Chapter Text
Ben hated cities. He hated a lot of things, but cities were horrible. It was never quiet, people were always swarming on their way to whatever their dull lives dictated them to do. He huffed and rested his chin on his crossed arms, it was a Saturday, so no school, which was good – Ben hated the school too. They bullied him there because of his long black hair and his freckles.
He wanted to go back to his old home. It was so much better there. But no, his mother insisted he would come with her now that she’d divorced Ben's father. But apart from that, she was a business-woman, and business happened in big cities. They lived in an apartment-block above the company of one of his mother's friends, which was quite a good place for just the two of them. It was spacious enough and Ben’s school was only 5 bus-stops away, but he still hated it.
"Ben honey, do you want me to bring something sweet when I get back?"
He heard his mother ask from the living-room. She was always away, and he had to stay here, try to entertain himself. He sighed and pulled the hood of his black sweater over his head, his curls almost the same colour, making his skin look paler. Maybe he should go out more.
"How about a life?" He asked sharply.
He could hear her sigh through the door.
"This is not my fault Ben... Your father and I were just not happy anymore."
Ben huffed, but didn't answer his mother on that subject. She always said that he simply did not understand that yet, as if he was stupid. He heard the door close, which meant another long day alone in his room. He sighed and stared out of the window, his mother was walking down the street to the bus stop. She always travelled with public transport, saying it was better for the environment and stuff. What environment did he have here though? It was just a big lump of grey streets and high buildings.
Ben leaned back and sighed again. He wasn't going to stay in here for another day, or well, he probably was, it was raining after all. Maybe a walk would help, only the surroundings were shit, and if the downpour didn’t let up, he would be soaked. Maybe he could find a bit of entertainment by taking a long bath or reading one of his favourite books while he was at it... but gods that all sounded so dull even to his own ears.
He did not want to be here. He wanted to go back to the farm where he grew up. With his stupid Uncle Luke that talked about the cabbages all day, as if cabbages were some metaphor for a spiritual calling of sorts – that was weird, but at least it was funny. He liked it there, it was more personal than this. His mother would be gone all day, and maybe she would be in time for dinner, which was a good thing, as Ben hated it when he had to sit in front of the TV with some sad microwave food.
He gamed a bit, but the fuckers online had it out for him and he soon grew frustrated. It was two in the afternoon and he was so bored already. He wanted to trash his room, like he had done the first day he lived here, but well, he would have to clean it up again too if he knew his mother. She wouldn’t take another tantrum now that they had settled in here. He made tea instead, sneaking at least four cookies from the box while he waited for the drink to cool enough, and then stiffened when he heard a racket downstairs.
He stilled and listened, turning off the loud music he had been playing. He heard glass shatter downstairs and he thought he even heard shouts. Downstairs was a lawyer's office, what were they doing down there? It sounded like someone was being... Murdered or something. Ben hesitated on whether he should go down to check what was going on. It couldn't be something too bad right? Maybe a client had gone loopy because things didn't go his way. Ben slowly put down the glass with tea he just made when he heard another loud clatter in the office below. What was going on?
The curiosity won him over in the end as Ben walked towards the door and opened it. He was just going to take a look around the corner so he would be able to get upstairs quickly, they wouldn’t even see him, just a peek. He didn't lock the door to their apartment, because he would probably be back in a few minutes, and there were no other apartments anyway, only a storage-closet. Slowly he walked down the stairs, making sure that his feet wouldn’t make too much noise on the steps. He was glad that he was only wearing socks, which made him almost soundless. Besides, the sound of things breaking was getting louder and Ben was getting a bit nervous when it didn’t sound like a normal altercation anymore. Adrenalin was coursing through his body, making his ears rush a bit and his skin feel hot and cold at the same time. Finally he reached out and carefully looked around the corner at the lawyer's office.
He was only peeking around the doorframe, but he could see exactly what played out. He wore a hood, the man he saw, a black hood, and he was quick, moving as if he was one of the characters in Ben’s favourite games, only in real life… right there before his eyes. He wasn’t extremely broad as it looked now, and under the clothes he would be slender, skinny even, but the man was incredibly fast, a thin blade sticking out from under his long black sleeves. Ben watched him, frozen to the ground as he saw the man reach out, taking one of the lawyers by the collar and throwing him into the wall – he was strong for someone of his size.
