Chapter Text
In all honesty, Reece James is a hypocrite.
It’s easy enough to give it all that about “everything happens for a reason” and “the universe has a plan for everyone”, and Reece says it all the time, plastering it all over his instagram stories like he’s Lewis fucking Hamilton, or some shitty motivational speaker. He gives it all to his teammates too, the cliche “you’ll be back stronger” tacked on the end with a clap on the back, he’s had the same exact conversation with Ben more times than he can count. But when it comes down to it, when Reece gets the phone call that tells him he’s not going to his first world cup any time soon, it’s pretty fucking impossible for him to believe there’s a good reason behind that.
What’s worse is that Reece is the first to preach communication, the first to let all his teammates know that if they’re feeling shit they should talk to someone about it, because it helps, it really does. And yet, the unopened messages keep piling up in Reece’s phone, lying untouched as he comes online every day just to stew in his bitterness while watching the rest of the England team, the team that’s he’s not a part of, having the time of their lives in a country which Reece wouldn’t have been welcome in to begin with.
Most of the messages he’s ignoring are all from Jude; texts offering his support, updates on Qatar (which Reece wants to hear, he really does, even if each reminder of what he’s missing makes him feel sick to his stomach), a few ‘I miss you’s and ‘it’s so boring without you’s (a lie, obviously. But a lie that makes Reece feel slightly better). There’s a photo of Jack sitting on a camel, a video of Mase playing basketball with Dec. There’s the ocasional messages of concern too, and Reece is surprised Jude isn’t more angry about it, because he’s being childish and he knows it. It shouldn’t be this difficult for him to be happy for his friends, the thought of giving them the time of day shouldn’t feel so exhausting, like he’s trying to move a mountain with his bare hands. It’s ridiculous, and Jude’s bearing the brunt of it but it’s not just him who Reece is being a complete dick to, because they’re all lovely and well over half of the team has tried to reach out to make Reece feel somewhat included, and Reece just doesn’t deserve it. They’re wasting their time.
He’s ignoring Ben, too. That one feels worse, because he can’t blame it on anger, or jealousy, or bitterness, or resentment. Which means Reece doesn’t know what it is, which means he can’t think of a single excuse for treating Ben like this, which means he feels like complete shit because of it.
They should be sticking together. Ben is the only other person here who has any idea what Reece is feeling. He’s been so nice about it too, all the comforting messages, comments of support, acting like Reece is the victim when Ben’s no better off himself. Ben is always so god damn nice, and Reece just doesn’t get it, doesn’t get how he can be positive and friendly like this when his dream has just been ripped away, after everything he’s been through to get there. Ben isn’t angry, isn’t bitter, and maybe it stings because he’s a better person than Reece could ever be. Or maybe Ben’s unrewarded kindness breaks Reece’s heart a little bit. Maybe.
Reece has read all of them, every single message. Over and over again. Supportive outreach switching to gossip and useless tidbits of information on what’s going on with the team, because Ben isn’t a mardy cunt and people like him, so he’s probably talking to everyone multiple times a day, having everything he’s missing shoved down his throat and smiling through it all because that’s what Ben does. What hurts the most is when Ben starts to clock on to the fact that he’s not getting a response any time soon and he starts asking why he’s being ignored, if everything’s ok, if he’s done anything wrong. It’s cruel, really, of Reece to make him feel like that. He’s getting worried, and he obviously needs Reece to be there for him in the same way he’s trying to be there for Reece. It’s not fair.
Reece has been given a generous amount of time off. He’s far enough in his rehab that he can afford it, and he’s comfortably set to be ready for the season’s restart, so there’s no rush for progress. Still, he’s around cobham in between countries, for various scans and check-ups and rehab sessions. Everyone else is taking time off too, so the halls are an unusual quiet, no laughs or booming voices or clicks of studs against the floor. Reece finds himself wondering what Ben is doing, where he is, if he’s ever around at the same time. He wonders if Ben’s been away, or if he’s still in too much pain for travelling. He can’t help but miss him, thinking about all the months spent in recovery together last season, side by side, Ben’s laughter the soundtrack to everything. If he thinks about it too much his hand starts twitching, fingers aching to pick up his phone and finally answer one of Ben’s hundreds of messages, but he can’t. He just can’t. He doesn’t have it in him.
