Below the Beds

Below the Beds

F.A. Lantern

Content warnings: domestic violence | child abuse

D on’t get involved, Ben tells himself, unable to look away from the trio of boys surrounding the crouched figure of the smaller child. It's none of your business.

He can already feel the sting of his foster mom’s slap when he gets sent home from school again for fighting, making her leave work to pick him up.

I don’t get paid enough to take care of you when you make me miss work! She screams the same things every time she hits him. Ben wishes he could ignore the three bigger kids as one of them pulls his foot back and kicks the smaller boy in the stomach, but he can’t, he just can’t .

He’s ten, but he’s as big as a sixth grader and that alone is enough to keep him from being picked on, despite his sometimes-dirty clothes and his too small shoes. At least, no one messes with him anymore. But Samuel, the kicker, picked on him for weeks before Ben finally shoved him into the dirt hard enough to bloody his nose.

He never tried it again, but Ben can hear the snide comments he makes in class when Ben doesn’t know an answer, or when he comes to school in the same shirt three days in a row.

Ben could put his head down and go to class, make himself small and not get into trouble, and avoid all the consequences he knows he’s going to get. But the boy makes a stuttering little cry as his backpack is dragged off his body, even as he struggles to hold on to it.

“Give it back!” Ben snaps, his hands in fists at his sides a few feet from the huddle of boys. “It’s not yours!”

Samuel tenses before he turns, handing the backpack to one of his buddies as he faces Ben, an ugly sneer on his face. “What do you want, assface?”

Samuel’s friends snicker, pleased by his insult and their greater numbers. On the ground, the smaller boy sniffles, bringing his scraped, bloody hands to his face to readjust his crooked glasses. Ben doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t need the reminder of how it feels to be small and helpless and overwhelmed.

“Just give him back his backpack and leave him alone,” Ben tells Samuel, jerking his head at the boy pawing through the bag, looking for snacks or money or anything else he thinks he can take.

Samuel’s friend pretends to ignore him, darting a glance at Samuel for approval before he chucks a sandwich on the ground and stomps on it. The younger boy makes a sad, hopeless sound that cuts through Ben to the quick.

“Or what?” Samuel sneers, his voice deliberate, his piggy eyes eager and mean. “What are you gonna do about it? Cry to your mother? Oh, wait, you don’t have a mother?—”

Ben shoves him hard enough that he hits the ground with a startled grunt. Everyone freezes for a long moment, waiting for Samuel to react, waiting for Ben’s next move.

It’s the younger boy who moves first, shoving himself to his feet and running away, abandoning his backpack, still held loosely in one of his bullies’ hands.

“What is going on here?” A sharp adult voice cuts across the yard, and Ben feels his heart sink.

“Nothing, Ms. Stevens,” he mumbles, taking a big step back and wondering if he can mimic the younger boy and run.

“He pushed me, mom!” Samuel whines, holding up his dirty palms as evidence as he looks pathetically up at his mother. The PE teacher frowns, narrowing her eyes at Ben as she pulls her son to his feet, looking him over critically.

“Your hands, baby,” she sighs. “Go to my office. I’ll get you cleaned up and write you a note for class. You!” She points a stern finger at Ben. “Come with me right now.”

Ben feels his stomach fall to his toes and his mouth go dry. He wants to protest, he wants to explain himself, but Ms. Stevens isn’t going to listen to him, and neither is Mr. Sweeney, the principal.

Behind his mother’s back, Samuel grins at him, sticking his tongue out victoriously as Ben is pulled away.

Ben hates him. He doesn’t like the feeling, the sick, hot rage that makes him feel like choking. It tastes like helplessness and despair and is far too bitter to comfortably swallow. He doesn’t say anything as he is dragged away, across the schoolyard to the administration building.

The back of Ben’s neck itches, but he keeps his burning face pointed at the ground. It’s obvious enough what is happening to him, even without Samuel telling everyone that he got Ben in trouble. He doesn’t need to see the curious or gossip-hungry looking at him too.