The woman that Ben knew as his mother’s friend shouted and grabbed for the mysterious figure’s face, yanking the hood off as he came for her. Red hair, that was the first thing he noticed, brighter than Ben had ever seen and skin paler than he knew people could have. But what was most disturbing to conclude was that this was... Just a boy really, two years older than Ben, maybe three. He could be no older than 18, if he was even that. The boy hissed at her and pushed her over, stabbing the blade without a second thought, knowing just where to strike to kill her mid-scream, burying the steel tip in the jugular right at the side of her neck. Ben almost shouted as he saw the spray of blood fly, but covered his mouth just in time.
He stumbled back and tripped on the carpet, making a bit of noise as he lost his footing and fell on his ass with a huff. The boy turned at the sound, catching his eyes immediately. He looked... Scared. His pale eyes were open wide, the look in them almost wild and panicked. It was not what Ben had expected to see. There was blood on his face now too, on that almost impeccable white skin, which was adorned with a line of freckles that only made this killer more of a boy… It wasn’t right, this was not adding up. Ben stared at him, gasping in air, he was not afraid of this... He was... Captivated - because he did not look like a psychopath or like some creepy lurker. And then he also replayed in his head what he had just seen him do, which was just so fucking... Epic.
He might need therapy, he realized, when the word epic was what had come to mind at the idea of murder. The boy straightened, adjusting the long-tailed coat he was wearing. It was a uniform of some sort, layered and strapped, black and grey, all looking rather menacing and professional. The boy set two steps in Ben’s direction, blades retracting to some-place under the sleeves again as he prepared to talk and then startled at the sound of sirens down the block, the police quickly approaching their location. Ben continued to watch with wide eyes, even as the boy broke eye-contact and fled out the window with the grace of a cat, never stumbling or faltering as he slid through the window-frame and disappeared through the back-alleys... What had he just witnessed? What was he supposed to do?
Shaking from head to toe, Ben got up and sprinted up the stairs, closing and locking the front door before he ducked into his room. He made sure he locked the door to that room as well and sat down on his bed, then stood up again almost immediately to scan the street, as if the other would have stayed around somewhere he would be able to spot him. That man… No… Boy actually, who was he? He seemed inhuman, like something from another planet, a virtual one. He was not supposed to be real, these were the kind of things you saw in the movies or in a game. It was not supposed to happen right there in front of your actual eyes. But still, the movements, the quickness of them, everything about what he had seen looked so amazing. Even the outfit looked like something he had always imagined some wicked anti-hero to wear… But they would have never carried a face like that, not that young or… Handsome. He wanted to know more about that boy in the hood.
Ben felt his fingers continue to shake a bit when he grabbed a notepad and pen. He drew what he remembered, the wide eyes and youthful face, thin nose and full but small mouth. His rounded jawline with sharp cheek-bones, then the clothes. It was crude, in a style that Ben had taught himself years ago, but it was him, it was what he saw. He did not remember enough of the details anyway, the face had captivated him most after all, but he did remember the blade that seemed attached to a brace under that coat’s sleeves. He remembered the long tails at the back of it, making the coat long at the back, even if it was short on the front end of it. He scribbled the boots he wore and the tight trousers. He had looked sleek and mysterious. When he had finished his drawing he ripped out the page and tucked it away in a drawer.
He knew that at this very moment the police were going around the crime scene below him. They were looking at dead bodies and destroyed furniture, wondering what could have possibly happened. He wiped at his face, trying to remember what he had seen over and over again. He tried to decide what he would say when those same officers would come here to ask him about what had happened. He did not want to tell them about the boy… It was like he was chosen to witness something grand and important, not a simple murder, no it was so much more than that, it had to be.
Soon, the police did come knocking – they said it had been a massacre, nine people were dead, four of them security members and the other five were the Hosnian lawyers, all of them. They asked Ben if he had seen or heard anything, if he had noticed suspicious people lurking around the building. Ben simply played dumb. He felt bad that he was lying to the police... But that boy... He was just so different. He hadn’t been there to kill for fun, for anger… That would have looked different. Ben tried to pretend that he was part of this game too. The young new hero, doing the right thing for the vigilante that he had seen, saving a cause that he did not even know.