So, naturally, Reece comes in for a training session one morning just to turn a corner and find himself face to face with Ben. Right in front of him, those blue eyes staring straight into Reece’s. It should be awkward. Reece is expecting it to be awkward, because Ben hasn’t even had so much as a piece of confirmation that Reece is still alive in the last ten days. But it’s not, because Ben’s face spreads into a wide grin like nothing has happened, like he’s got nothing to be upset about. Reece could be imagining it, but there’s a moment where he leans in for a hug, then he catches himself, makes himself take a step back. Reece hopes he’s imagining it. Ben likes hugs. Ben’s never hesitated to hug him, or anyone, before. All the guilt that he’s been trying to push away comes back in full force, to look right at Ben’s face and to realise that Reece’s radio silence probably really has hurt him. To realise that Ben still cares, so much, so genuinely.
It takes Ben a few more seconds to speak, like he doesn’t quite know what to say, but that’s ok, because neither does Reece. Ben eventually shakes off the hesitance, goes for it with a, “How are you, bro?”. All casual, all cool.
“Good, man,” Reece says. It’s obvious he’s lying, but Ben’s shoulders relax a little like he’d been waiting to hear it. Or maybe he’d just been waiting to hear Reece say anything at all. “Good. And you?”
“Yeah,” Ben nods. “Getting there. Slowly, but we’re getting there.”
Reece nods. Ben’s off crutches, he notices, but he’s wearing shorts that show the bottom of a bandage seeping out from underneath, running securely around his thigh. It’s an improvement at least. “Glad to hear it, bro,” Reece says earnestly. He wonders how long it’s going to be before Ben mentions all the unanswered messages, or if he’ll mention it at all. Still, he finds himself not wanting the conversation to end, so he asks, “You been up to much? Been anywhere nice?”
“Nah,” Ben shrugs. “Not had the time. Been here almost every day.”
Every day. Reece sighs. He wonders if Ben’s been told to do that, or if it’s been his choice. He always pushes himself so far, so hard, until there’s nothing left of him. Reece has seen it before, too many times. He would have thought Ben might have learned by now.
“You’ve not had any time off?” Reece clarifies.
Ben shrugs, again, but there’s something a little self conscious about it this time. Reece notices him start to pick at one of his nails, and fights the urge to separate his hands. “I mean, if you count the first week after I got injured,” he says, “but I couldn’t really move much. Couldn’t have gone on holiday or anything, could barely manage walking around the house.” He’s trying not to sound self-deprecating, Reece can tell, but he stutters a little on the last sentence, shifts his gaze to the floor like he can’t meet Reece’s eyes.
There’s something about it that aches, that Ben’s been here all on his own, walking around the ghost town that’s left of cobham all by himself every single day, and Reece couldn’t even manage to give him a text back. It must have been horrible, isolating. Reece doesn’t know how he would have coped with all of this without the free time to spend with his family and friends, without the opportunity to get as far away from London as possible and pretend England doesn’t even exist. He wonders how Ben’s been coping. He wonders if Ben’s been coping at all. He should have checked, and he knows he’s an asshole because he didn’t.
Reece can’t help it, he gives up on trying to keep his distance and puts a gentle hand on Ben’s shoulder, beckoning him to meet his eyes. He hates himself even more when Ben flinches a little. It’s so minor that nobody else would even notice, but Reece can’t not. Ben’s so affectionate, so touchy. A few weeks ago this would have been considered the most minor of affection between them, but now Ben is looking at him like he can’t believe Reece wants anything to do with him.
“That’s rough, man,” Reece says. He’s trying to sound soft without being judgemental. “Sure you’re handling it ok?”
He didn’t think Ben’s eyes could get much wider, but they do. Something flashes across Ben’s face, a need to hold back a biting comment, something like ‘oh, so suddenly you care now, do you?’. If it was anyone else, they wouldn’t hold it in, and Reece would deserve whatever they said, but it’s Ben. He lets things slide like that. Reece doesn’t think he’s ever seen him hold a grudge in his life.
Eventually, all Ben says is, “I’m fine. Are you?”
