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The two boys were secretly together.
It had been a few months since Ben and Lola broke up, and after that whole incident in the bathroom and everything that followed, they made up later on. They talked, really talked. No teasing. No sarcasm. Just honesty. And somewhere in that rare silence, they found each other.
From that night on, they were together - in secret.
At school, they acted the same as always. Just two friends. Maybe a little too close at times, but nothing anyone could really point out. But behind closed doors at Ben's house? It was different. Teasing turned into soft laughter, laughter turned to kisses, and kisses turned into nights where neither of them wanted to let go. It was messy and confusing, but it was theirs.
And for a while, it was perfect. Until it wasn't.
Five months slipped by like that. Five months of stolen moments, quiet confessions, and pretending nothing was happening when everyone was watching. But lately, pretending was getting harder. Being "just friends" in public felt impossible when being more was their new normal.
Then the whispers started.
Rumors.
About the way Ricky looked at Ben. The way Ben defended Ricky a little too quickly. About the lingering glances, the quiet smiles, the way they always disappeared together between classes.
But both would deny the questions, always coming up with an excuse. Ben wasn't necessarily bothered by this.. Nobody seemed to really press the matter to hard.. All but for one person.
Heather.
Heather had heard the rumors. In fact, she was right there when Kenny asked Ricky if the rumors were true. She'd pretended not to care. Arms crossed, eyes half lidded, pretending to focus on her nails - but she was listening. Every word.
Bobbie, standing next to her that day, caught the glint in her eyes. He knew that look. Heather Monette didn't stay quiet on "juicy drama." Not unless she was planning something.
A few days later, the two of them were alone behind the gas station, smoke curling into the air as the night hummed with crickets. Bobbie leaned against the wall, hands shoved deep in his jean pockets, while Heather sat on the curb, cigarette dangling lazily from her lips.
She was talking about nothing in particular. Gossip, parties, how boring everyone was lately until Bobbie cut in.
"Whatever you're planning to do about the rumors.. don't." His voice was low, rough, cigarette dangling from his own lips.
Heather tilted her head, feigning confusion. "Rumors? Haven't heard anything new."
Bobbie's jaw tightened. "Cut the bullshit. I know you, Heather."
Heather exhaled slowly, the smoke drifting from her lips as she looked away, eyes narrowed at the horizon. "Remember when that photo of Ben mysteriously burned?"
Bobbie didn't react outwardly, but his stomach dropped. His blood went cold, and he knew exactly where this was headed.
Heather smiled faintly, the corner of her mouth curling. "I need something new to use against him."
Bobbie turned toward her sharply, his tone harsh. "Are you fucking serious?"
She didn't answer - didn't need to. The silence between them said enough.
"Do you not remember what happened to Emily?" Bobbie barked. "What you caused?"
Heather flicked ash off her cigarette, her expression unbothered. "Not my problem."
Bobbie scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable."
She took another drag, calm as ever, her eyes glowing faintly red from the ember's light.
Bobbie stared at her one last time, disgust cutting through his tone. "I don't want to be involved. Or even know when you drive another person to suicide."
He flicked his cigarette to the dirt, crushed under his boot, and walked off, leaving Heather sitting there in the glow of the streetlight, a ghost of a smirk still playing on her lips.
Over the next few weeks Heather kept a close eye on Ben. Not stalking.... Just observing.. maybe...
She started noticing things. Subtle things. The way Ricky's pinky would graze Ben's as they walked side by side, sometimes hooking around it for half a second longer than necessary. The quiet, private laughs. The way they'd lean in close to whisper, their voices hushed but smiles giving everything away.
It wasn't proof. Not yet. But Heather was patient.
Then one night, she got it.
She was walking home from a party, shoes in hand, the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke still clinging to her clothes. The street was empty, quiet except for the buzz of a flickering streetlight.
And that's when she saw them.
Two silhouettes near the corner store, half hidden by the shadows, half lit by a streetlight. At first, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, until the taller one reached out and pulled the other in close. Their faces met. A slow, soft kiss.
Heather froze, her heart jumping with a rush of wicked excitement. Then, slowly, she smiled.
Click.
The camera flash was faint, barley noticeable against the glow of the streetlight.
She had a photo. And a secret worth gold.
(#heatherhater4life #killheather)
The weekend passed in a blur. Monday came too soon.
Halfway through class, Ben raised his hand. "Can I use the restroom?"
The teacher nodded.
A few seconds later, Heather stood up, flashing a wicked smirk. "Mother Nature's monthly visit," she said before the teacher could ask. He grunted and waved her off.
Ricky watched her go. His pencil tapped against the desk in a steady, rhythmic, too casual to be real. Underneath the desk, his other hand curled into a fist. He didn't trust that look on her face.
*piss sound effects* lol
Ben finished washing his hands, the sound of the running water fading as he stepped into the hall. He froze when he saw her leaning against the lockers, arms folded with a smug little smile. Waiting for him.