"Kid, have you ever seen this mark before?" The officer asked after a while, holding up a picture on his phone.
It was a graffiti mark he had seen on a wall nearby once, but he had no idea what it was. It was a black hexagon, filled with red and with a spiked black circle in the center of it. It had never really stood out to him, and he wondered how it was related to what he had witnessed.
"No." He murmured.
"You've never heard of an organization that calls itself the First Order?" The man pressed on.
Ben didn't have to lie this time as he shrugged and shook his head, but he did commit the name to memory. The First Order – that sounded pretty important.
"I'm sorry, I was gaming with a headset on. I've not seen or heard a single thing." He said, looking at the officer with a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry that I can’t do more.”
*
Hux was wheezing for air by the time he had made it back to the citadel. He had run the whole stretch at full speed, taking to the roofs and the back-streets to avoid any form of contact that would slow him down. A run that was fuelled by his panic alone, not even stopping when his lungs had started to burn. He was finally back at their haven. The old subway station that they used for their operations had not been in use anymore since the Third World War, when this city was still New York. He hurried down the old stairs after he had dropped down the maintenance-shaft and pulled the hood from his head again, bunching it in his neck. This station had already been something antique when it was still in use. It was ornate and grand, it had columns and painted ceilings and impressive staircases. It was a bit dark here most of the time, sunlight no longer filtered through the domes and sky-lights, those had long been closed with boards and panels. Instead, the lights now came from the few lighting-strips that were lined on the walls and ceilings.
His hair had gone messy from the mission he had just executed, he would have to fix that before he went see the Grand Admiral. Thrawn hated his officers looking like a mess. He always insisted that they had to stay poised and cool, never look like you were affected in the first place by what you did, it was not their job to be human. That was something his father might like to bond over with Thrawn, he also seemed to dig the whole ‘conceal don’t feel’-vibe.
Too bad though, if he knew what Hux was even doing with his life, he would disown him and kick him to the curb. His father was blind like that, did not know what Hux knew… the corruption of this new regime, the dirtiness of it all. He would just see his son, hands bloody and scurrying off into the night like some faceless criminal. Yes, he would not be able to see past that. It wouldn’t matter that it was all for the good of the world.
"Hey, you okay?"
He turned on his heel, blade already out. He had been way too distracted, nobody could sneak up that close without his notice most of the time. Damn, he needed to get his shit together… Fast.
"Jesus, Bran- It's just me."
Hux sighed as he saw Phasma and retracted the blade as she simply snorted at him.
"It's bad isn't it? The first flight alone?" She guessed, patting his back a bit with a firm slap. "Did you do it though?"
Hux nodded and straightened out again, swiping his hand through his hair.
"Yeah, they're dead. I was out before law enforcement made the block."
She grinned a bit. She seemed proud of him, like a big sister or something. Well, she had trained him in the early days after all. Phasma was the only one that knew about both his lives, and that was what kept him sane, otherwise he would have had a breakdown before he’d hit sixteen.
"Awesome. You look a little ragged though. I'll get some beers to the room, so we can celebrate a bit after you've reported to Thrawn. After all, it is cause for celebration that you are now an actual officer of the Order."
Hux slowly nodded, his head still not completely focused with the present, then he looked ahead, regarding the place he had trained all these years. He had earned his stripes today, his first lone mission had gone well... But that boy saw him, in the stairwell... And if he would tell Thrawn about him, then Hux would be sent back to kill him too.
"Bran, Thrawn will be proud of you, don't worry about it." Phasma said with a bit of a huffed laugh. "So, fix that ginger mess a bit and wipe the blood of your face. I'll see you in a bit."
Hux smiled thinly. He wasn't worried about Thrawn’s approval of his mission, he had executed his work just as intended after all. Everything, every target had been cleared just as he had been told. Should he tell him about the boy? Probably. It would become a liability if he wasn’t careful, the boy knew everything, even his face, but then again… It was one thing to kill the dirt that corrupted this new world. Killing innocents… Children… That was something else entirely.