“Sit here,” Ms. Stevens says, nudging Ben toward the row of chairs in the hall of the office and leaning over the counter to talk to the receptionist, who shoots Ben a sympathetic look before lifting the desk phone to her ear.

Ms. Stevens says something else and then turns to Ben, giving him a narrow-eyed glare before leaving the office. Ben slumps against the wall and kicks his sneaker over the linoleum until it squeaks.

The receptionist hangs up the phone and gives Ben a little smile. “Mr. Sweeney will be able to see you soon.”

Ben tries to smile at Miss Linda, but his chin feels a bit wobbly and his stomach feels watery. She is always nice to him, offering him smiles and sneaking him the occasional cookie from the nurses’ station, even when he is in trouble.

“Oh, honey,” she sympathizes, looking at him sadly and not fooled by his fake smile. “It’s going to be okay.”

It isn’t, but Ben is still grateful to her for trying.

B en huddles beneath the thin blanket on his saggy mattress and tries not to cry. His ribs hurt, and his face burns from where Mrs. Davis slapped him, blood pulsing beneath the blooming bruise.

The house is quiet enough that she’ll probably hear him if he lets himself sob, and it will only be worse if he interrupts her show with his blubbering. Mr. Davis isn’t home yet, and Ben hopes in vain that he’s late, that he stopped for a drink at the bar with his buddies instead of coming right home.

Maybe Mrs. Davis will be asleep—maybe Mr. Davis will be too drunk to pay any attention to his wife or his foster kid before passing out on the couch.

Ben is dozing when he hears the door slam, the rattle of the thin walls jolting him back to awareness. He goes very still, his eyes wide in the darkness. He thinks he hears something slither under the bed, but he’s not a baby, he knows that old houses creak sometimes. He doesn’t need to check, not when he can’t tear his eyes away from his bedroom door. It’s locked, but from the outside, keeping him trapped rather than keeping him safe.

There is a buzz of conversation from the living room, irritated and harsh. Mrs. Davis is still awake, and she sounds mad about it, which can only mean bad things for Ben. Ben eyes his closet, wondering if Mr. Davis will find him if he hides in there.

Probably, and it will only make him angrier. Ben has been in this house long enough to know that it's better to just endure, to let them hit him a few times and cry so they will feel better about what they are actually angry about and leave him alone.

It’s only really bad when he runs or fights or makes them feel like they have to work for it. He knows that, but it doesn’t make it any easier to sit alone in the darkness and wait for a punishment he knows he doesn’t deserve.

Waiting, straining to hear, Ben thinks he hears something shift under his bed. It's a slight rustling, the glide of something big over the dusty floorboards, but before Ben can wonder about it, the door slams open, the cheap metal handle cracking loudly against the chipped paint of the wall behind it.

Ben can’t stop the gasp he emits, the instinctive flinch away from incoming violence. “You nasty little bastard ,” his foster father slurs, the stench of beer wafting across the small, stuffy room.

“I’m sorry,” Ben squeaks, curling up against the wall, tucking himself into the corner like a rat in the trap. “I’m sorry!”

“You will be, you little piece of shit.” Every step that Mr. Davis makes sounds like thunder against the hardwood, inevitable and dooming.

Ben quails, clenching his eyes shut and tucking his face between his elbows and his knees, barely breathing as he waits for the first heavy blows to land.

They don’t.

Ben hears an unexpected bellow of shock and then a sickening crack and thud. He peeks between his fingers and stares dumbly in shock, unable to move as he watches Mr. Davis gurgle, a puddle of blood blooming across the carpet from the crushed mess of the back of his skull.

Ben whimpers, unable to think, unable to move, unable to do anything but stare stupidly at the creature crouched on the chest of his dying abuser.

It is small and male and mostly humanoid, just a little bit too pretty and graceful to be real. “What?” Ben manages to squeak, wondering if he is dreaming.