The return of the question stuns Reece a little, and he’s not really sure why. He doesn’t want to think about it too much, probably because if he’s been completely honest with himself, the answer is an obvious no. The answer is no, and he feels like a spoilt brat for it. He isn’t entitled to go and play for England, it isn’t some kind of birth right. Having it taken away shouldn’t hurt this bad.
But Reece isn’t a liar. He preaches honesty and transparency with mental health, and he wouldn’t want Ben, or anyone, to lie about how they’re feeling (even though he suspects that Ben just did). So, fuck it. He owes Ben a bit of truth. “It’s shit, isn’t it?” Reece says. It’s a general statement, nothing too personal, but it gets the point across. It is shit.
Ben is an angel, a real life angel. He doesn’t say anything, but he takes his hands from where they’re pinned to his sides and wraps them around Reece’s shoulder, softly pulling him into a hug. It’s the most normal anything has felt between them since the night of Reece’s injury, it might be the most normal Reece has felt in general since then. He’s missed Ben’s hugs more than it’s probably appropriate to admit. He’s missed Ben, a lot. The scent of him. The warmth of his skin.
“It is shit,” Ben agrees, against Reece’s ear. He doesn’t say anything else, and Reece wouldn’t expect him to. He pulls away seconds after, but he looks a lot more relaxed, and Reece feels it too. Maybe that’s all they needed.
Ben plays with his hands for a few seconds, and Reece watches his face, his teeth pulling at the skin of his bottom lip, clearly thinking something over, deciding if he should say it or not. Reece braces himself, expecting confrontation, but he should have known better. Ben is the least confrontational person he knows. Instead, he says, “The first game is tomorrow,” all nervous like he’s asking Reece for a kidney. Reece flinches, unwillingly, because if he’s being honest he’s tried his best not to think about it. He can’t help the bitter resentment bubbling up inside him every time it crosses his mind.
Ben doesn’t continue, so Reece nods. “Yeah, you gonna watch it?” he asks, although in truth there’s nothing he’d rather talk about less right now than the opening game of a world cup campaign that he’ll never be a part of.
Ben smiles, and Reece envies it. “Yeah, definitely. I’m gonna have a few mates over for it,” Ben says. He starts playing with the collar of his shirt, running his thumb and forefinger along the fabric. “You should come.”
Reece blinks. He’s not sure if he heard that right, but he did, he definitely did. He and Ben don’t see each other often outside of football, with the exception of the ocasional chess match and going for coffee in the mornings before training every now and then. He hadn’t expected Ben to want him around, especially when he’s already got his own friends there. Especially right now.
Reece doesn’t know what to say. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to have anything to do with this game, or any after that. He’s told himself it was for the best to not get involved, because it would only upset him. And at Ben’s house, with Ben’s friends, who Reece doesn’t even know and doesn’t particularly want to get to know. It feels too intimate, something that Reece shouldn’t get to see. It’s a part of Ben’s life that Reece isn’t meant to be involved in. It almost seems foolish for Ben to make that offer to someone who hasn’t said a word to him in over a week. What would he want Reece there for? But at the same time, Reece has been shitty enough. He can’t think about all those texts begging for a reply, the look in Ben’s eyes when Reece asked if he’s ok, or the way Ben flinched at Reece’s unexpected touch. He can’t think about all that then look him in the eyes and say no. Nobody is that cruel.
“I’ll think about it,” Reece says, and he means it. He will think about it. He has no idea what to do.
Ben smiles, all big and soft with those white teeth and pink lips. There’s a faint hint of red to his cheeks. “Great,” Ben grins. “Great, yeah. It’ll be nice to see you. Haven’t in a while, have I?” He nods encouragingly, and it’s like the distance between them, the awkwardness, never even existed, because then Ben’s leaning in for another quick hug before skipping off down the corridor, worrying that he’s about to be late for his gym session.
Reece watches him go, and struggles to fight against the pulling sensation at the corners of his mouth.
-
Reece said that he would think about it, and he does. He thinks about it all day, through his individual training session, on the way home, for the rest of the evening until he gets bored enough of his own overthinking to drift off to sleep. He reaches the conclusion that he’s not going to go, he can’t. It doesn’t make sense, and he doesn’t think he can take it, watching his team with Ben right next to him, knowing they should both be there, knowing they’ve both been robbed of something massive. Being angry and bitter not just for himself but on Ben’s behalf too. Only being more upset by the fact that Ben isn’t, by the fact that Ben can talk about it with a smile on his face and genuinely mean it.
