cherry 🦢

The house woke up the same way it always did. Both men up way before you were– it came with their age. Coffee, your dad swearing at the coffee machine like it'd personally insulted his mother with Ben telling him maybe it'd work if he stopped beating the Hell out of it every morning. (That and the fact that it had been in this house longer than you had)

"I ain't beatin' it" Your dad scoffs, defensive despite very clearly strangling the life out of the poor scrap of metal and glass.

"Could've fooled me"

You smiled to yourself from upstairs– there was something weirdly endearing about waking up to his bickering, it was one of those small reminders that some things never changed.

By the time you ducked into the bathroom, the two men had already wandered outside to inspect something on the truck. Which really just meant standing there with coffee and pretending to inspect something while doing absolutely nothing. Honestly, they’d been doing the same little ‘fixing the car’ act for as long as you can remember but Hell, why would you call them out on it when they had so much fun being lazy bastards?

The screen door creaked shut behind your dad. "Gonna grab my hat, sun’s already starting to boil my face off"

"Mhm" Ben waves him off, staying right where he was– leaning against the porch railing with his mug balanced in one hand. Quiet, the kind he liked. None of that guilt heavy bullshit that sat uncomfortably inside his chest, none of those disgusting memories of his time out on the field. This is the kind of silence that wrapped around his broad, scarred back and gave him a breather from everything else. People always assumed a man like him needed noise– engines, power tools, television blaring loud enough to rattle the damn windows… Truth was, he'd already had enough noise to last him a lifetime. Nowadays? This was enough.

The house behind him slowly waking up, your dad stomping around the kitchen, your humming from upstairs while. Simple things, ordinary things. Same things he’d always told himself he’d never get, not even close. Ben had never been much good at saying it out loud, but somewhere along the line this old house had stopped feeling like somebody else's place he was just ‘staying at for a while’ and started feeling like an actual home.

He took another slow sip of coffee. Huh, not half bad. Maybe your dad finally figured out how not to prepare the drink without making it taste like burnt bitterness in liquid form. "...Nah" Old bastard probably just got lucky. The thought earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth before he pushed himself off the railing with a quiet grunt. Halfway to the door he paused, hand instinctively reaching for his jeans’ back pockets– a habit he’d developed over time, after all, he only carried three things in them: keys, wallet and phone. Shit, his phone. He must’ve left it on the bathroom counter back when he woke up.

Ben set the now empty mug down on the railing and headed back inside. The stairs creaked under the weight of his broad frame, reminding him how his body wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of sportsmanship it once was. Ah what the Hell, he was strong as a goddamn horse and still had enough muscles to put the other men in town to shame– who gave a damn that his abs weren’t chiseled anymore. The hallway was empty, bathroom door at the end mostly shut. Mostly because that old latch hadn't caught properly in years. He lifted a hand to knock. Nothing. Maybe the shower was too loud? He frowned, knocked again but a little harder. Still nothing.

"Kid?"

The word had barely left his mouth when the door shifted inward half an inch beneath his knuckles. He hadn’t meant for it to creek open– he could swear it on what little honor he had. But intention didn’t matter. The door had opened anyways, steam brushing his face and the faint smell of that sweet shampoo you used. Ben looked up on instinct, that was all it took– two seconds, maybe even less. A glimpse through the drifting steam.

Your back was turned towards the door, flimsy shower curtain doing little to nothing to cover your frame– not that you’d pulled it all the way closed. Water was falling down your bare body, catching at the dip of your lower back and glistening when the sun caught the droplets just right.

Ben’s body recognized what his brain hadn't caught up to yet. Beautiful fucking broad. There was an unforgivable, undeniable twitch under his jeans– enough heat rushing downstairs to bring him back to reality. Everything slammed together, what the Hell was he thinking? Christ on a cross. His gaze jerked sideways so violently his neck protested, one hand rubbing over his mouth as if he could physically rub away the thoughts that’d just crossed his mind. "Sorry" His voice came out rough– too rough, even for him. He shoved the door closed immediately (as closed as it got), didn't wait for an answer, didn't even know if you'd heard him over the water. Couldn’t bring himself to have a proper interaction.

The veteran was already halfway down the stairs– outside. The porch. Sit down. Breathe. His elbows rested on his knees, calloused hands hanging loosely between them and the yard stretched out in front of him. Despite being so stubbornly focused on it? He couldn't have told you a damn thing about it even if he tried. Because his head wasn't in the yard, it was still standing in that godforsaken hallway. Christ. He scrubbed both hands over his face hard enough to leave red marks below his stubble. Fucking stupid idiot. Should've walked away, should've knocked louder, should've… Hell, he should've done anything except look.

Except he hadn't looked. Not really, he'd just glanced. That was the ridiculous part– he hadn’t stood there, hadn’t lingered or gawked like some limp-dicked pervert. His eyes had simply found you, the same way they always did. Only that this time they’d found you completely naked for fuck’s sake. Ben’s gut twisted with shame because for one miserable, instinctive heartbeat his body had reacted, his dick had embarrassingly twitched at the sight of your back. A back for fuck’s sake? He wasn’t some virgin who creamed his pants at the sight of an ankle. But still– those shoulders, the water, the line of your back… Then guilt hit so hard it almost made him feel sick all over again. "Jesus fuckin' Christ..." His words disappeared into the empty yard.

He'd spent years making sure nobody even looked at you wrong. Scared off boys in high school, watched strangers a little too closely with a glare that could melt steel, walked on the outside of sidewalks just in case, opened every damn door in sight, made sure you got home safe, made sure you ate, made sure nobody ever dared to even think about hurting you.

Now? Now his own body had betrayed him before his brain even had a chance to catch up. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt. No, no... That wasn't– Correction: he wasn’t. Christ. He wasn't one of those men. The thought alone made him feel dirty. He'd rather break every damn bone in his body than make you feel unsafe for a single second. Which somehow made this worse? Because you'd never even know how he’d just looked at you– you'd still smile at him the same way, still nuzzle into his side  during movies, still throw your legs over his lap on the porch because you'd been doing it since you were old enough to walk on your own.

Still trust him. Without question. His chest tightened painfully. That trust… It was the most important thing he'd been given in all his life. It was precious and pure, raw and honest in the way nothing else around him could ever be. And now he couldn't stop wondering if somewhere along the line he'd become someone who didn't deserve it. (Not that he’d ever believed he deserved at all)  The screen door squeaked open, reluctantly snapping him away from his existential crisis. "There y'are" Ben straightened up immediately at the sound of your voice. You stepped onto the porch barefoot, hair falling over your back and dampening the fabric of your shirt. His eyes stayed firmly on your face, stubbornly refusing to look anywhere else. "Thought you’d stepped out"

"Mhm" He grunts simply, offering you a small nod.

You tilted your head, trying to see past his ‘gruff-unapproachable-strong-tough’ man act he carried all the time like armor. "...You okay?"

"M’fine"

"You don't look fine"

"M’sitting on a porch drinkin' coffee" Liar. He hadn’t touched that coffee since before even heading upstairs, it was probably colder than a polar bear’s ass.

You can’t help but let out a soft, amused breath, clearly not buying his bullshit. You’d had enough years of practice to see right through him. "Ben, you're glaring at a tree"