“Hi,” the creature says, shooting Ben a tremulous smile that is studded with too-sharp canines. “I’m Luce.”

“You killed him,” Ben whispers, barely able to stop himself from vomiting. “Oh, god.”

The creature—Luce—looks down at the body beneath him, a crease growing between his green eyes. They glow in the dark, liquid and luminous as they focus briefly on the body. “Should I not have?” he asks, looking questioningly back up at Ben. “He was going to hurt you, wasn’t he? Should I have let him?”

Ben blinks at him, stupefied. “I?—”

Luce grins at him, and it's suddenly harder for Ben to breathe. “It’s okay,” he says. “I stopped him like you stopped the mean boy earlier. No one is going to hurt you again. I won’t let them.”

One Year Later

B en’s cell is cold, but thankfully, lonely. He doesn’t have a roommate yet and the whole facility is daunting, but he’s grateful for the space each night after the rough and tumble of overcrowded classes and the brutal social structure of a juvenile detention facility.

Most people—the judge certainly—believe he deserves to be locked up until he’s an adult, no matter how many times Ben tried to explain that Mr. Davis had fallen. He hadn’t dared mention Luce, the strange creature who had shown up just in time to save him.

It was just a dream , Ben reminds himself, shifting his weight over the thin mattress of his bed. There had been no monster beneath his bed, rising to protect him with a sweet, timid smile and softly illuminated eyes.

Mrs. Davis had slammed into the room and started screaming, and Luce had disappeared between one blink and the next. Everything after that had been noise and sirens and a growing, sickening fear.

“He fell,” Ben whispers, as if anyone is listening, as if anything he says is going to get him out of this cell. “I didn’t kill anyone .”

But no one is listening. No one is here.

As if on cue, the lights click off with an irritating buzz, the doors locking automatically to keep all the boys in their rooms until 7:30, when breakfast starts tomorrow morning. Ben doesn’t move. His room is dark, but there is a large window in the door, leaking fluorescent light into the room.

Sporadically throughout the night, staff members peer into the room, ensuring that all the boys are safe and obedient. Between the noise, the light, and the guilt, Ben hasn’t been sleeping very well since he arrived.

When he does sleep, he dreams. It's always the same dream, and Ben wakes up feeling sweaty and itchy and alert, his hormones and the isolation inciting new reactions to unconscious visions of flashing eyes, a quick smile, and the slim, graceful figure of a creature who stepped out of nothing to defend Ben.

The rest of his life is boring. He wakes up, eats a bland breakfast, and sits through the minimal classes required by state law. He doesn’t make friends with any of the other boys. Most of them are vicious or sniveling, and all Ben wants to do is keep his head down and get through the next few years.

He is big enough that the bullies leave him alone, and thankfully, the juvenile hall does a good job of limiting the conflict between the other boys, which allows Ben to look the other way and stay under the radar.

He enjoys the weekly outings to museums or the beach or the zoo, but otherwise he spends as much time as he can in his room, reading his way through the rotating library supplied by a local community group.

It’s fine. No one hits him, he doesn’t go to bed hungry, and he never gets in trouble. Overall, it’s better than foster care, even though he knows his record will make things harder for him when he grows up.

But he’s bored and alone, and he can’t stop thinking about the creature under his bed. Ben has never been particularly imaginative or such a lucid dreamer before, but what alternative is there?

That a monster crawled out from under his bed and killed Ben’s abuser?

Shaking his head, Ben slides off the bed and pads over to the bathroom to brush his teeth, trying to dislodge his repetitive musings. He doesn’t want to dream about Luce again.

It makes something in his chest ache in a way that haunts him.

T he brush of paper over paper wakes Ben sometime later.

He takes a moment to blink at the lopsided light from the square of glass in the door. There is someone in the room, Ben realizes, still shaking off the cobwebs of his sleep.