He didn't stop walking, nor slow down. If anything, he walked faster.
"Hey," she called, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
Ben sighed, stopping mid stride. He turned half way toward her, crossing his own arms, expression blank but weary. "Hi," he said flatly.
"No warm hello?" she teased, pouting dramatically as she pushed off the wall.
Ben's patience was already wearing thin. "Whatever you have to say, I don't care." He turned on his heel to walk away.
"Now hold on.." Her tone shifted, sing song and sharp. "What's this? A photo?"
Ben froze. His blood ran cold.
He turned, slowly. Heather stood there with a smug smile and a glossy photograph in her hand - one of him and Ricky kissing in the streetlight.. She waved it lazily, the corner bending between her fingers.
"Would be a shame if this went around," she hummed, sliding it back into her purse.
Ben's heart pounded in his ears. He could barley breathe. Not another photo. Not another nightmare.
"What do you want," he asked, voice trembling, trying to sound strong even as it cracked at the edges when past trauma began to refill his head.
Heather's grin widened. "Same as before." Her tone was venom wrapped in silk. "And if you say no, or try to take it.." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Everyone will find out what you really are.. Stuart.. Donna.. Lola.. Even your mother. They'll all find out how much of a faggot you are."
She laughed quietly, satisfied with the way his face fell. "We wouldn't want that to happen now, would we, Brookie?"
Her use of the nickname cut through him like glass. She patted his shoulder mockingly before walking off, light thuds of her boots echoing away.
Ben didn't move. His jaw locked, his vision blurred. He stared at the floor, breathing unevenly. The ringing in his ears drowned everything out, her laugh, the hum of the lights, all gone. Replaced by the name that was so sweet, twisted into poison, echoing over and over.
Brookie. Brookie. Brookie.
Then, faintly, another voice.
"Brookie?"
Ricky's voice - soft, cautious. He rested a hand on Ben's shoulder.
Ben flinched and spun around so fast his arm smacked Ricky's hand away, causing the slap to echo in the hallway.
Ricky froze. However, the shock faded when he saw Ben's face. Pale, shaking, eyes wide and wet. Whatever happened, it had broken something inside him.
"Hey.." Ricky whispered. He stepped forward carefully. When Ben backed up, Ricky didn't stop. He closed the space between them and wrapped his arms around him - one hand on Ben's back, the other cradling his head.
"What's wrong?" Ricky murmured against his hair, rubbing his back gently.
Ben's breath hitched, his fists gripped Ricky's jacket tight, forehead pressing into his shoulder as he shook. He couldn't form words, just tears and sharp, shaky breaths through clenched teeth.
Ricky didn't ask again. He just held him, right there in the empty hallway, while the world outside their hug continued like nothing had happened.
But suddenly, Ben pushed him away. His breathing was uneven, shaking his head rapidly. "No. No, no, no."
Ricky blinked, confused, gently reaching for his wrist. "Hey, hey-relax. Nobody's out in the halls. Nobody can see us."
"You don't know that," Ben snapped quietly, his voice trembling. "Don't say that like you're sure."
Ricky's brows furrowed. "Bab-"
"Stop it," Ben cut him off sharply, voice cracking slightly. He didn't want to hear the nickname right now.
Ricky's tone softened. "Ben. What's going on? I can't help you if you shut down like this.."
But Ben only backed up further, his eyes darting away. "I can't.. I don't.." He shook his head again, frustrated with himself, words choking in his throat. "I gotta go."
And before Ricky could stop him, Ben turned and hurried down the hall, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. Ricky could only sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. Knowing Ben, pushing right now would only make it worse. So he turned back and headed for class, though worry weighed heavy in his chest the entire walk.
That night, Ricky found himself outside Ben's house, a routine. Normally, the window was unlocked-it always was-but this time, it wasn't. He frowned, peering through the glass. Inside, he could just barley make out Ben's figure curled up on his bed, turned away.
Ricky tapped lightly on the window. No response.
He exhaled softly, voice almost a whisper. "Goodnight, Brookes. I love you."
Then, he climbed down and disappeared into the night, assuming Ben was asleep.
But Ben wasn't asleep. He lay there, his body curled into a ball, a pillow clutched tight against his chest. He was zoned out, lost in thought. His grip tightened on the pillow as his breath hitched before he broke into quiet sobs. The thought of the past, and now the present. He couldn't seem to escape Heather. Every feeling was coming back. The sickening control Heather once had over him. Every emotion he'd buried came flooding back at once. He bit down on his lip, shaking his head as if he was trying to deny the fact as the darkness swallowed him whole.
By morning, Ricky was waiting outside again. This time, at the gate, hoping to catch him before school. When the door opened, Ben stepped outside beside his sister Donna. The second his eyes landed on Ricky, he froze. Ricky raised his hand, opening his mouth to call for him but Ben had quickly turned and retreated back inside, shutting the door behind him.