Hux sighed and walked towards the bathroom to fix the mess that was his hair. He always wore it in an almost impeccable fashion, parted on the left side of his head. But well, the hood of his coat often tossed it this way or that, making it look wild even. He looked in the mirror shortly. Despite his bloody face nothing looked different, nothing that hinted at the things he had done today. He had almost expected a scar, a mark, as if it would be branded somewhere that he was his own man now. He was still the same, a boy that did things that most men were scared to even think about.
His fingers touched his cheek, a small cut sat there from the nails of the woman that had pulled his hood off. Once again, he had that face on his mind. The teenage boy, with his white skin and comically wide eyes, so dark for someone that pale. Even if he didn't say a word about the boy, he should pay him a visit, to be sure he would not talk. Yet, Hux wasn’t worried, something about the look on that face had told him right away that the other would not say a word about what he had seen. He could take care of it himself... Thrawn did not need to know.
He took a wash-cloth and wiped away the blood splatter that stained his cheeks, and then he gripped the sink a bit tighter, trying to stop feeling queasy. He had been trained for all this of course, but he had never been alone. Thrawn had told him on his birthday that he would be allowed to fly solo from then on, but only now had he been presented with a mission that Thrawn thought would be fit for him.
He sighed out and looked at his reflection one last time, making sure he would be presentable, and used wet fingers to fashion the part in his hair some more, mostly because of the one strand that kept poking free even when he had patted it down. When it was acceptable, he straightened his uniform. He had paid for it himself, Thrawn demanded that of the recruits, you had to buy or make your garb from the money your first missions for the Order earned you. It was the way to reward yourself for working hard enough. Hux had quick fingers, so he often picked pockets when he was on missions anyway. His clothes were therefore of a tailor-perfect quality, stitched with a craftsmanship that only few in the Order owned.
Hux stood straight and put away the wash-cloth, his face stoic again as he marched to Thrawn's rooms. He gave a quick knock on the door and stepped back. The answer came almost instantly and he opened the door. Thrawn was already an older man, average height and not even that impressive to behold, but not someone who could be trifled with. Hux knew better than that. In his glory-days, Thrawn had been the terror of the streets, founding the First Order when he saw that he could no longer fight his cause alone.
"Well boy, tell me. How was your first solo mission?" Thrawn was sitting in the chair behind his desk and motioned for Hux to sit opposite of him, looking at him with those scrutinizing eyes of his.
"Everything went well, no problem with the targets." Hux answered as he sat down.
"Good."
Thrawn eyed him, as if he was looking into his head to see if he would lie to him. Hux knew however that lying would be the dumbest thing to do. If a mission failed it was best to come clean about it before you could allow the targets to flee or find protection. Still though, he had just chosen to neglect mentioning the witness to his crimes. He would handle that, he really would. At the first sign of rumours he would be sure to wipe it all away.
"I will read everything in your report. After that you'll be given a new mission."
Hux nodded and was surprised that Thrawn dismissed him right after that, no further questions or inquiries. Thrawn was never one for big compliments, but being dismissed without some form of interrogation about the process of his task was the man’s way of saying that he had trusted Hux. He left, softly closing the door behind him.
He sighed and regarded the place he had spent the last seven years in. The citadel, as they all called this place, was rather big. It was an old subway station, and the reception-hall was the place they all ate and gathered, where their new recruits were initiated and where their dead men were seen off. The many offices and rooms had been turned into bedrooms and bathrooms. It was like a society of its own. They trained here too, combat and such. It was their haven, and nobody knew about this.
He took two flights of stairs up and opened the door to his own room. He had a very small one, he did not stay here often after all. He could have had bigger, but it would be no use, sleeping here was rare for him. He still lived at home most of the time, when the time allowed for it, but apart from sleep and meals he tried to avoid the estate as much as he could. And well, they lived big back home, so he would not need much in the citadel. It was a place to crash at late nights or store his clothes, it was nothing but a necessity. As he was there he changed out of the uniform, putting the pieces into his closet. Thrawn had maids that washed their things, taking out the blood and dirt. Blood was a mess, sometimes nicks would leak into the fabric, scratches from glass, nothing more. He had never had a big wound before though, thank god. He kept on the under-layers of his usual garb, the tight pants and long sleeved shirt, it was all just black and simple, close to the skin and airy enough to stop him from sweating too much.
