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Dark as the Night Sky
Ben sat on the couch with the television off and no particular reason to turn it on.
Lucy told him Matt was driving the OTs crazy again. Refusing adaptive tools, insisting on doing everything the hard way. Playing Danny’s game instead of resting. She said it like a complaint. It wasn’t.
Eight months ago, Matt needed a duct tape square just to get through an elevator ride. Now he took them without thinking.
Matt doesn’t need me the same way anymore.
That was the goal. That had always been the goal.
The beer in his hand was getting warm.
Piano drifted up from Riley’s. Ben took the stairs down and crossed the room. Josh was at a table near the back wall, turning a coaster between his fingers. Early. Obviously.
The kid lit up when he saw him. “You made it.”
“You sounded like you were about to talk yourself out of it on the phone. Figured I should show up before you changed your mind.”
“I wasn’t going to change my mind.”
“You stumbled through the invitation like a hostage reading a ransom note.”
Josh winced. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“It was exactly that bad.”
The bartender set down Ben’s drink without asking. Josh watched.
“You come here a lot?”
“I live here.”
Josh laughed. His shoulders dropped. Everything about this kid was on the surface.
“This is nice,” Josh said. “We should do this more.”
“You’re already booking the next one? You haven’t even touched your drink.”
“That was nerves. This is charm. Keep up.”
“Charm.” Ben took a sip. “You remind me of a puppy someone dropped off at a shelter. All energy, no plan.”
“And you took me in anyway. What does that say about you?”
“That I have poor judgment and a soft spot for strays.”
“So take me home. I’m housebroken.”
Ben smiled before he could stop it. The kid had timing.
“You’re easy to talk to. That’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous how?”
“Because I’m going to finish this drink, and you’re going to suggest another one, and I’m going to say yes when I should probably say goodnight.”
Josh leaned forward. “Is that your way of telling me you’re having a good time?”
“That’s my way of telling you I’m bad at leaving.”
“Works for me.”
“Fine. One more. But I’m picking yours next, because whatever that is,” he said, gesturing at Josh’s glass, “has too many ingredients and not enough dignity.”
“It’s called confidence.”
“It’s called a cry for help.”
The empty bottle left a bad taste in his mouth.
Josh would have made the room lighter. He always knew how to just be with someone. He’d sit cross-legged on his own terrible couch, talk about his day, ask about Ben’s, and the whole thing would be ordinary.
Ben never knew what to do with ordinary.
You could’ve had that.
For most of his adult life, he had a role. Partner. Best friend. The guy who showed up when everything fell apart. It was all he had, and there was always a next emergency to prove it.
He once had someone who did the same for him. Josh kept showing up. Kept asking to be let in. Ben hid behind Matt instead of being honest, and lost him for it.
The city sat past the window. Streetlights. Traffic going somewhere.
He could keep sitting here. He’d gotten good at that.
Or he could be honest. For once.
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Commander Hartfield