Donna blinked in confusion, glancing between the door and Ricky as she started down the steps.
"What's up with Brookie?" Ricky asked, trying to sound casual but failing to hide his concern.
"In all honesty, I don't know." Donna said, frowning. "He skipped dinner last night. I didn't even see him after school yesterday." She paused, squinting at Ricky. "You didn't do something to piss him off again, did you?" She smirked a little, expecting a sheepish confession.
Ricky shook his head. "No? Not that I know of. We barley talked yesterday."
Donna's expression softened, worry slipping in. She looked back toward the door, then back at him. "...Maybe he just had to take a poo?"
Ricky stared at her, unamused.
"What? That's my only guess," she laughed, holding up her hands. "I seriously don't know."
Ricky sighed, watching her walk off for school. His gaze lingered on the closed door one last time before he turned and started down the street, chest tightening with worry.
After Ricky left, Ben slowly opened the door and stepped outside too - taking a different route than usual just to make sure he wouldn't run into him.
Avoiding.
It didn't take long for Ricky to catch on. Every time he tried to approach Ben in the halls, Ben would speed up. Turn a corner. Disappear into another hallway like smoke. It was like he was running from him.
And Ricky hated it. It felt too familiar. Like the days before.. When Ben used to avoid even looking at him. But this time, it wasn't anger. It was something else.. Fear. Shame. Ricky didn't understand it, and that scared him more than anything. The night they agreed to be together, Ben had finally accepted who he was - at least with Ricky. So why was he pretending Ricky didn't exist?
During class, Ricky kept glancing at Ben, his posture stiff. His hands fidgeted, twisting together as he would zone out. Then Ricky's gaze would shift to Heather. She was leaning back in her chair, idly twirling a pencil, always looking bored. Ricky's gut twisted. Something was wrong.. He could feel it.
After school, Ricky followed behind Ben, staying a few paces back. Ben wasn't even walking with Donna anymore, just distant from everyone.
"Brookie," Ricky called out.
No response.
"Brookie cookie," he tried again, louder. Still nothing.
Ricky exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation mixing with worry. He stopped walking, adjusted his bag off his shoulder, dropped it onto the side walk - then took off sprinting.
Ben heard the footsteps and looked back. His eyes widened when he saw Ricky barreling toward him.
"YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!?" Ben yelled, breaking into a run himself.
"SERIOUSLY!?" Ricky shouted, chasing after him. "YOU'RE MAKING ME RUN!? I SMOKE CIGARETTES!"
"YOU'RE THE ONE WHO STARTED CHASING ME LIKE A CRAZY HEAD??"
People on the street looked, confused but ultimately unfazed. It was just another one of their weird days.
Finally, Ben turned a corner and hit a dead end. He froze, staring at the brick wall blocking his escape. His breath came in quick bursts. Behind him, Ricky slowed to a jog, panting heavily, bending slightly with a hand on his knee and the other braced against the wall.
"Give me.. a sec.." Ricky breathed, catching his breath."
Ben didn't move. He just kept staring at the wall, his fists clenching and unclenching.
"Ricky, let me go." Ben said, his voice firm but shaky.
"Hell no." Ricky shot back, still winded. "What's going on with you?"
Ben swallowed hard before he spun around quickly. "I want to break up."
Silence.
Ricky froze, chest still rising and falling. His eyes went wide, searching Ben's face for any hint of sarcasm - but there wasn't any. Ben's expression was blank, his gaze fixed on the ground like he couldn't bare to look in Ricky's eyes.
"..What?" Ricky finally whispered.
Ben's lips pressed together. He couldn't bring himself to repeat it.
"You're kidding," Ricky said, a weak, nervous laugh escaping with a matching nervous smile as he stepped closer. But when Ben didn't answer, that small laugh broke into a shaky breath, slowly dropping as his eyes darted between Ben's eyes. After a long pause, he spoke, voice cracked. "You're not kidding."
Ricky's hands found Ben's shoulders, gripping them lightly but desperately. "Why? What did I do? I'm sorry for whatever it was- I can fix it, I swear. Just tell me what I did, Ben." His voice trembling now, breaking between breaths. "Please don't do this. Don't leave me again.. I finally get to have you. To have us."
He swallowed hard, his eyes glossy. "Please.. don't take that away from me."
"Stay away from me from now on," Ben said quietly, almost under his breath.
Ricky froze. His hands, still gripping Ben's shoulders, tightened unconsciously - his knuckles pale, his voice trembling. "Stop it," he said, shaking his head. "You don't mean that." His voice cracked, raw and desperate. "Don't say that to me."
Ben clenched his jaw, then suddenly shoved Ricky off. Ricky stumbled back a few steps, his breath catching as he looked at Ben. Shock, anger, and heartbreak flashing all at once in his eyes.