He went to see Phasma then, she had settled at their usual spot, the roof of the station's old tower. Much like him she had dressed down to the basics, her blond hair fluttering in the wind. It was about as short as Hux’s, buzzed at the sides. She was tough as nails, to most. She had always seemed to like him though. Maybe he would have to ask her about the reasons for it once, maybe not… There was a flat part up where they sat, some fifty feet above the streets of the city, it was just a few square feet between the roof-tiles, and on days like these it was nice and quiet there. The sun would sink behind the other buildings in such a slow pace that it was almost relaxing. Hux greeted her with a quick smile. She smirked and lifted a bottle of beer from the small six-pack she had carried up to the roof earlier.
"Now that you are finally old enough to actually have one." She snickered. "Tell me, how did it feel to finally be out there?"
Hux hummed and sat down next to her, dangling the bottle between his fingers lazily.
"Petrifying."
Phasma let out a laugh.
"Good."
Hux eyed her and huffed, trying not to crack too much of a grin, "You really enjoy this whole thing way too much."
Phasma shook her head, popping the cap off the beer she had handed him and nudging it back into his hands.
"It wouldn't be fun if everything in life is so damn easy. That is why I enjoy it, it gives me the feeling that we are alive, making a difference. Not that I’m not afraid when things get icky. Fear can save your life after all."
Hux leaned back against the sloping tiles and sipped from the bottle while it would still be cold. He had tasted it before. It was okay he guessed, not his favourite drink, that honour would go to his father’s bottles of old whiskey that he sometimes took a sip from. The burn of it gave him courage in the early days to commit murder.
"I can't stay for long." He said when he thought about home.
Phasma nodded. She knew about the trouble Hux had at home. His parents thought he was going to school or some form of sports or whatever he had told them, if they knew about this, well, she would probably have to convince her own parents to adopt him because he would never in his life be allowed back in his own house. At least these moments were nice, taking away some of the stress of leading a double-life. Hux liked this spot, the view, the wind, it was unlike the usual places he found himself and it helped to have good company for a chat. His parents knew Phasma too, she went to his school with him. It was nice to have someone there that knew him... And then he meant both sides of him. Phasma was four years older than him, but the school he went to was set-up for a long term education. High school and college in one, you could say, it was for the richer kids, meant for big and important careers. It offered more tailored education and assured a sort of excellence from its students, allowing them to be groomed and grow into exactly what their parents intended for them to be. Yet here they sat, in the den of some band of killers.
"Are you going to tell them? Not now I mean… But some day?" Phasma asked, knowing that Hux often thought about his family’s interests and how they clashed with those of the Order.
"God no." Hux murmured, grimacing at the thought alone. "If my father would know he would completely disown me, and Thrawn needs me to inherit our estate and position. It's valuable to the First Order to have me in line for my father's legacy. Or well, he has not said it with so many words, but I know Thrawn is power-hungry enough for it."
Phasma chuckled.
"It would be soooo weird to see you be like your dad." She snorted at the thought. "No offense, but your dad is such a stiff pencil-pusher and you are- Well, a bit more hands-on."
Hux snorted at her analogy.
"Yeah... Well, Snoke and my dad are the big-shots now. One of them is going to be Emperor of the West Nations soon… According to the polls anyway... And Thrawn would very much like the idea if I would be in that option too. Can you imagine the glee he would feel at the idea of having his hands on the entire West Nations? He might faint with joy."
He huffed as he thought about the idea of it however. This whole business that his father ran in was nastier than the kills he made for the First Order.
"Snoke is such a snake. He comes over for dinner sometimes to talk 'business' with dad. That man is definitely planning something too, something bad if you ask me."
Phasma nodded, tapping the glass between her fingers thoughtfully, "No one will be surprised if he did. That makes you wonder why people even see that man as an option for Emperor."
Hux shrugged and took another sip of his drink.
"Fear I guess. It won't surprise me if he would get everyone that speaks up against him out of the way. And well, for the rest, they must think; ‘if you can’t beat them join them’, it’s the oldest survival trick in the book."
Phasma shifted to sit back more comfortably and sighed, "Probably. It's a good thing we are here to balance some things. It will be bad news for everyone if Snoke gets more power than he already has. If we wouldn’t be here to keep the reigns in check we would be under oppression already."
