#chp 5

I’m taking away all the darkness.

“I’m not people.” His mouth quirked up. “I’m a third party.”

“And that means what exactly?”

“People couldn’t care less what I think.”

Hermione found that hard to believe. Regulus Black was a pureblood heir. People like her were the ones that had to fight to be heard. People like Malfoy wouldn’t shut up.

“I doubt that.”

“It’s the truth. I only lie to people I know.”

So here is a blip of Chp. 5ish as Ben confronts Callum for being a jackass, and for once it actually devolves in a way that doesn't involve hate sex. Okay, maybe a little.

---

It hit Ben like a freight train. His heart was torn under the wheels, his ears screamed with the whistle of blood, everything breaking and crashing as he looked up Callum, his boyfriend. The person who swore he could trust him. The one whose eyes, previously concerned and twisted into the most genuine fear he had seen, flicked over his face as the realization boiled his mind into something new--blank, preparing for war. That there was enough proof of guilt that Ben could have stormed out and never spoken to Callum again. But there was no guilt in his eyes. And it drove him crazy. 

It came out softly. “You manipulated me.”

Callum’s mouth opened, but to his credit, he had enough respect to close it and reconsider whatever lies he was about to say next. Ben could see the wheels turning in the taller man’s head as he bit his lip. But he didn’t deny it. 

“You tricked me into seeing your therapist. Into thinking I was crazy.”

At that Callum’s blank face changed in some guarded, hurt way Ben could never name. “I didn’t make you think you were crazy--”

“Because you think that I am crazy.”

“No I--having a disorder doesn’t make you crazy, Ben! Needing help doesn’t make you crazy!” Whatever tactic the sociopath in front of him wanted to take broke down as anger shown through, and Ben knew, at the very least, that much was genuine. “You weren’t acting normal, and--”

“And what?! That gives you the right to control my life?” Ben took a step back when his boyfriend stepped towards him, and the world was becoming dizzy and horrible and filled with the shifting lies from the angry eyes of the man he let himself care about. Value. “I don’t need to see a fucking therapist, and I don’t need you to decide what I need or who I am or if I’m fucking crazy!” Ben’s eyes searched wildly around the room for his coat; he needed out. The walls were closing in. 

The other man must have sensed his intent to leave as alarm was laced into his voice, stifled with a suppressed bewilderment and frustration. “Ben, you can’t deny that you have issues--”

“We all have issues!”

“Most of us don’t go around being a criminal, Ben! Or staying with an abusive dad who treats you like absolute garbage,” utter hatred and contempt filled the sociopath's voice, and Ben felt bile rising in his gut as he felt a small push to blindly defend his father. He shoved it down, gripping onto the couch. “You have a lot of issues, a lot like when I first started seeing treatment.” Callum’s voice became softer, and it hurt. It dragged nails across his skin and pierced his heart because his voice never sounded that true and real and like he mattered. That this mattered. His boyfriend stepped closer, just a little bit, and Ben let him. Because if Callum wanted to manipulate him, he wouldn’t do it like this. “You know how much it helped me. I’m not exactly the pinnacle of mental health,” Ben’s lips flicked up at that, and a bit of triumph stuck in Callum’s eyes (it was soft, not a prize), “but I can stay around people. I can help them. I can think of them as people. My dad…” Callum's voice choked, and Ben knew he had tried to push too far. He let the other man gain his breath back. “It helped. And I knew it could work for you. And I know you’re hurt and you’re hurting and you need help, don’t pretend that everything is okay.” More authoritarian now, the previous frustration showing through. If Callum didn’t care, Ben reasoned, finally meeting the other’s mangled eyes, he wouldn't have put so much effort into seeming sincere. He could see in the way his shoulders tensed how much Ben’s outrage baffled him right now. 

“And that makes it all okay?” He tried to be quiet. He should have been louder. Not sound like the weaklings Callum sometimes talked about. 

“I--”

“Why even do all this?” His voice was sharper now. “Don’t pretend like you care. I know you don’t. You’ve told me. Your stupid therapist told me.” Bitter, biting. His arms were crossed, tight. 

“Because I fucking VALUE you!” Ben jumped out of his skin as Callum almost screamed, frustration and anger riddled and bored into every surface of how he gestured on, like he wanted to shake Ben until his brains were scrambled enough to understand. “Just because I don’t feel empathy doesn’t mean I don’t fucking CARE about you! Do you think I would do all of this,” he gestured throughout the room, “or even be your boyfriend if I didn’t think you were worth it?! Because I do, and I did, and I try to do all this caring stuff that doesn’t mean anything to me because I want you to be happy! Because that makes me happy.” Ben’s eyes stayed widened, words beating in his ears over and over. “This--maybe--” Callum had to regather himself, gesturing near his head, “I reasoned that you being in therapy would mean an overall enjoyment of happiness, and yeah, its crude math, but it makes sense and it’s all part of this cognitive empathy I’m trying, so you can say a lot of stuff about what I did,” Callum pointed towards him, towards his heart, “but don’t fucking say it was because I didn’t care. Alright?” Quieter, and the rare vulnerability that flashed on his face blinked out as Callum gained control over it, breathing heavily. Blank.

His arms hurt from how his fingers dug in. He could hear Callum’s words beat in his heart and in his brain and in his ears, and he had to hold onto his previous anger to stay alive. 