"You don't know what I mean," Ben said harshly. "I was wrong about this. Wrong about you."
Ricky's chest rose and fell, his expression darkening. "What are you implying?" His voice was low, but his tone was sharp, already fearing the words he knew were coming.
"I was never a faggot. I never loved you."
Silence.
Ricky laughed, a broken, bitter, half breath that cracked mid sound. He looked away, blinking fast, jaw tightening as he tried to hide the tears that still escaped. "You're a fuckin liar." He whispered.
Ben looked down, avoiding his eyes. "How am I lying?"
"Please," Ricky shot back, his voice breaking with emotion. "Everything we've been through, every kiss, every look, every night we stayed up talking. You don't do that with someone you don't love."
"Yeah," Ben muttered, his tone trembling but cold, "and you don't break up with someone you do love."
He wiped his eyes quickly, hoping Ricky didn't notice, because if he saw him cry, he'd know the truth. Ben felt like he wasn't even in control of what came out of his mouth anymore. Every word felt like a knife he was forcing himself to twist. But he had to. For Ricky. For himself. For safety.
Ricky stood there in silence for a long moment. Then, softly. "So that's it?" His voice was shaking. "You're just gonna end it like it all meant nothing?"
Ben looked down, walking past him, not even glancing back. His tone was flat, final. "Because it did mean nothing."
He made it a few steps before he stopped. He didn't look back when he spoke again, his voice lower, heavier.
"Stop showing up at my house. Don't talk to me anymore."
And then, he walked off.
Ricky just stood there, staring at the brick wall of the dead end. His breathing was uneven, his hands trembling at his sides. For the first time in a long time, he couldn't tell if his heart was breaking or if it had already broken.
Ricky's hands curled into fists at his sides. His pulse was pounding, his thoughts spinning too fast to catch. He had to get to the bottom of this - whatever "this" even was. None of it made sense. Ben had been fine just days ago, smiling, laughing, holding him like the world wasn't falling apart. And now it was.
Ricky stared at the ground before his own breath hitched, squatting down and covering his face as he quietly cried. He didn't know how, or when, but he was going to find out what made Ben act like this.
Ben walked home in silence, his body moving on autopilot. Every step felt heavy, numb. By the time he reached his house and shut the door behind him, his hands were trembling. He barley made it to the bathroom before collapsing to his knees and vomiting into the toilet.
It wasn't just nausea. It was guilt, heartbreak, stress. The way the word faggot still echoed in his ears. Heather and his own voice repeating the word.
When it was over, he stayed there on the cold tile floor, his forehead resting against his arm on the toilet seat. His shoulders shook as he cried quietly, the sound muffled and broken.
He'd done it again. Destroyed the only thing that ever made him feel safe. The only thing that ever made him feel like himself.
And this time, he didn't think there was fixing.
TIME SKIP!!!!!!!
Ricky didn't show up.
And that killed Ben.
He knew he was the one who said to stay away, but god, how he wished Ricky would ignore it. Every night, he'd sit by the window, waiting. Sometimes crying, sometimes just staring into the dark until his vision blurred. He left the window open, hoping to hear the familiar knock, or the quiet creak of someone climbing in. But it never came.
Eventually, he'd crawl into bed and lay in Ricky's spot. The side that still faintly smelled like him - and cry until he couldn't feel anything anymore.
Ricky wasn't doing any better.
He'd sunk deeper into drinking and drugs, getting his fix from Kenny, who was all too eager to share. Though, Bobbie had noticed. He noticed everything about everyone. The tired eyes, the beginning of weight loss, the silence. Both Ricky and Ben looked like ghosts of who they were, and Bobbie knew exactly why.
The three of them were behind the school that afternoon, passing a joint between them, not caring about rules - never did. Kenny was talking nonsense, as usual, laughing at his own stories. Bobbie never listened, always just blocking the sound out. Ricky was the one that'd always listen and reply. But when he glanced at Ricky, Ricky was staring blankly at the ground, lost in a haze that wasn't from the weed.
Bobbie nudged him and handed the joint over. Ricky blinked, slow, before taking it and inhaling deeply.
"You've been quieter than usual," Bobbie muttered.
"I hadn't noticed," Ricky said under his breath, his voice rough.
Bobbie studied him, then looked ahead again, expression unreadable. "You'll get through it," he said flatly.
Ricky let out a quiet breath that wasn't quite a laugh. "Yeah," he muttered, passing the joint back. "I sure hope so."
For a moment, they sat in silence. Besides Kenny.. Bobbie wasn't exactly the comforting type, but at least he wasn't Heather. He had a heart, even if it was small.
"Speak of the devil," Kenny chirped suddenly.
They all looked up, and Heather was walking towards them, blowing a bubble of gum like she owned the place.