Hux finished his drink with a few last gulps and stood.
"That's why we are going to stop this man from doing the same thing as all the others we have stopped. Snoke will be just another piece of discredited history." He said before giving his good night to Phasma.
He needed to get home before his father was going to ask questions.
**
Ben endured his mother's hugs and kisses when she got home. It was awkward at best as she patted his face as if he might be hurt in some way she would not be able to see. She had headed straight home when she heard that there had been murders right under their apartment. She kept asking if he was okay or if he saw anything, just like the police had asked him before, and he sighed and said that he hadn't, that he just sat here to pass the time and that his game noises had overpowered whatever had gone down. She made his favourite food to make it up to him, for the shock she said. The only thing that really shocked him however was the growing obsession he had been developing since that afternoon. He didn't even know the boy's name, but he was thinking about him almost non-stop. He had even started to wonder if it was healthy, but he just wrote it off as being a form of being intrigued with something so utterly strange that it plagued his mind. He ate his pasta in relative silence and he assured her time and time again that he was just great, that he hadn't seen anything and that the cops did not show him the crime scene or what not. The idea that they would even do that was too ridiculous to consider and he told her that too.
When she finally let him go to do his homework he immediately went to his room again, he needed time to think, to let it all sink in. He had drawn the boy some six times already, crudely and with nothing but a ballpoint, but still. Ben wanted to remember him, wanted to know his name. He named the boy on his drawings, it made it easier to keep him in his mind, it made him more real.
He was sure that it would all settle in normal life again. He was just coping. It was a fascination with the uncanny, and boys his age had those. It would blow over soon, and he would never see the mysterious boy again. He kept thinking about him though, throughout the week too, when he would absently draw eyes in the corner of his papers at school with a silly smile. He even covered them a bit with his hands or elbows when he thought that others were trying to look at what he was sketching. He knew now that he had a bit of a crush, but he did not feel ashamed of it anymore.
He was happy that for once he thought of something fondly here. He hated the city and its people, but he could smile at the idea of his little secret. The boy had spared his life too. He was an easy target, so he could have killed him, but he didn't. It allowed Ben to think there was something between them… A mutual spark of sorts that made both of them realize that it was something that was not supposed to happen, but it was still a good thing… A fate thing.
It had been two weeks since the murders when Ben started to wonder if he had been wrong. For some reason he thought that he would be connected to this strange boy now. He thought he would have met him again, some way, or that he would have visited him in the dead of night with a warning that Ben should forget about him. That last one might be a little over the top, he realized. No matter what though, life had gone back to normal, like it had never been real. The lawyer's office was normal again, cleared out completely and no signs remaining of what happened. The desks and such had been stored away and the business that had been there was all gone, the blood had been cleaned away, the carpet replaced. It was like the whole thing had not happened there, they were even talking about putting the office-space up for sale again to a new company.
Ben had been studying hard in the meantime, trying to make it through his midterms. It was already hard enough to get through school, so he had finally allowed the ginger-haired boy to slip from his mind a bit. Today he was attending school until late in the afternoon, the sun was a comfortable sort of warm and the road was sunny and golden under its light. Ben was walking to the bus stop when he saw the commotion stir, much like every day. Some of the senior students from his school, the regular clutter of guys that were all either seventeen or eighteen, the kind of guys that bragged about everything and had loud voices and barely any brains, the sort that would be working in dead-end jobs for the rest of their lives. They were always picking fights with students from that rich school a few blocks away. Now too, they clashed near the bus stops.
The students from the Academy always wore uniforms, neat black pants and smooth black jackets for the boys, with red linings, black waist-belts and polished buttons, and the girls always wore black dresses with high red collars and red sashes around their waist. They looked elite. They often moved in groups, looking like some sort of formation. They seemed impeccable and to most they might even look like they were untouchable, a different tier of this society. As it was, Ben went to a rather normal school, and a lot of the boys from his school were noisy and brash. They were always out to see if the students from the Academy could be tempted into a brawl. They never learned, nor could they let it go. It was a bit pathetic, their need to challenge these other kids for being on some different sort of level. On the flipside however, most boys from the Academy were arrogant and daring, knowing that their school did not allow for such childish clashes. They were sometimes bored, waiting to be tested so that they would have a reason to lash out and let go of that uptight set of manners they were taught to have. It did come to blows most of the time, and neither side pulled its punches either. Ben sighed when he heard the shouts and slurs pick up, it would not be long now before the first two would clash and one of them would get their ass kicked.