But the game looms closer, the lineup gets posted, the shitty tv coverage starts, the players start to fill the tunnel, and Reece feels like he’s about to tear his own skin straight off the bone. He can’t sit still, can’t sit here and watch and pretend that it doesn’t hurt like no injury ever could, to sit and think that in a better timeline, in a timeline where he’s luckier, or maybe less irresponsible, he would be there. Maybe there’s a version of reality where he’s there with Ben, too, right by his side. Where they’re starting oposite each other, just like they’re used to, so used to that it becomes muscle memory, except in that world it’s on the biggest stage of them all, in the biggest competition the world has ever seen.
In Reece’s head he and Ben take all of the glory, together. In reality there is no glory, just dirt and rubble, and Reece is on his own. There’s only one part of that which Reece can change.
He’s outside Ben’s door before he even realises it. He doesn’t remember the journey here. It’s like he blacked out and suddenly regained consciousness on Ben’s doorstep. He hesitates before knocking, sudden doubts creeping in that Ben was just being polite, that he doesn’t actually want Reece here, that he’s intruding on Ben’s time with his friends. But he’s here now, he’s committed, and it’s too late.
The nerves don’t last long, though. Ben opens the door, takes one look at Reece, and breaks into a huge, cheek-splitting smile. “You came!” he says, beaming. He’s got a drink in his hand, a curious looking red liquid, and Reece watches with interest as Ben places it down on the floor to hug Reece with both hands. Reece doesn’t know why one hand wouldn’t be enough, but he finds it oddly endearing, another one in the plethora of Ben’s slightly weird mannerisms.
“I didn’t think you would show,” Ben adds, a bit quieter, whispered against Reece’s ear. Reece is close to admitting he wasn’t planning to, some weird urge to keep an air of nonchalance, but he doesn’t want to risk it upsetting Ben. He can’t, when he pulls back and sees Ben still smiling, sweet and warm.
Reece dyed his hair last night, a calm purple to replace the slightly gregarious green, and Ben wastes no time reaching out to place a hand on top of it, the way he always does. Reece finds himself stretching up into the touch, pushing his head against Ben’s hand like a cat. “Purple?” Ben asks, always a man of the wisest observations. “You look good, bro. It suits you.”
“Thanks,” Reece smiles. There’s a heat to his cheeks as he steps through the door - it must be warm in Ben’s house. Ben bends down to picks up his drink, and Reece looks at it quizzically. “What even is that?”
“Vodka cran,” Ben says. He presses the glass into Reece’s hand, waiting for him to take a sip, which he does, and nods approvingly afterwards.
“It’s nice.”
“I’ll make you one, if you want,” Ben offers. Reece agrees, and Ben takes a handful of Reece’s sleeve to direct him through the house. As they walk, Reece can see into the cinema room, where Ben’s friends seem to be set up to watch the match. It’s a smaller group than Reece expected, only around six or seven people, which comes as somewhat of a relief. The game is already 20 minutes in, still 0-0, which Reece notes with a dull, spiteful kind of glee, and Ben’s friends are watching intently, looking bored as they all sip from the same bottles of beer, offering the occasional annoyed comment. Reece can’t help but wonder how much brighter Ben will make the room just by walking in. They all seem lost without him.
Reece watches Ben’s hands as he pours the drink; the way his fingers curl, the contrast of black tattoos against pale skin, the red and swollen patches around too short nails where Ben has bitten and picked at them. There’s a measuring glass on the counter, but Ben seems to disregard it as if it isn’t even there, instead opting to go by his own judgement, pouring slow and focused until he’s satisfied, mumbling “looks about right” to himself under his breath. He spills a few drops of cranberry juice on his fingers, and Reece finds it unreasonably difficult to look away as he licks the juice off his skin.
“Here,” Ben says, turning around happily, completely unaware of how Reece has been captivated by his every movement. Reece doesn’t know what it is, but he needs to snap out of it quickly. It’s just Ben.
Reece takes a sip, makes sure that his smile is appreciative. “Should’ve been a bartender, you,” he says, and it’s stupid, but Ben laughs, ducks his head a little like he’s taken that as a great compliment, and Reece can’t wipe away the grin.