"Is this all you guys do?" She asked, voice dripping with fake boredom.
"At least we don't go around ruining people's lives," Bobbie shot back, his tone casual but laced with venom as he passed the joint to Kenny.
Ricky didn't say anything - but the words hit him like a slam. His gaze lifted, narrowing slightly as he looked at her.
Heather only sighed dramatically, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "Such a buzzkill," she said, checking her nails before turning away. "Let me know when you guys decide to be interesting."
Ricky's jaw tightened as he watched her walk off. His mind was racing now, gears turning.
Ruin people's lives.
And suddenly, things started to click.
Heather's smugness. Ben's sudden coldness. The fear in his eyes when Heather was around.
Ricky's stomach twisted. His heart started pounding, slow and heavy.
He remembered the way Ben had flinched at her name back then, how he could barley speak when she came up in conversation. All those past reactions, happening once again.
"Hey, Rick," Kenny's voice broke through his thoughts, but Ricky didn't answer. He couldn't. His pulse was in his ears, his body tense like he'd just swallowed a thick pill.
He glanced at Bobbie, who was watching him carefully, like he already knew what was coming.
"Don't." Bobbie muttered lowly, flicking ash off the joint. "You're thinking too loud."
Ricky ignored him. His chest felt tight. "She did something to him again."
"Who?" Kenny blinked.
Ricky's jaw clenched. He didn't even answer, just kept staring at Heather's retreating figure until she disappeared around the corner.
Bobbie sighed, standing up. "Whatever it is, it's not worth it. You're gonna get yourself killed, Collins."
Ricky stood too, brushing his jacket off. "Maybe. But I'm not letting her get away with this."
"Why are we standing?" Kenny stood too, matching the other two.
He didn't know what she'd done yet, but he could feel it. Deep down, that same sick gut feeling that had haunted him since the night Ben pushed him away.
He started walking, fast.
He needed answers.
He needed the truth.
Because if Heather was behind this, if she had anything to do with the way Ben's voice cracked when he said "I never loved you"-then Ricky wasn't going to let her win.
Kenny looked at Bobbie. "Literally why do you both ignore me now!?"
Bobbie chuckled a bit, not replying nor looking at him.
"Asshole." Kenny mumbled angrily.
Ricky didn't think. He just moved. His boots hit the floor hard and fast as he stormed down the hallway, following the faint thud of Heather's boots until he spotted that familiar flash of red leather.
"Heather!" He barked out.
She turned slowly, that half lidded, unimpressed stare greeting him like usual. "Oh. You again." She blew a pink bubble, the gum popping.
Ricky's fist tightened. "What the hell did you do to Ben?"
Her expression didn't even flicker. "Excuse me?"
"Don't play dumb." He stepped closer, his voice low, sharp. "You did something."
Heather tilted her head, her smile lazy but venomous. "You're so dramatic. Maybe he just realized you're not as special as you think."
"Cut the shit." Ricky snapped. His voice echoed off the empty hall. "I'm not joking, Heather."
Her smiled widened, teeth showing now. "And what if i did do something?" she said lightly, tapping her finger to her lips in mock though. "What're you gonna do about it? Beat me up? Oh, that's right, you wouldn't. You're too busy crying over your disgusting boyfriend."
Ricky's jaw clenched so hard it ached. "You're sick."
"I've been called worse."
"Whatever you're holding over him, whatever you got, it ends now. You hear me? You mess with Ben again, I swear-"
She cut him off with a laugh, cold and sharp like glass. "You swear what? That you'll hit me? Please. You wouldn't lay a hand on me. You think you're some kind of hero, Ricky, but you're not. You're just a boy who's too stupid to realize he's already lost."
Ricky's glare didn't falter. "I haven't lost him."
Heather smirked, leaning in just enough for her perfume and cigarette scent to mix, chokingly sweet. "Oh, you have. You just don't know how deep it runs yet."
He froze, eyes narrowing. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She only smiled wider, turning away and walking off with that same slow, taunting sway of confidence. "You'll figure it out eventually, Collins," she called over her shoulder. "And when you do.. it's gonna hurt."
Ricky stood there, heart pounding, every instinct screaming at him to chase her down. But he couldn't move.
Because deep down - he already knew she wasn't bluffing.
Later that night, Ben stood in the shower, water hitting his skin like needles . He stared down at the drain, watching the water swirl away, the sound loud, endless. His hands trembled when he ran them through his hair. Every time he closed his eyes, she was there. Heather's voice. Her touch. The feeling of being trapped, powerless, disgusted.
He hated the shower. The way it made him feel exposed. Filthy no matter how long he stayed under the water. When he finally shut it off, the silence was deafening.
Ben dried off, slipped into his pajama shirt and pants, and stepped back into his room. He reached for the light switch, flicking it on-
And froze.
