bettsfic:

i am going to be completely honest with you. i have started this fic over and over again. i don’t know what my hangup is. it’s all in my head. like. all of it. but i just can’t write it down.

here’s the most recent iteration:

The reality of the situation is this: Ben has just undergone a massive breakup with a girl named Rey. He cries all the time now. He lazes about watching action movies back to back even though the glare from the window obscures the screen. He writes lovelorn poetry sometimes on a goddamn typewriter whose keys clack loudly enough to rattle the house, and leaves the tattered shreds of it on the floor beside the trash can. A nest of potato chip bags, Oreos, empty beer cans, and tiny hot sauce bottles make a half-circle around his permanent perch on the couch. He smells. He’s annoying. He’s undisciplined. He’s crass and oblivious and pedantic and cruel and ignorant.

And Hux has been in love with him since they were fourteen years old.

Hux finds Ben’s hulking form curled onto a barstool in the kitchen, tiny iPhone in his massive paw, shoveling Honey Nut Cheerios into his mouth. He’s wearing a rumpled t-shirt and boxer shorts and his pores emanate whatever booze he consumed last night, likely enough to kill most of the population but just enough to put him to sleep.

Hux lumbers past, three-fourths still dozing, and says, “You’re not on the couch.”

This apparently does not warrant a reply. Hux fills the kettle with water, puts it on the stove, and flips the burner on. Ben did the dishes, it looks like–the counter is spotless except for the open box of cereal hiding Hux’s view of whatever Ben is doing on his phone.

It’s been a little over a month since Ben took up residence on Hux’s couch. And it’s not as if his presence is entirely unwelcome; Ben does have some redeeming qualities. He puts Hux’s dirty laundry in with his own and then folds it and puts it away. He pays for all the rented movies they watch with his mother’s emergency credit card (“She’s not going to notice three and four dollar charges,” he says, for the twelfth night in a row). He stays up late with Hux after the movie is over and they talk about it and whatever else until he has one too many beers and starts crying about Rey again, and Hux puts his grandmother’s afghan over him and goes to bed. Some nights after dinner, they sit on the porch and watch the fireflies bumble past while the sun sets, not saying anything at all. Ben cooks decently healthy meals compared to Hux’s norm of take-out, makes playlists for Hux on Spotify to introduce him to new music, and asks questions about, or happily listens to, Hux rant about his job. Ben is the only person alive that Hux knows–with every atom in his pitiful body–loves him.

Ben picks up the bowl and slurps the dredges of his milk. Hux leans against the counter waiting for the kettle to boil, arms over his chest, eying him.

“You look different,” Hux says.

Ben finally looks up at him over the cereal box. “How?”

“I don’t know. Something’s different about you.” Hux reaches over and plucks the cereal box out of the way. Ben slips his phone under the table, still doing something on it with one thumb, swiping one direction and occasionally the other.

“What are you doing?” Hux asks.

“Nothing,” Ben mutters.

“You’re never on your phone. You let it die between the couch cushions most days and I have to plug it in for you.”

“It’s nothing.”

Hux lunges forward and tries to grab the phone. A wrestling match ensues where Ben falls off the barstool onto the ground, Hux manages to straddle his stomach, all four hands are on the phone (which does not have a case because Ben is a fucking savage), and there’s maybe a bit of biting extremities involved. Eventually Ben rolls Hux to his back, and they’ve made their way to some dusty corner of the kitchen where Hux can feel cobwebs in his hair, but Ben’s hips are crushed between Hux’s legs (“Stop it, stop it, just give me my fucking–” “Let me see it, I just want to–”), and Hux realizes:

This is a very bad idea.

Ben seems to come to his own realization and freezes. For one glistening moment, a slat of light shines through the kitchen window into a simulacrum of glass, dusty specs dancing between them, and Ben’s hair is falling out of its ponytail around his face, and their eyes are locked, limbs tangled, wide-eyed and raw.

Then Ben’s face clouds over (or reddens?) and he lets go of the phone.

Victory. Hux presses the unlock button (no password, the idiot) and finds–

“Tinder?” Hux asks. “You’re on Tinder now?”