Ben leads them back through to the main room. He introduces Reece to his friends one by one, most of which Reece recognises vaguely but has never talked to before, and suddenly everything feels so much less overwhelming. Ben never makes it seem like Reece is an outsider, always makes him feel welcome. He sits next to Reece, their thighs touching, and starts to tell everyone a funny story about something Reece did in training.
It doesn’t take much longer for the first goal to go in. It comes from Jude, who’d been incredible already, and Reece is glad it was him out of everyone. He feels significantly less bitter seeing Jude score England’s first goal of the world cup than he would have if it was anyone else. Any resentment is pushed away by pride, genuine and brotherly, the same sort of pride he feels when he watches Lauren. It’s been hard, it is hard, but Reece can’t begrudge Jude anything. The rest of the room erupts into cheering, and Reece doesn’t feel like he’s pretending as he joins them. Ben hugs Reece with so much energy that he has to take a few steps back to stabilise himself, genuine excitement not too different from how they would celebrate together on the pitch, and Reece lets the touch linger.
The next comes only a few minutes later, Bukayo this time, and Ben and his friends are ecstatic. Reece finds it a little harder to bury his jealousy, but he does a good enough job of acting like that one didn’t sting a little. Ben’s happy, at least. A third follows on the edge of stoppage time, and by now Reece is completely sick of it, beginning to reflect on the fact that he really is missing something incredible here, something with the potential to be historical. It’s stopped being fun. Or he’s stopped having fun, because he’s miserable and bitter. Ben’s friends are loud, rowdy, overexcited and further invigorated by the compelling lead and they drinks they’d been consuming throughout. If they were a little much at first then they’re a chore to deal with now, but Reece isn’t quite sure if that’s their fault, or if it’s more to blame on his own bad mood. Everyone else only seems to be enjoying themselves more, and they should be because it’s been a great match, but Ben is bouncing around the room like it hasn’t even occurred to him to be angry, or annoyed, or even just a little bit selfish. Maybe those things don’t occur to Ben, maybe he’s just better than everyone else, impossibly nice and well meaning. But then Ben sits back down, somehow closer to Reece than he was before, and he rests his head gently against Reece’s shoulder, slumping against his side, and Reece just knows. He can tell something has changed.
“What’s wrong?” Reece asks, under his breath but loud enough for Ben to hear over the noise in the room. He wraps an arm around Ben’s shoulder, holding him a little closer so that it’s slightly easier to hear. Ben blinks a few times, then smiles. Or tries to smile. He smiles in a way that most people would probably buy if they didn’t look too hard, but Reece can see right through it. “Hey, seriously,” he says again. “What is it?”
“Are you having a good time?” Ben asks. He’s avoiding the question in a way that makes Reece wonder if he even heard him. His muscles feel tense under Reece’s touch.
“Yeah,” Reece says immediately, although he’s not entirely sure if ‘good’ is the right word. He’s having a better time than he would be on his own, at least. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for inviting me.” And he means it, the thank you. It’s made him realise that he really did miss spending time with Ben.
Ben nods silently. He tries to smile again, but it looks even more strained than before. Reece has seen him like this a couple of times before, usually in the changing rooms or on the team bus after games, this kind of distant, confused quiet, like his mind is somewhere else. It’s so unlike him that it’s startling; Ben is usually jumping around the room, talking to anyone who will listen.
“Are you having a good time?” Reece asks.
Ben nods again, and Reece accepts that it’s the closest to an answer he’s going to get. From the other side of the room, one of Ben’s friends says something that elicits an unnecessarily loud eruption of laughter and shouting from the rest of the group, and Reece sees as well as feels how Ben’s entire body winces against his will. It takes a few seconds, and then a few seconds more, before Ben speaks. “Do you want to get away from all this for a bit?” he says, so quiet and uncertain that it’s almost lost underneath the noise.
It’s one of the easiest questions anyone has ever asked him, so Reece nods his head, lets Ben lift him up and lead them upstairs, through the halls, and into his bedroom. Ben sways a little as they walk, which Reece finds a little strange since he hasn’t seen Ben drink anything else after the drink he had when Reece arrived, but he doesn’t think too much of it. He’s has been to Ben’s house a few times before, of course he has, but he realises now that he’s never actually been upstairs, definitely hasn’t ever been in Ben’s bedroom. It’s different, private, a piece of Ben that Reece almost can’t believe he’s been trusted to see. Reece takes his time to look around, take note of every single detail like Ben is going to quiz him on it afterwards. He can’t help it, the intrigue. He feels like he’s pulling at threads, unravelling more and more about Ben, and he doesn’t want to stop.