"Jesus Christ-" Ben's heart nearly stopped as his eyes landed on Ricky, standing by the window with his arms crossed and leaning on the wall, jaw tight, his black jacket off and slung over his shoulder, just in the white undershirt. He looked furious - but beneath it, something else. Hurt.
Ben's hand lingered on the switch, his chest tightening. "What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to sound calm, but his voice wavered.
"I don't think that matters right now," Ricky said, his tone cold, calculated, but his eyes were blazing. "Thanks for finally unlocking it."
Ben blinked, taken off guard. "I forgot to lock it," he lied, looking away quickly, his throat tight. "You still didn't answer me. What are you doing here?"
Ricky exhaled through his nose, his arms still folded. "I talked to Heather."
Ben's body stiffened immediately. "...What?"
"I said I talked to Heather," Ricky repeated, stepping away from the window, his boots scuffing against the floor. "And you're gonna tell me what the hell she did to you."
Ben froze where he stood, his pulse spiking. "There's nothing to tell."
"Bullshit." Ricky's voice cracked for the first time that night. "Don't do that to me, Ben. Not after everything. I'm not an idiot."
"I didn't say you were."
"Then stop lying to me!" Ricky snapped, "You think I can't tell when something eating you alive? I've seen you shut down before but not like this. Not like-" he broke off, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Not this bad."
Ben looked away, his nails digging into his palms. "You shouldn't have come here."
"Maybe not," Ricky said, his voice lower now, shaking slightly. "But I can't stand watching you fall apart and act like I don't exist."
"You don't get it," Ben whispered.
"Then make me." Ricky said softer, stepping closer. "Because right now, I'm stuck watching the person I-" he stopped himself, looking down briefly before raising his voice again. "You ended things with me like it meant nothing, Ben. You said it didn't mean anything."
Ben clenched his jaw, refusing to look up. "It was supposed to hurt. That was the point."
"The point?" Ricky echoed, his voice breaking somewhere between disbelief and anger. "What the hell does that even mean?"
Ben didn't answer. His shoulders rose and fell with uneven breaths, his face turned toward the wall like he couldn't bear to look at him.
"Brookie," Ricky whispered, reaching out and gently takes Ben's wrist, bringing it up and sliding his hand up to gently hold his hand. "You know everything you said wasn't true. You do love me. You do feel this way." His tone drifting to a quiet plea, but Ben stayed silent.
The pause stretched, Ben turned his head to look at their hands. Then, quietly but firmly, Ben said, "Go home." while he slowly pulled his hand away, backing away.
The words landed like a slap. Cold. Final.
Ricky let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "I can't believe you."
"I told you to stay away, didn't I?" Ben snapped, the tremor in his voice betraying how much it hurt to say it.
Ricky stared at him, jaw tight. After a moment, he exhaled. "Okay."
He moved to the window, pushed it open. One foot out, then the other. But before climbing down, he turned back. His voice quieter now, steady but loaded with something that wouldn't die.
"We both know I'm not staying away."
And with that, he disappeared into the night.
Ben stood there for a long time, staring at the open window, the cool air brushing against his skin. His mind raced with everything he should've said... and all the things he was too afraid to feel.
Meanwhile with Ricky, on his way home - or "home", if you could even call the trailer that anymore. Ricky hatched a plan. He wasn't the type to hit a girl, no matter how much he wanted to. But he knew a person..
The next morning at school, he found Skeeter and pulled her into a janitor's closet, shutting the door against the hallway noise. The room smelled like cleaning supplies and old paper, but it was private. Skeeter already knew, of course - she'd been the one person who'd known about him and Ben's relationship. Ben didn't know this information though..
Skeeter listened with a face like stone as Ricky talked, the story looping and snagging on details he couldn't let go of, like the way Ben would say certain things and his voice would break.
"So," Skeeter said finally, folding her arms. "Let me get this straight. You and Ben, happy. Then one day you chase him and he breaks up with you in an ally, and you confront Heather. Try talking with Ben - nothing. Now you think there's another photo?" She spoke like she was piecing together a puzzle she already knew the ugly picture to.
Ricky nodded hard. "I'm sure of it. It's gotta be another photo." His fingers combed through his hair in a jittery, angry motion. "I don't know what's in it. I don't even know how she's got so much way. All I know is he's terrified and he's shutting me out and I-" He swallowed. "I just want him back."
Skeeter went quiet for a beat, remembering Emily. How Heather worked on her, how things had ended for Emily. The memory made her jaw clench.
"Alright," she said at last, voice low and steady. "I'll help. Nobody deserves to get chewed up by Heather."
Ricky let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Please. Rock her shit." He said, the plea half joke, half prayer.
Skeeter scoffed and blew out a laugh. "I wasn't planning on delicately smacking her wrist." Her grin was mean and ready.