He looked up, studying the different groups, trying to see if someone he knew would be there too. He didn't have a lot of friends after all, but if he saw somebody he could sort of tell himself that it would be okay to join them to look. He winced a bit when he heard the first fight break out before he had even gotten up, stupid city-kids, with their eternal need for confrontation. He couldn't look away though, it was better entertainment than watching the cars go by, even if he could not see the actual fight. There were too many others, circled around the thing like some human arena for whoever was fighting. He heard the Academy students laugh and howl out slurs of victory after only a minute or so, and Ben saw the boys from his school pull away a kid that looked like he was kicked in the stomach a few too many times. He was dazedly hanging in the arms of two classmates, clutching a bloody nose and groaning a little in defeat. Ben almost smirked at the sight. It was good that these bullies sometimes tasted the other end of the fight.
The centre of the group suddenly split aside as four people walked away from the fight in hurried steps. Ben watched wide-eyed as he saw the one that was the leading focus of the group, he had obviously been the one on the other end of that fight, although he was barely affected. He was not even hit once, just a little dishevelled as he walked away, adjusting his jacket and fashioning his bright ginger hair, looking annoyed as one of his friends complimented him on 'slaying that sad idiot' as he phrased it. Ben swallowed.
It was the boy, the boy from the... Murders. No doubt about it in his mind. That face was still branded in his memory after all, and this was him. There was a girl with him too, elbowing him and making fun of his angry face. She looked like she could easily grab two of the guys from Ben’s school and throw them around like they weighed nothing. She was quite impressively muscled, despite the dress that made her look leaner. But Ben barely had eyes for her, only tried to look around her to see him again.
"Street-fights are below us." The boy simply said to her. "Don't treat it like something fun."
He never saw Ben sit there, and Ben once again didn't dare to move... After all, that tree of a girl could think he was taking his own brave little encounter out on them and Ben was sure he would end up stashed in the trash-can... It did not matter, at least he knew now, his dark little secret attended the Academy, and soon he would meet him again. Ben would be prepared and he would talk to him, say something.
He opened his phone when they had walked by completely, ears burning bright as he saw that his picture had come out okay. He had been pretty low-profile about it, so he hadn’t looked at the screen if he had even aimed right, but it was pretty nice. It had captured the boy just a little off-centre, the girl that had been with him blocking part of the frame. She was tall too, taller than Ben's obsession. He pocketed his phone again and grinned to himself. This was just too good to be true, he had been right! It was fate, he knew he was going to see him again and there he was, right before his eyes and disappearing around a corner. He would meet him next time, talk to him... Oh god, what would he even say? 'Oh, hey, remember the time you murdered all those people and I watched you do it? That was so epic, wanna get coffee?' Yeah... That probably would not be the best phrase he'd ever come up with. He’d have to think of something else. He sighed then, watching the two groups of students disperse when there were no more fights to be picked. He had not even heard that there were more brawls, his attention completely pulled to this pleasant surprise. He finally pulled out of his thoughts when the bus came around the corner, right on time as always. Ben sure did not mind that he could now watch that picture a few times a week... Maybe a few times a day even. He grinned as he ran his thumb along the rim of his phone. This was going to be good.
It was about ten days after that day that Ben finally dared to go to the Academy's school-gates to wait for the boy. He skipped school after lunch-break, knowing that he would not exactly miss anything in his Social Studies class. The building of the Academy was surrounded by gates and walls, closing off the entire school-grounds. Ben felt a little out of place with his black hoodie and scruffy jeans, but whenever one of the students of the Academy would come out they ignored him completely.