Ben, settled on his haunches, grabs the phone away from Hux again, who lets him have it. “I just. I need–something. I don’t know. I can’t handle this, okay. This–this emptiness.”

Ben. Ben Organa. Benjamin Lucas Organa. Ben, whose mother forces the most up-to-date iPhones into his hands for Christmas every year, who made a Facebook in 2013 at the insistence of his family and never uses it, who refuses to read eBooks because “paper books are important, Hux,” who only buys and listens to vinyl records except when fiddling with Hux’s Spotify account, who pluralizes “Twitters.” This is the man Hux sees before him, probably swiping right on girls who claim to be laid-back, adventurous, love to travel! Just looking for some fun!! Last pic is my dog!!!

Hux is about to say something when the kettle goes from a whistle to a scream. He climbs to standing, pajamas in twisted disarray, something crumbly falling down the back of his neck, and goes to the stove to take the kettle off the burner.

Once the kettle falls silent, Hux says, “You’re not going to find anyone on there.”

He takes a coffee cup down from the cupboard. Halfway to the counter, he notices Ben hasn’t replied. When he closes the cabinet door, he sees Ben scratching the back of his neck.

“You already have a date, don’t you,” Hux says.

Ben nods. The phone is on the table. It lights up but doesn’t make a sound. Ben picks it up and checks the message.

“What are you expecting, Ben? You’re going to bring her back here to Netflix and chill on my couch?”

Ben types a reply and then says, “No, we’re just grabbing a beer.”

“But–but what if she’s a psychopath? What if she’s luring you to her apartment where some dude twice your size is waiting with an axe to murder you and take your wallet? If you get kidnapped, I’m not paying your ransom. I’d have to take out another mortgage on the house. I’d–”

“And you think I’m obsolete? Jesus, Hux, welcome to the future, where people use the most convenient and readily available technology to find sexual gratification.”

Hux’s lips purse as he puts the filter in the pour-over lid and measures out a tablespoon of coffee.

“Just because you haven’t gotten laid in a thousand years doesn’t mean I have to restrict myself to the same fate,” Ben says.

“I’m not interested in one-night stands,” Hux says. He lifts the kettle and pours the steaming water over the grounds. “I’m looking for a connection, a spark. I’m looking for…” someone better for me than you, he thinks. And he’s not sure that’s possible.

The reality of the situation is this: Benjamin Lucas Organa is a heterosexual who has been in a long-term relationship for nearly as long as Hux has known him. In this time, Hux has dated mostly men but also the occasional woman or non-gender-conforming individual. He’s been on more double dates with Ben on Rey than he cares to count, and eventually in the last few years, dwindled into just hanging out with the two of them as what he perceived to be the third wheel at first, but was in actuality something like being in the presence of a relationship so codependent it was as if Ben and Rey were just two halves of one whole person. Hux never consciously took sides between them, but seeing as how Rey ran off to Europe for a while and Ben ended up on his couch, his loyalties now lie with Ben.

He’s been in love with Ben since the beginning–this beautiful ethereal boy with an uncanny sense of whimsy, an innocent obliviousness, endless love for the most mundane of things, it’s the way he sees the world, Hux thinks, years later, like everything is art–since the three of them were freshmen in homeroom together, and Hux has put up a long-suffering struggle against the feeling, the falling, the this is love, this is love, this is love. Only in the last few years has he given up that struggle, after relationship upon failed relationship where Hux expected his partners to live up to his adoration of his best friend yet fell miles short, and it just never seemed worth it to continue pursuing such a lost cause.

So he’s resigned himself, not to getting over Ben, but getting over the idea of romantic partnership. Curbing his want, like eating less overall so you don’t need to consume as much to feel full. He doesn’t need Ben’s heart, he thinks. He should be grateful enough to have him in his life at all, in any form that takes.

“Looking for what?” Ben asks. His thumb is poised over his phone, paused. Hux can see the glaring white smile of a blonde girl wearing a baseball cap and holding a pomeranian. Left? Right? Outside of Rey, Hux realizes he has no idea what Ben likes.

“I wish I knew.”