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Enes checks his phone as he hikes up the stairs to the team’s apartment. The damn elevator is still broken. He scrolls his banners quickly, hundreds of Twitter replies flooding his notifications. He sighs, turning his phone off and pocketing it once again. The whole reason he left the hotel and went for a walk was to clear his head, not to focus on all of the supposed fans throwing his words in his face.
He knows it shouldn’t get to him, that people are going to be unsatisfied and complain regardless, but it overwhelms him sometimes. Makes it difficult to stay calm and rational. The walk was nice; the fresh air clearing his lungs and helping him stay level headed, the late summer evening soothing him. Some time alone was also nice, he loves his team—don’t get him wrong—but they can be… a lot.
He’s familiar with the others’ methods of winding down:; Boo hides away in his room, seemingly alone, but Enes has heard him talking lowly on the phone in the middle of the night. Domi grinds himself to the bone on ranked, queuing again and again until his eyes hurt and his hands are cramping. Enes has massaged away the aches more times than he can count. Mert shoves his earbuds in his ears and blasts whatever Turkish rock band he’s been listening to lately. Hell, even Pati stress cooks, and more often than not he’ll suddenly appear out of seemingly nowhere with plates and trays of food, rambling about how he “Made too much again, move, kurwa—”, making himself at home again amongst the team. And Benjy…
Enes unlocks the door to the room with his keycard, closing it and relocking it after he’s inside. He enters the kitchenette of the hotel room, Mert still sitting at the table where he left him with Benjy. Hm.
“Mert,” he calls out in lieu of a greeting, “Where is Benjy?”
Mert shrugs, eyes glued to his phone, before seemingly processing what Enes asked. “He went to the bathroom a while ago.”
Enes nods even though Mert isn’t looking, a small pit of dread settling in his stomach, and heads off down the hall to the bathroom. The door is ajar, so Enes peeks inside. No Benjy in sight. Enes walks past Mert again and then to the other end of the room, checking the small living room as well. Still no Benjy.
“How long ago did you say?” Enes asks Mert absentmindedly, walking back into the kitchenette, and Mert just shrugs again.
Enes decides not to push it; it’s obvious Mert and Benjy have had something weird going on between them for a while now. It’s strange. They used to be so close, but the tension between them is sometimes awkward enough for the whole team to feel it. He thought they were doing better, though.
Enes wanders off back down to the other side of the hotel room, stopping in front of the door Benjy’s claimed as his room. He knocks, three light taps on the door that he knows Benjy will recognize as him. He hears a mumbled slur of a response, almost too quiet to catch. Signs of life, at least.
“Benjy?” he calls through the door lowly, knocking again, before deciding to just try the handle. A heavy kind of concern fills his gut, making him feel uneasy.
Benjy’s room is dark, the curtains drawn, lamps off. Enes can’t even see phone light from where there’s a Benjy sized lump on the bed under the covers, which worries him further. He says Benjy’s name again, quieter this time. Softer.
Benjy makes just about the most miserable noise Enes has ever heard from another human being.
His concern spikes, closing the door and rushing over to the bed. He doesn’t lift the covers, both because he doesn’t want to surprise Benjy and because he quite frankly doesn’t even know where Benjy’s head is. “Are you okay, Benjy?”
The blankets shuffle around before Benjy’s head pops out, hair a mess. He’s pale, eyes red and sunken looking, forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat. “Are you sick? Mert said you were in the bathroom.”
Benjy blinks at him slowly, owlishly. “I don’t feel well.”
His voice is hoarse, like he’s been coughing for hours. Even though Enes was only gone for one, maybe an hour and a half at most. He almost winces in sympathy.
He tilts his head to the side and nods lightly instead, motioning for Benjy to scoot over as he reaches for the edge of the blanket. Benjy does so with what seems like great difficulty, just barely making enough room for Enes before it looks like his body gives out. Enes settles into bed with him, beckoning Benjy to cuddle into his side with an open arm and a gentle “Here.”
Benjy heaves himself over to snuggle into Enes’ side with a sigh of relief, his body going lax against Enes’. Enes wraps his arm around Benjy’s shoulders, pulling him closer to himself, almost whispering, “There you go,” as Benjy gets comfortable. Enes tries to ignore the way Benjy’s collarbone digs into his arm uncomfortably, squeezing Benjy’s shoulder as he shudders. Enes hears his teeth clicking together with what he assumes to be shivers, which is odd, because Enes swears Benjy’s sweat is soaking into the side of his shirt already.
“Did you catch something?” Enes asks softly, absentmindedly trailing his fingers up and down Benjy’s arm, leaning his head on top of Benjy’s where it’s found purchase on Enes’ shoulder.
“Just—” Benjy cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “Just don’t feel well.”
He shudders against Enes’ side again.
“Would you like soup?” Enes tries.
Benjy stills. “Enes.”
“It might make you feel better, Benjy,” Enes says carefully.
“No,” Benjy snaps with as much bite as he can muster in his current state. Enes knows that he would’ve detached himself from his side already if he wasn’t so exhausted. “No soup.”
That pit in Enes’ stomach grows, and if Benjy could look up right now he’d see the crease between Enes’ brow and the frown pulling at his mouth.
Benjy does this a lot now, less covert about his refusal—or avoidance—of food. It confused Enes at first. Benjy always ate freely and happily. But it’s become such a common occurrence that Enes can’t even remember the last time Benjy ate in front of him. At first he thought it was something that Enes did, or Benjy losing interest in him. Rejecting all of Enes’ dining propositions, but then he began noticing that Benjy had started having fewer and fewer meals with the team, barely loading his plate and poking at it before retiring for the night. Then he stopped showing up altogether.