Ben’s room isn’t too different from the rest of the house in terms of decorating. There’s that same type of modern, expensive minimalism, with the white walls and grey/black details, with the same ocasional pops of colour and personality breaking through with the strange trinkets and ornaments that Ben places around haphazardly, small bursts of his personality that can’t be contained by the attempt to stay stylish. The only difference is that there’s more of it, more personal, placed less apologetically. There’s picture frames dotted around the room, a framed Interstellar poster by the window, a thin but full bookshelf with books about chess, about football, about films and fashion and all kinds of things that Ben finds interesting. There’s a strange looking statue of a teddy bear in the corner, and on the bed, buried between the pillows, sits an actual teddy bear, soft looking brown fur and, on closer inspection, a small bear-sized replica of a blue Chelsea shirt. A gift, probably, although Reece supposes it’s not entirely out of character for Ben to have bought it for himself. Either way, it’s position of pride in the middle of Ben’s bed is a testament to its’ importance, and something about it leaves the corners of Reece’s mouth tugging upwards. It makes him want to hug Ben, hold him close and tight and not let go, and he’s not really sure why.
On Ben’s bedside table, amidst the picture frames and a half drank bottle of water, there’s a white and orange box of pills, the larger text that Reece can just about make out reading “sertraline 100 mg”. Reece tries to look away quickly; he’s not sure if Ben realises he’s left those out. Not that there’s any shame in taking antidepressants, but Reece already feels as though he’s seen too many things that he isn’t supposed to. He doesn’t want Ben’s boundaries pushing, doesn’t want to violate his privacy any more. There’s another box slightly sticking out from under the sertraline, and this one Reece recognises instantly without needed to read the label, the same prescription painkillers that everyone gets from the club doctors for big injuries. It’s a name that Reece can’t pronounce, but they’re strong, strong enough that they leave you a little disorientated, slightly out of it. Strong enough that if you take the maximum dose for a few days in a row and then suddenly stop it leaves you feeling cold and nauseous. Reece wonders what it must feel like to take them on top of antidepressants, and concludes it can’t be a very nice experience at all. He considers if you’re even supposed to take them together at all, or if Ben’s left having to make the choice between two different kinds of pain every day.
To Reece’s relief, Ben doesn’t seem to have noticed how Reece’s eyes have been scanning every inch of the room, and if he has he clearly doesn’t care. Ben’s sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands up over his face and then through his hair repeatedly, and Reece gingerly sits down next to him, leaving a good amount of distance between them, unsure if he’s doing the right thing. “So,” he prompts. “You going to tell me what’s up now?”
Ben wriggles a little closer. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m fine, honestly. I’m fine. Just get overwhelmed sometimes, you know?”
Reece knows. And he gets it. There’s actually something comforting about knowing Ben is struggling with it too, even if it’s taken until now for him to show it. Reece supposes that’s what Ben does sometimes, pretends it’s fine until he can’t pretend anymore. He nods sympathetically, thinks about reaching out to put a comforting hand on Ben’s back, but he doesn’t. “Yeah, I get you. It’s hard to watch for me too. Just feels so fucking unfair, doesn’t it?”
Ben shrugs. He inches marginally closer, and this time Reece does too. He wonders how long they’re going to play this game before one of them gives in. “It’s unfair on you,” Ben says. “I was stupid. I brought this on myself.”
The statement stuns Reece for a second. He wasn’t expecting that. He’s not quite sure how Ben got to that conclusion, but suddenly it throws everything into perspective. Ben doesn’t get angry, or jealous, or bitter, because all of that is aimed at himself. Reece is quick to give up on the little game they’re playing, shuffles across the bed to close the remaining distance between the two of them in an instant, a hand pressed to Ben’s shoulder. “How can it be your fault? You didn’t tear your hamstring on purpose, did you?”
Ben shakes his head. His eyes are blown wide, shocked like he actually didn’t expect Reece to disagree with him. “I should’ve said I couldn’t play. Shouldn’t have been sprinting like that. I should have known better.”
