting a little. “Like—it looks normal, but it don’t feel right, and yet ya keep wearing’ it anyway ‘cause it looks good.”
Ben let out a small chuckle. “You’re weird,” he laughed. “Especially when you’re drunk.”
“Whaat!” Ricky exclaimed. “I’m not drunkk.”
“Uh huh,” Ben muttered, amused and exhausted. “You sound like you got hit by a truck full of metaphors.”
Ricky laughed at that, practically wheezing, his head tilting back against the wall. “Yeah, that stuff was poetic as shit,” he declared. “I should write that down for my next letter.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “Next letter?”
Ricky’s grin faded as he shrugged, blinking slowly, his words still slurring. “My love letters.”
Ben blinked, caught off guard. “You wrote love letters??”
Ricky just stared at him for a moment, his eyes glossy and unfocused, letting out a small laugh. “Yeah,” he shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter.”
Ben felt his heart practically grabbing at his throat. The room felt humid, the hot air trapping him in his thoughts. “Ricky…” he mumbled, but the rest of the words died out.
What letters? Why? Was it him? Was he talking about him? He likes someone??
He couldn’t imagine if it was Ricky writing those letters.
The sweet letters someone would slip on his locker. The letters that made him feel known. Loved.
But he couldn’t say a word.
Ricky’s eyes flickered down for a moment before meeting Ben’s again, giving him a confused grin. “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that, Brookie?”
Ben’s throat felt dry. “You wrote love letters shitbird. You can’t just—push something like that aside!” he pressed, his voice quieting down into a whisper. “Who were they for??”
“I mean, they were stupid anyway,” Ricky sighed. “All poetic n stuff… Real sappy. You’d laugh.”
Ben’s lips parted, his mouth dry. “Try me.”
Ricky smiled slightly. “I wrote stuff like how his eyes are pretty and how my love is wrong, but I still love him… and— I dunno. It was corny. I forget.”
Ben’s heart was racing, but he couldn’t tell if it was panic or hope. “He?”
Ricky paused, blinking slowly. “Oh yeah,” he tilted his head and leaned back against the wall. “They were to you. Silly me.”
Ricky just shrugged as Ben froze. His eyes widened, and his chest thumped, his heart practically beating outside of his chest. It felt like his throat was closing up by the second.
He wanted to shove Ricky away. To yell at him for messing with his head. “You’re—you’re drunk,” he stuttered, shaking his head, tightening his grip on his legs. “You don’t mean that.”
“I always mean it, Brookie. Jus’ don’t say it.”
All that came out was a cracked whisper. “Ricky, don’t mess with me. Please.”
Ricky grinned slightly. “M’not messin’. You’re pretty, Brookie.”
Ben’s heart stopped, and his whole body shook. “Stop… Don’t—“ he paused. He couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t. “You’re too drunk.”
Ricky reached over and cupped his face in his palms, turning Ben’s head so he was forced to look at him. His breath hitched, his cheeks immediately flushing. Ben’s eyes were watery, and his chest felt tight, like it was suffocating him on the inside.
Ricky grinned, thumbs brushing Ben’s cheek.
“A drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts,” Ricky remarked proudly. “That’s what they say, right?”
Ben laughed into his tears, and his eyes flickered down to Ricky’s lips, quickly bringing them back up to his eyes – eyes that looked so soft and warm, even if he was sloppy and drunk.
Ben hesitated, his voice shaky and cracked. “It was you who wrote those letters? For real?”
“‘Course I did,” Ricky hummed. “N’ I put a heart on every one of ‘em.”
“You’re not just saying that because you’re drunk?” he asked, a sob caught at the back of his throat.
“I’d write you a hundred more if I were sober right now.”
Ben let out a small laugh, somewhere between a breath of relief and a cry.
“I hate that I feel this way,” he said softly, as Ricky gently stroked his cheek. “But I can’t stop. I know it’s wrong, and–” his voice cracked again.
“Nahh.” Ricky cut him off with a sudden, slurred laugh, shaking his head as his thumb pressed harder against Ben’s cheek. “No, don’t–don’t say that. It’s not wrong.”
Ben watched as Ricky rambled, his heart feeling like it was going to explode.
“Brookie, listen–” he hiccuped, his grip sliding down slightly onto Ben’s jaw, fingers curling in Ben’s hair. “You’re not wrong, you’re jus’… you.”
Ben’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. He just smiled, still trembling under Ricky’s touch, amused. “God, you’re so drunk.”
Ricky let out a short, breathless laugh. “Huh. Guess ‘m pretty hammered, huh? Kenny’s fault. ‘N yours.”
“Mine??”
“Yeah. ‘Cause if I wasn’t thinkin’ ‘bout you all night, I wouldn’t have drank,” Ricky shrugged, pressing his forehead to Ben’s.
“You’re gonna regret this in the morning,” Ben choked, breath caught between a laugh and a sob.
“Shit,” Ricky said. “Guess I really told you all that, huh?” Ricky breathed, opening his mouth before pausing. “Nah, nah… I won’t regret it. You’re so good, Brookie. So good.”
Ben stared at Ricky, his gaze fixed on his eyes, flickering down to his lips and back up. “You promise?”
“Shut up already, Brookie,” Ricky sighed, and then, recklessly but softly, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Ben’s lips.
His hands were warm on Ben’s jaw, holding him there. Ricky’s fingers curled deeper into his hair as Ben gasped into the kiss, frozen, before almost immediately kissing back. Terrified, but full of everything he’d been trying to bury.
He knew he wanted this, but it took everything in him to admit it.
Ben dragged an arm up Ricky’s chest, wrapping around his neck, grasping the back tightly as the kiss deepened. He could taste the booze and cigarettes as their lips moved together, messy and desperate, but real.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless. Ricky’s hand had moved down to Ben’s shoulder, staying there as they stared into each other. For a moment, neither of them spoke. All that filled the room was the distant hum of the dance music and the buzzing light still flickering above them.
Ben let out a shaky laugh as Ricky’s thumbs brushed along the shape of his jaw like he was trying to memorize it. Ricky tilted his head, trying to focus on Ben’s eyes despite the alcohol fogging his brain.
“I can’t keep lying to her,” Ben finally mumbled, the tears gathering again. “I love you. So much. I just don’t know what to do with her. With you.”
“We can figure it out as we go, Brookie,” he slurred, pressing his forehead back with Ben’s. “You want a drink?”
“God, please.”