They talked for a while longer, trying to map out some kind of plan.. but there really wasn't one. The best idea they could come up with was simple. Skeeter would start a fight, forcing Heather to drop her purse, and Ricky would grab it. Not elegant. But it was something.
When the moment came, Skeeter spotted Heather near the lockers, laughing with Kenny and Bobbie like she didn't have a care in the world. She walked straight toward her, calm, silent, deliberate.
Heather turned at the sound of footsteps, and smirked when she saw who it was, tilting her head. "Slicer," she purred, voice sharp with venom. The nickname was cruel, and Heather knew exactly what it meant - the kind of scar you can't wash away.
Skeeter didn't respond. She glanced over her shoulder once, just enough to see Ricky's eyes peeking from around the corner, throwing air punches. She tried not to laugh, turning back to Heather as she took a deep breath.
THWACK.
Her fist connected with Heather's face so hard the crack echoed down the hallway. Heather stumbled back, clutching her nose. Skeeter shook her hand, hissing through her teeth. "Holy shit that hurt way more than I thought it would." she muttered, half laughing through the sting.
Kenny's jaw dropped, eyes wide. Bobbie raised his eyebrows for a moment before settling back into his usual unimpressed gaze. Everyone knew heather had it coming eventually.
Heather pulled her hand away from her face and saw blood on her palm. Her expression darkened, a slow, terrifying shift from shock to fury. "You bitch," she hissed, and lunged.
The hallway erupted. Hair pulling, fists flying, the sound of sneakers and boots scuffing against tile. Skeeter threw her shoulder into Heather, slamming her against the lockers. Heather shoved her purse at Kenny without looking. "Hold this!" she snapped, diving back into the fight.
And that was Ricky's cue.
He walked quickly - not running just yet - right up to Kenny. "Hey, I got that," he said smoothly, reaching for the purse.
Kenny, too high to even question it, just blinked. "Yeah, sure, man. Whatever."
Ricky took it and, the moment it was in his hands, bolted. He sprinted down the hall, his boots pounding the floor, adrenaline lighting him up from the inside out.
As teachers came storming in, yelling for the girls to break it up, Bobbie sighed and hooked his fingers into the back of Kenny's collar. "Come on, genius," he muttered, dragging him down the hall. "We didn't see shit."
Behind them, Heather and Skeeter were being pried apart, both still spitting curses, while Ricky disappeared with the prize that could finally set Ben free.
Ricky finally had his hands on the purse.
Ricky jogged back to the trailer he called home - sadly called home. He headed out back to the older fire pit his dad had put together years ago, now just a dented ring of rust and ash, littered with scraps of thing long burned.
He crouched down, setting Heather's purse in front of him. If he was gonna burn it, might as well check for cash first. "Interest fee," he muttered dryly, digging through the clutter inside.
His hands stilled.
The camera. And that photo.
He lifted the picture carefully, holding it up toward the dim porch light as the sun began to set. It was the shot of him and Ben, kissing. A moment that once might've looked tender. He smiled faintly at first. "This is what Brookie was scared of?" he whispered to himself.
But as he stared longer, the smile faded. The more he looked, the uglier it felt. The photo wasn't love - it was control. It wasn't mean to capture something sweet. It was meant to own it. To weaponize it.
Ricky exhaled, shaking his head. "Damn," he muttered under his breath, forcing a little chuckle. "Guess I'll just hire a real photographer next time." He slid the photo back into the purse, his jaw tight, and picked up the old polaroid camera.
He stood up, setting it down as he lights himself a cigarette and taking a slow drag, the smoke curling through the air. He grabbed the gas can sitting near the trailer wall and poured until the smell was sharp enough to sting his nose.
The purse darkened under the gasoline, heavy and soaked. He flicked his lighter open, the lame reflecting in his eyes for a moment before he tossed it onto the pile.
Woosh.
The fire roared to life instantly. Orange and gold ate through the leather, the picture curling at the edges, melting into nothing.
Ricky stared at it for a long while, the cigarette still between his lips. Then, with a heavy breath, he picked up the camera, lifted it high and slammed it against the dirt until it cracked apart. A few broken pieces clattered at his boots. He gave it one lazy kick into the flames.
He waited until only embers were left. Then he grabbed the hose and turned on the water, spraying until the fire hissed and died, leaving only smoke and a faint glow.
He let the hose hang loose in his hand for a moment, water pooling around his shoes.
Then, finally, he turned it off.
He didn't bother to put out his cigarette, just letting it burn as he started walking, quiet but determined. He was going to find Ben. He was going to make it right.
Ricky makes it to Ben's, looking up at the window. The light was on. He looked around for peering eyes before flicking the cigarette onto the ground and began climbing up. He got to the window and knocked on it, knowing it was locked already. "Brookie. Can we talk please?"
No reply. Ben was on his bed, sketching, ignoring.
"I got rid of it." Ricky said. Ben froze for a second, glancing at the window. He got up, slowly walking to it before he opened the window.