He ended up staying there for the whole afternoon, waiting and pacing a bit. He didn’t dare to leave to go get a sandwich or something, he could just miss him. Sometimes he saw red hair, but it was never his red hair, it would be too long, the wrong shade of red… He did not see the one he looked for, Ben even thought that he would not be in school today, he could have a day off for all Ben wouldn’t know after all. It was around seven in the evening that he finally saw him, he was smoking a cigarette in the bike-shack with some others, before wishing them a good night and such. Ben felt some sort of immense relief that he did not spent the entire day waiting for nothing. As the boy left through one of the gates Ben almost panicked too much to talk to him, he just watched him walk off in the other direction with the faint glow of the cigarette between his fingers. Ben let out a nervous breath before he ran after him and grabbed his sleeve. He did not give himself the chance to change his mind, and he had a split second to realize that he made the contact. Immediately after that though the ginger boy twisted, grabbed the arm that Ben had stretched out to hold his sleeve and rammed Ben’s chest against the wall that surrounded the school, nudging a blade-tip to his back. Ben groaned and stayed perfectly still, trying to decide if his heart skipped a beat from the sudden scare or the excitement that he had in fact made his contact, however unfriendly it was at the moment.
"What is this? Who are-"
Ben turned slowly, trying to show the other that he didn’t mean any harm. He was now twisted far enough to watch his face and he saw the boy recognize him, eyes going wide again like the first time. It was only a short moment though, before he dragged Ben to the nearby little park-road, harshly knocking him into a tree as he kept hold of Ben’s collar.
"You." He said, voice dropping to a whisper.
The street is quiet at this hour anyway, but he still seemed to look around for anything suspicious, before he faced Ben again, trying to make sense of why he was even there.
"What do you want?" The boy asked, his voice was almost hostile.
"I- I wanted to meet you." Ben stammered.
He was suddenly so overwhelmed... By the idea that the boy was actually there, that he had touched him and talked to him, that his voice had a sound now that Ben would be able to remember. It was more ordinary than he had expected, even though there was something of an accent there that Ben had not heard before. He could commit more to memory now, the way the other’s nose twitched when Ben said that he wanted to meet him, the faint hint of cologne he could smell whenever the other shifted a bit. Everything was close, physical and real. He was a person, right in front of his face, no longer just in his head. It was equal parts exhilaration and discomfort. The boy looked nervous, angry with him, although a different sort of anger seemed to come from him than moments before. The first had been hostile and interrogating. Now it seemed more of a sort of annoyance.
"You can't be here." The boy hissed at him. "I took a big risk to let you live. Do you even realize what you saw?"
Ben shook his head, he could not let it go that easily. He wanted the other to know what he had been coping with, how his head had obsessed over that one short moment these few weeks ago. Then the boy could say if he was insane or not, and he would believe him.
"I know...” Ben said instead. “And I wonder why you even did let me live... But I cannot get you off my mind and I want to know what you do-"
The boy clamped a hand over his mouth and looked him dead in his eyes, it unnerved Ben immensely to be looked at like that. Only his uncle Luke ever did that, when he was absolutely dead serious, but this was even worse. The boy had very sharp eyes, and like this they seemed to look right into him, piercing through whatever Ben was thinking.
"Stop. Just stop. Don't go down that road. Walk away, do not think about it again, about me, about anything that had to do with what you saw."
Ben frowned and then shook his head. Did he not understand? He was trying to support him, trying to befriend him. The boy might need someone to trust and talk to, Ben could do that.
"No, you don't get it. I want to- I want to know you- I've been thinking about you so much and..."
The other seemed to visibly wince at that.
"Please. Please, just do what I say. You are the one that doesn't get it. If you play with this fire it's going to raze you to the ground. Do not think that it will somehow not burn you. Go home, forget about it... Or I might have to come for you next." The boy took in a deep breath then and looked at Ben again, trying to get through to him. “Please do not make me do that.”
Ben went still at that, at the fear he saw in the boy's eyes. He felt the realization strike him harder than he had thought possible. He was wrong. He was naïve, things were not as simple as he saw them. He nodded then and reached into his pocket, pressing a paper to the boy's hand before looking up at his face. He only had about an inch or two over Ben, but Ben felt small.
"I- If you ever... Need to-" He stammered before walking off, feeling sweaty, his veins full of adrenalin and dread.
The fear in the other’s eyes made him feel sick, made him realize that what he had thought of as his little secret was just a boy too, a scared one. He was a person as much as Ben was, but living a life that was so unimaginably complex… His entire face burned red with some sort of shame. How had he not thought about all this before?