Because that was the first time Callum said he cared. In his own, different way. In the Callum way. 

“You still manipulated me. You lied.”

“And?”

“I don’t like that. You know that,” Ben bit back, voice a bit exasperated. “We said no lies.”

“You lie to me sometimes. Said you’d get milk yesterday.” Ben had to fight back the flick of his lips. No.

“That’s not the same.”

“I know.” There was a second of pause, the second in which he knew Callum was trying to process what to say. “I know that makes you feel hurt,” it came out slowly, like he hadn’t practiced in a while, “and I’m sorry you’re hurt. Like I said, big fan of happy Ben, me.”

Ben opened his mouth, but instead he broke out into the smile he had been fighting back, and sat down on the couch he had been next to, hands interlaced and gripping each other. “I think that was the most healthy conversation we’ve had in weeks.”

“Maybe months.” Callum’s voice didn’t change, but Ben didn’t have to look at Callum to see he was approaching this cautiously. That he wasn’t too far away, but close enough to pounce. To touch. “But we can still have hate sex if you want,” Callum offered, head knocked to the side and eyebrows raised in that stupid, dumb way he did to make himself seem serious. God, he really could manipulate him without even trying. But he still didn’t come closer. Waiting for the verdict. 

“Don’t tempt me, you know how hot you look when you’re angry,” Ben flirted back, maybe on habit, but his voice was still exasperated, looking at Callum with a raised eyebrow. 

Everything about Callum screamed, ‘what does that MEAN,’ but he still managed a smile and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Of course, men and women alike are lining up to make out with a pissed off sociopath. Really turns them on.” His nose scrunched. “Nevermind, that’s probably an actual fetish. Is that why you started dating me?” His voice was a bit too hopeful for Ben’s taste, but he swallowed it down; he wanted to keep this blip of sanity.

“Yeah. The other half is your cheekbones.” Callum’s head ducked in a smile, in a more sincere, gentle way. (He could tell it was real because it was about Callum, that glow always stayed with him with compliments. Narcissistic bastard, right?) Ben looked downward, studying Callum’s floorboards. 

“So?” The other man couldn’t take it anymore, suspense and some impatience lacing his voice. “Are we...okay?” Like he couldn’t wait for this all to be over and done with. 

“No. Not anywhere close to okay.” Ben made sure to meet his boyfriend’s eyes as he said it, breathing steady and eyes serious. Callum didn’t fall apart at that news ( as Ben knew he himself would have). But his face did close a little, more blank, eyebrows straighter. “You lied to me, severely, and I’m gonna need time. To process.” Callum nodded, hands still in his pockets, though his head hung a little. “And I’m still mad at you. Just because your intentions were not...completely self motivated, doesn’t mean I am just okay with it.” Frustration blipped by, as Ben knew it would. But Callum still stayed silent. Until he didn’t. 

“And the therapy?” Ben could practically hear him trying to push him towards the end result he still wanted, so this tangle of emotions wasn’t a huge waste of his time. But, at least to Callum’s credit, he tried to hide it. That respect was something he and Ben and to build up with mortar and bricks and time, so Ben took the small victory. Softer, “It can help, Ben.”

“I know that!” Callum’s face closed up more. The shorter man had to look down at the floorboards again. “I’m--I’ll think about it. But I’ll do it on my own and reach my own conclusion; you’re not involved in this anymore.” Because Callum cared about him. Valued him. Wanted to him to be happy. Wanted to spend time with him. Wanted Ben to be Ben, just for him. And there was no way his sap of a heart, having won a war, could not be a bit lenient in sentencing. Yeah, it was messed up, but so was he. So were they. “Okay?”

Callum looked at him, really looked at him, for a second. He could tell that he was bewildered, frustration knocked on the floor, but patience lingered in his eyes when Ben tore their gaze apart. “Okay,” the softer voice came, and Callum stepped towards him, sitting next to him on the couch, far enough apart for Ben’s walls not to come crashing down, crushing them both, but close enough to whisper through the prison windows. There. 

It took almost all of Hyun’s willpower to not burrow further into the jacket Orochi gave her, and just blatantly ignore the bear. On the other hand, it took more willpower to not go down to the cafeteria and chug the first thing of water she found. She was tired. Who could blame her. She decided quickly that no, even if you surviving doesn’t matter, you should stay alive so you can at least help the others. Sitting up in her bed she had been spending most of her time in, she fiddled with the red ribbon around her wrist. She had rolled up Orochi’s jacket sleeves to still see the scarf around her elbow, and she was still wearing her normal jacket under. It was lightweight, anyway, she just didn’t want to not wear her grandpa’s pocket. She had considered, if for a moment, giving the jacket to Shujin, but decided against it. Having that constant reminder would probably be more detrimental than anything.

…

That’s awfully hypocritical, huh? She thought. But it doesn’t really matter. My mental state is already real messed up here. She finally stood up, grabbing a pad of paper and one of the glitter pens she got from the school store a few weeks ago - blue one, nice - and went down to the kitchen. As much as she didn’t want to think it, someone was definitely going to kill. She should at least take inventory. She guessed it was lucky she was so used to not eating, it was a common punishment at her home. She quickly jotted down a few notes.

water- can go 3 days with no water. someone went like 8 though i’m pretty sure. maybe boiling it will purify it. food- can go 3 weeks. maybe didn’t poison raw materials, could maybe make bread? expands in stomach and eat less.