"Did you really?" Ben asked quietly.
"Yeah. I did." Ricky said, climbing in. "Burned the camera too." He chuckled.
Ben looked at him before walking away, sitting himself on the edge of the bed. Ricky kept his distance, though it was difficult. He leaned against the wall by the window, looking at him. "Why don't you look happy?"
Ben held his hands together, twilding his thumbs. "I still don't think it's a good idea to be together."
Ricky felt a chill run down his spine, but didn't raise his tone. He understood why Ben felt this way.. For christs sake it's the 1960's. Two boys being in love??? Sickening. After a while of silence, Ricky replied. "Do you just wanna run away together?" He asked softly, a playful smirk on his lips.
Ben chuckled a bit, shaking his head. "You're an idiot."
"Why not? We could have a cute little cabin in the forest and be a couple of faggots with no shame." Ricky said with a laugh.
Ben just rolled his eyes, still smiling. It was quiet now. The two staring at the floor before Ricky looked up at Ben. Just looking. Ben met his gaze, and already felt like crying. They both did.
Ben shook his head quickly. "Don't. Don't look at me like that."
Ricky's voice softened. "Like what?"
"I don't know.." Ben muttered, his eyes darting away. "Like you.. you know. L-word me or something.."
Ricky blinked, raising an eyebrow before a short, disbelieving snort escaped him. "You mean love?"
Ben rolled his eyes, jaw tightening. "Yeah. That."
Ricky couldn't help but chuckle, though it came out more tired than amused. "We dated for five months, Brookie. You're acting like it's not normal to say."
"Knock it off," Ben said, crossing his arms defensively. "Even then, I barley said it. I'm not.. good at that word."
Ricky tilted his eyes, studying him. The sharp edges of his smile softened. "Yeah," he said quietly, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Fair enough."
A quiet stretch hung between them. Ricky didn't look away. He just stood there, watching Ben with that same soft, stubborn gaze. The kind that always seemed to see right through him.
Ben glanced up, about to speak, but Ricky beat him to it.
"I love you, Ben." He said quietly. Not desperate, not demanding. Just honest.
Ben froze, his breath catching in his throat. He didn't respond, didn't even blink. After a long pause, he looked away, rubbing his eyes quickly with the back of his hand. "Stop doin' that."
Ricky tilted his head. "Doin what?"
"Being sweet," Ben muttered, sniffling and half laughing through it. "You're killin me here."
Ricky chuckled softly, looking down at his boots before stepping forward. "Can't help it." he murmured, his voice gentler now.
He stopped in front of Ben, close, standing over him. Ricky took Ben's hands - fingers interlocking, holding firm - and looked him straight in the eye. Then, leaning in, bending down a bit, he pressed a slow, tender kiss to Ben's lips. Not rushed, not heated. Just.. real. A quiet promise that the love was still there.
When he pulled back, he kept Ben's hands in his who still remained sat, keeping his face still close. "Please.. stop shutting me out. Whatever you go through, we go though together." He pressed another soft kiss to Ben's forehead, lingering there.
Ben looked up at him, his chest tightening. It was so hard to open up like this. To let someone in. But Ricky made it feel possible. Made him want to try.
He didn't speak yet, searching for words that wouldn't come. Ricky, however, didn't wait. He started peppering small, playful kisses across Ben's face - his cheek, his chin, the corner of his mouth, his nose.
Ben turned his head, fighting a smile. "Can't you see I'm trying to think?"
Ricky laughed quietly. "Yeah, that's why I'm trying to speed up the process." He teased, pressing another kiss along Ben's jaw.
After a few minutes of teasing kisses and quiet laughter, Ricky found himself sitting beside Ben on the bed. Their hands slowly slipped apart, resting between them. The silence was gentle, almost comforting.
Ricky's voice broke it first. "Did you mean everything you said?"
Ben glanced at him, brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"
"The day in the alley," Ricky said, his voice low, unsure. "Did you mean it?"
Ben stared at him for a long moment, then looked down. He leaned over, resting his head lightly on Ricky's shoulder. "No," he whispered.
Ricky smiled softly, though it faded just as fast. "You don't... even wanna try again?" he asked, barley above a whisper.
Neither of them said anything after a few seconds. Then Ben sighed. "I do. I'm.. sorry."
Ricky pouted, playing a slight dramatic sadness. "Yeah, you better be."
Ben let out a small giggle - quiet, but real. "I.." he started, hesitating, his voice trembling just slightly.
Ricky turned his head a bit, grinning. "You're almost there."
Ben groaned. "Yeah, never mind. I hate you."
Ricky laughed, the sound soft and full of relief. He leaned down, lying his head on top of Ben's. "I love you too." he murmured.
And for the first time in a long while, Ben didn't flinch at the words. He just smiled - faint but honest - against Ricky's shoulder.