“The medical team cleared you, didn’t they?” Reece asks, to which he gets a small nod from Ben. “It’s their job to tell you if you can’t play. That’s what they’re there for, Ben. You can’t blame yourself for following their advice. You definitely can’t blame yourself for having a good game.”
Ben doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t agree either. He doesn’t say anything, just lets his head drop onto Reece’s shoulder and closes his eyes. “Think I’m just gonna stay in here for the rest of the game, sorry Reecey. You don’t have to stay.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
Ben lifts his head, a small movement that looks like it’s taken a lot more effort than it should. There’s something in Ben’s eyes that Reece can’t quite read. “Do you want to stay? I’m not going to be much entertainment. I need a nap, honestly.”
Reece smiles. It’s such a simple, obvious question. He’d so much rather sit in here with Ben in the peace and quiet than go back out there to watch a game that’s only making both of them feel like shit. He thinks he’d choose sitting here with Ben over most things, but he doesn’t know how he can say that without making things weird, without taking things to a place that you’re not supposed to go to when you’re a footballer. “If you want me to stay, I’m staying,” Reece says. He puts a hand on Ben’s knee instinctively, and feels a flash of panic stab through him when he realises.
Thankfully, Ben doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. If anything, Reece thinks he seems relieved, either by Reece’s words or the physical contact, or both. “Thought you were sick of me, to be honest,” Ben says. “Really didn’t think you would come today. Didn’t think you wanted to be around me.”
Reece sighs. He knows what Ben’s getting at, it’s obvious, and he knew it was going to come up eventually. You can’t ignore someone for two weeks and not expect them to wonder why. Only he had expected Ben to be a little angrier about it, to know that Reece is the problem, not him. “Ben,” he says, tentatively. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t because of you, yeah? It was me. I just… I didn’t have the energy for talking. To anyone, not just you. This whole thing’s just been really hard to take, you know?”
Ben nods. He knows. Of course he knows, and Reece feels like a right dick for just assuming that Ben was miraculously unaffected by this just because he doesn’t seem angry or sulky, just because he doesn’t deal with it in the exact same way as Reece. Reece should have known better, he should have cared enough to check. “Just one text would have been nice, is all,” Ben says. “Even if it’s telling me to fuck off, it just would have been nice to have some proof you were actually alive.”
Reece doesn’t think. He reaches out for Ben’s hand, covers it with his own, pressed against Ben’s leg. “I’m here for you now, I promise,” he says, his voice just a little too low. He watches Ben swallow thickly, wide blue eyes fixed on Reece, something uncertain flitting across his face. The touch of their skin feels heavy, warm.
“Me too,” Ben states. Then, with a slightly forced attempt at a smile, “Gotta stick together, don’t we? We’re the only ones who get it.”
“Yeah,” Reece agrees. He wonders how close is to close, how far is too far before friendly affection in a pivotal moment of your friendship becomes something that it shouldn’t be, before Ben starts pushing away. “Just me and you against the world, right?” he says, and tries to make it sound as casual as possible, wondering why it wouldn’t be casual, because it is. That’s how it is between Reece and Ben, the fullback duo, brothers in injuries. It’s always been them against the world.
And then Ben is leaning closer, closer, until he’s pressing his lips against Reece’s. Small, delicate, chaste movements. Reece’s mind freezes, but his body responds without his input, like he’s on autopilot as he reciprocates the same slow movements.
It’s over just as fast as it started. Ben jolts back, blinking like he’s confused, like he doesn’t really understand what’s going on, which Reece can relate to. “Sorry,” he chokes, stuttering over the sounds, and Reece actually feels quite bad for him. He looks terrified, eyes wild with fear. Reece wonders what exactly Ben thinks is going to happen now.
Not that Reece is sure what’s going to happen, either. He doesn’t know what to think, what to to do. He can’t quite work out what any of this means. He’s heard the hushed rumours, little whispers of hearsay floating around certain circles, about Ben and the people he runs with. About Mase, Dec, Jack, James, how they all get down on their knees for each other when they’re alone in the showers, how if you listen closely they can be heard through the walls in team hotels. Reece never believed any of it. Friendships like theirs make those things easy to say without any shred of proof, but now Reece can’t help wondering if this is a thing that Ben does; kiss his teammates when he’s feeling low because it’s an easy spike of adrenaline. If he’ll kiss Reece, who else would he kiss? Anyone, surely. Definitely Jack. Definitely Mase.