He knows that Benjy’s weight usually fluctuates between Stages. That made sense to him; less time sitting in a chair staring at a computer screen every day, eating whatever food he wanted without worry. He never thought much of it; Benjy always gained back whatever weight he shed within a few weeks of being back with the team. Hell, even Enes himself had lost weight recently. But he’s been going to the gym a couple times a week for months, and he’s never seen or heard about Benjy attending.
Watching him shrink—almost wither away—as quickly as he has… It’s been dread inducing to say the least. Benjy’s always cold, always shaking, always poking at his own body to feel the reassuring resistance of bone close to the surface. Hands always wrapped around some part of himself just to feel his fingers touch.
He thinks about the Benjy from last year, only Champs, even. Bubbly, energized, round and happy. Enes remembers pinching at his cheek or poking his stomach while teasing him, soft skin under his fingers. He continues running his hand over Benjy’s arm, the point of his shoulder bumping against his palm with every pass of his hand.
Benjy must sense Enes deep in thought, because he whispers “Enes,” rather seriously and slightly panicked.
“Okay.” Enes relents. “No soup.”
And Enes hates the way that Benjy deflates against his side with relief, letting out the breath he’d been holding. Enes almost wants to close his eyes and just cry—or to grab Benjy by the shoulders and shake him, get it through to him that Enes is scared. Call him selfish, he doesn’t care, but being able to count Benjy’s ribs while they’re cuddling scares him. Feeling nothing but sharp bone when Enes holds his hips scares him. Listening to the exhaustion in Benjy’s voice and the way he blinks so slowly, like he can barely force out a sentence or bodily function. It terrifies him.
The worst part, Enes thinks, is how he won’t say anything about it to Benjy. He’s asked the others for advice, mostly Boo and Patry, in his own way; he skirts around what he really wants to say, being vague with his words (“concerning changes” and “a friend”). He won’t ask Benjy about it, not directly. Enes doesn’t know what he expects: accidentally making Benjy uncomfortable, Benjy blowing up at him, getting snarky… Benjy getting worse.
He hasn’t even fully comprehended what’s going on with Benjy himself, on his own time. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to even think it into the world, lest it be true and Benjy disintegrates into the air in front of him, the embers of a dying fire carried away by the wind. Like if he ignores it, it’ll get better on its own; Benjy will start joining the team for meals again, will start going to dinner with him again, and will gain back some of the color in his cheeks. Some of the life in his voice.
That’s what Enes misses most about Benjy—his energy. Now, he always looks so damn tired.
As if on cue, Benjy yawns next to him, rubbing his cheek against Enes’ shoulder. Enes tries not to react to the scent of bile that comes with Benjy exhaling so heavily. If the pit in his stomach grew earlier, it basically explodes now, and it takes everything in him not to sob. Or yell at Benjy. That certainly wouldn’t be helpful.
He can’t help but picture Benjy, alone, hunched over the toilet, fingers shoved into his own mouth. Enes almost tears up at the thought, regretting ever going for that walk.
He thinks back to Mert sitting at the table and wonders if he heard Benjy throwing up. Wonders if he cared.
He shuts down that train of thought almost as soon as it starts.
Benjy is an adult. Enes can’t tell him what to do, and he definitely can't prevent him from doing things he’ll go through hoops to do. And though the thought is supposed to reassure him, rid him from feeling responsible for Benjy’s self imposed punishment for the loss, it does nothing but drill in how helpless he is. He can’t do anything to help Benjy. He can’t help him.
Benjy yawns again, and Enes allows himself to bask in the feeling of him breathing against him. The feeling of Benjy taking up space beside him.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” Enes thinks out loud, hand picking back up running along Benjy’s upper arm and shoulder, dipping up to play with the strands of hair at Benjy’s nape.
“‘f you wanna,” Benjy mumbles sleepily.
Enes hums, considering it. It could be nice background noise, something for him to focus on besides the cut of Benjy’s jaw against the hand playing with Benjy’s hair. It does mean that he’d have to get up to switch the hotel television on, and he quite honestly doesn’t think he can bring himself to detach from Benjy right now.
“Later.” He decides, and delights in the way Benjy nods clumsily against his shoulder, hair tickling Enes’ neck. He smiles to himself. Even though Benjy scares him to death, he still can’t help but find him cute.
Benjy wraps his arm around Enes’ middle, mumbling “‘kay,” into Enes’ neck, and Enes’ hand falls to his waist.
They settle like that: Enes sitting against the headboard with Benjy quickly falling asleep half sitting up, snuggled into his side. Shallow breaths evening, puffed out against his neck. Enes rubs Benjy’s side lightly, absentmindedly, hand rocking like a boat in the river-divot between Benjy’s hipbone and his ribs. He’s zoning out again, catching himself but not caring enough to stop it.
He’ll watch over Benjy while he sleeps, almost afraid that if he leaves him he’ll later return to Benjy cold (moreso than usual) and unresponsive. He tries to keep his thoughts from derailing too far in that specific direction. He’s not sure he’s very successful with that.
He can pinpoint the exact moment Benjy falls asleep, the arm around his middle slackening and the breaths against his neck deeper, more restful. Enes rests his head on top of Benjy’s again, tilting his head to press a quick kiss to Benjy’s forehead before he closes his eyes himself. He won’t sleep, neither his brain nor his body will let him, but he’ll rest. They’ll rest.
He’ll try to get Benjy to eat some soup again when he wakes up. Or tomorrow at least. And he’s decided he won’t let up until Benjy relents.