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Ricky’s grip on Ben’s hand tightened as he slipped into the brunette’s room, struggling to keep him up on his feet. As soon as Ben stepped inside with Ricky, he nearly collapsed against the greaser’s chest.
He had never seen Ben this drunk, not once.
Sure, there had been nights when Ben felt shitty and dragged Ricky to the nearest bar. They’d drink, laugh a little too loud at the stupid remarks Ricky gave, and the greaser would walk him home with a steady hand on his shoulder. But tonight was different. He had never acted this out of it. He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t talking. He was barely able to mutter a word, clinging to Ricky’s side like glue, his head drooping and his words practically nonexistent.
What the fuck had happened for Ben to get that drunk anyway?
“God, what the hell happened to you tonight, Brookie?” Ricky muttered under his breath, shifting Ben’s weight to keep him from stumbling. The boy nearly tripped over, grasping Ricky’s hand tighter.
“Ben—“ he grunted, adjusting his grip and pulling the boy’s shoulders back as he wrapped an arm around Ben’s waist. “Come on, don’t fall asleep on me yet, alright Brookie?” he whispered softly, worried anything louder would cause him to flinch or pull back and stumble over. “Let’s at least get you on the bed, yeah?”
Ben didn’t answer. He leaned into his touch, mumbling something of an agreement as Ricky guided him gently to the edge of the bed and sat him down, wrapping his arms around the boy’s neck to take off his tie. He fumbled with it for a bit before sliding it onto the desk along with Ben’s waistcoat, unbuttoning the vest in hopes of making it any easier for the brunette to breathe comfortably.
He could feel the heat radiating off of Ben, Ricky’s hands lingering a second longer than needed. In his eyes, Ben was a whole different person when he was drunk. Not in a bad way—just… more real. Ricky never got to see this version of him often, so soft and quiet. All his sharp edges dulled, the usual tension vanished. No sarcasm, no hate, no pretending he didn’t care. Just Ben, unguarded and gentle.
If only that side of Ben would come through when he was sober.
“You good for now, Brookie?” Ricky asked, kneeling in front of Ben to meet his eyes, placing a reassuring hand on the boy’s knee. Ben nodded, removing Ricky’s hand to interlock them with his. His touch was clumsy, but purposeful. “zYeah, yeah…” he slurred, his words soft, almost unintelligible. “Jz—… Let’s jst sleep.”
Ricky smirked, amused at Ben’s words, rubbing a thumb over his knuckle. “Yeah,” he laughed softly, “We can do that.”
Ricky brushed a bit of hair from Ben’s forehead, letting his hand linger there for a second before standing up, taking off his tie and coat, and tossing them onto the desk beside Ben’s vest and tie.
Behind him, Ben had flopped backward onto the bed with a soft grunt, one arm draped over his head. His hair was a mess, sticking to his forehead lazily. Ricky made his way over, propping himself up against the headboard. Ben locked eyes with Ricky as the boy laid down against the headboard, and before Ricky could even settle, Ben was already moving.
He didn’t think about it or hesitate—he just shifted forward, laying his head against Ricky’s chest as his arms slid tightly around the boy’s waist, clinging to him with quiet desperation like he needed something to hold onto. Something safe.
Ricky went stiff for a second, startled by how quickly Ben had gone to him. He hadn’t expected that. Not from Ben. Especially not like this.
He huffed out a small forced laugh, bringing a hand up to ruffle Ben’s hair, letting them settle at the nape of his neck as his cheeks burned a bright red.
“Gnijght shitbird,” Ben mumbled, the words unintelligible against Ricky’s shirt. “Loveyouu.”
Ricky’s entire body went still.
His eyes widened, the greaser’s heart skipping a beat, stuttering in his chest. His face went pale at the words. He glanced back down at Ben, half-expecting him to be smirking or even half-awake, but he wasn’t. The boy had already drifted off, out cold, his mouth hanging slightly open, breathing steadily. His arms instinctively tightened around Ricky, even in his sleep, like he didn’t want to let go.
“Love you.”
The words echoed in his head, stuck in a loop.
Slurred, sleepy, probably unintentional and meaningless.
But still.
Ricky swallowed hard. He let his eyes fall shut, head tilting back against the wall. He didn’t know what it meant, but he was already exhausted and it was too much. He wasn’t going to unpack it now. He’d come back to it in the morning. When Ben was sober. When he had some sleep, and when things made more sense.
For now, he just let himself breathe.
Ricky wrapped his hands around the boy, pulling him a little closer, and pressed his chin to Ben’s head, pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead.
“Love you too, Brookie.”