But looking at his face now, the genuine fear, muscles all tense like he’s just waiting for Reece to land his first blow, Reece isn’t sure that Ben takes it that lightly. Ben isn’t messing around. He’s not having fun. He certainly hasn’t done it to make himself feel any better. That thought is almost worse, because if Ben isn’t going around kissing teammates like it’s a weekend hobby then Reece has to ask himself why Ben would kiss him, and he doesn’t know how to unpack that without making it something he knows it isn’t, without making it something that it can’t ever be.
There’s context to it that Reece can’t ignore, though, and he remembers it a few seconds too late to save himself the mental anguish. He sees Ben around teammates he’s close with every day, he’d like to think he is a teammate Ben is close with. He sees Ben with Jack at England, hiding away in their own little world together, so close that it’s like they’re the same body. Ben is overly affectionate to a ridiculous extent, to the point that people make jokes about it, tease him for having his arm glued to Mason’s back, his head glued to Jack’s shoulder as he sleeps through every plane ride they take. He sits in Jack’s lap and doesn’t even blink when people walk past, like it’s totally normal. This is just who Ben is. If he’ll do all of that, he’ll kiss them too, and maybe that’s just how he shows affection. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Why would it?
“It’s ok,” Reece says, and it is. Really, it is. It’s not Ben’s fault that Reece can’t process any of this.
Ben nods. Reece watches him exhale with relief, slowly out through his mouth, soft lips pursed in a nice, red circle. Reece hates that he knows how soft they are now. He’ll never be able to forget it.
“I’m not—“ Ben starts, cuts himself off, looks around the room like he’s waiting for someone to come and rescue him. Nobody does. “I’m not… You know. I’m not.” He can’t even say it, as if the word would burn his throat on the way out. But that’s ok, Reece doesn’t think he could say it either. Not in front of a teammate. You just don’t do that.
“I know, Ben. I know you’re not,” Reece reassures.
Ben’s bitten one of his fingernails down to the point of bleeding now, and he’s blinking slowly as he sucks it, trying to nod in confirmation of Reece’s words, but it’s slow and heavy. He looks exhausted, completely out of it. “I’m not thinking straight, I’m sorry,” he says, the sentence punctuated by a yawn.
Reece wraps an arm around his shoulder, letting Ben collapse into him. He thinks for a second that maybe he shouldn’t, that something like this should be awkward for a bit longer, but it’s just Ben, he doesn’t drag things out like this. “Come on, let’s take that nap you wanted, yeah?” Reece suggests, because it’s clear Ben really does need it. He lets Reece pull him down onto the bed and curls up happily at his side, an arm slung around Reece’s waist, the compulsive need to be overly affectionate coming back instantly as if nothing happened. Reece holds him as close as he can, skin on fire where Ben’s head lays to rest on Reece’s chest, fingertips tingling as he curls them through Ben’s hair. He’s so soft, smells so fresh, feels like a dream.
Ben falls asleep within minutes. It’s not surprising, if anyone could be an expert in sleep it would be him. It’s weird, actually, how tired Ben always seems to be, how often he ends up falling asleep while everyone else is wide awake. Reece isn’t sure if it’s endearing or concerning. He wonders, briefly, if the box of pills on the bedside table had anything to do with it.
Holding him is nice. It’s such a small, tender moment, yet Reece feels a nervous electricity coursing through him that he can’t figure out. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Ben does this with everyone, falls asleep against people’s shoulders, asks people to play with his hair because it relaxes him. It’s not a big deal.
There are things you just don’t talk about in football, and this, the way Ben seems to fit into Reece’s grip like he’s made to be there, the way their legs intertwine together like puzzle pieces, it’s something Reece knows he can never talk about. He shouldn’t even be thinking about it. These things can’t happen within football, it’s not appropriate, it’s not safe.
Reece knows he’s going to have to shake these irrational feelings, but for now, he just lies still and listens to Ben’s heavy breathing as he sleeps and savours the moment, because he can’t ever let it happen again, for both of their sakes.