It takes a moment for the fear to kick in, and then he is jolting upright in bed, his heart nearly galloping out of his chest as he looks around wildly.

“Did I scare you?” Luce asks softly, perched on the top of Ben’s desk with a broken-backed novel on his knee. “I didn’t mean to.”

Ben’s mouth is dry, and he struggles to gather his thoughts. He thinks he’s awake—he’s sure of it—but the creature is here, all warm skin and glowing eyes and the glistening hint of pearly teeth indenting his bottom lip.

“I—” he stumbles over the word, then falls silent, unsure what to say next. “I don’t understand.”

Luce frowns, putting the book down and leaning forward to peer at Ben more closely. “I couldn’t find you,” he says, sounding a little bit pouty. “Why did you leave?”

“I’m sorry?” Ben croaks, shaking his head to clear it. “I didn’t mean—I mean, they put me—what?”

Luce grins suddenly, his whole face lighting up with such brilliance that Ben can’t breathe. “I didn’t scare you?” he asks. “You weren’t running from me?”

He sounds so hopeful that Ben feels it in his chest, a pang so familiar Ben’s breath catches in his throat. How many times has he been rejected? How many times has a hand he reached out to a classmate or foster parent been slapped away, literally or figuratively?

Dream or not, monster or not, murderer or not, Ben can’t bring himself to do the same thing to someone who helped him .

“I wasn’t running from you,” Ben explains, swallowing back his instinctive fear and relaxing his grip on his cheap blanket. “They thought I killed him, so they locked me in here.”

Luce’s face falls, his little fists clenching into tight knots. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his luminous eyes filling with tears. “I was trying to help. I didn’t mean to make everything worse.”

Ben has never been able to ignore the tears of someone younger or smaller than him, and it has always brought him trouble.

“Hey,” he says, unfurling from the bed and holding out his hand to the impossible creature. “I’m not mad. It’s better here, really; no one hits me.”

Something strong and new punches to life in Ben’s gut when Luce brightens like the rising sun at his reassurance, hopping off the desk and taking Ben’s hand, then curling against his side on the bed with a complete lack of self-consciousness.

Luce is warm and small and smells like a freshly extinguished candle, sweet and smoky. Impossible or not, dream or not, it doesn’t matter. Ben never wants to let him out of his sight.

Five Years Later

B en has nothing against Todd, but he would really rather not see the other boy again. Todd is perfectly nice for someone who got caught trying to set his high school on fire, but the problem is that he’s always here , in Ben’s room—well, in their room, if Ben is being honest.

But Ben doesn’t want to be honest; he wants his room back. It’s only been two weeks since Todd arrived and was assigned to share Ben’s room, but that whole time, Luce has been absent.

Ben isn’t surprised: his peculiar friend never shows himself around anyone else, but Ben’s reaction to his absence this time has been … unexpected.

He’s had roommates before, weeks or months of time when Luce’s presence in his life was replaced by a human boy. Previously, Ben missed his friend, but it feels different now, sharper and more irritating.

Maybe it’s because it has been nearly six months since his last roommate was released, or maybe it’s because during that time, Luce had stopped sleeping beneath the bed and crawled in next to Ben, warm and smelling of fire and safety. It made Ben’s heart race and his stomach tighten, his crush winding through his bones and organs like ivy up a wall.

But Ben never dared to make a move, never dared to treat Luce as anything more than his dearest friend. All that time, Luce never gave any clear indication of romantic interest, and he isn’t human. Ben has no idea how to approach the issue, and he shies away from even thinking about it too hard.

Of course, none of that matters when he wakes up to soiled sheets and the fading remnants of hormonal dreams scented with the tinge of smoke and the curl of his friend's mouth…

If Luce noticed Ben’s frequent and sudden retreats to the bathroom at four in the morning, he hasn’t bothered to mention it, instead simply cuddling into Ben’s warm spot with a sleepy little grumble at being disturbed from his rest.

The unresolved tension, guilt, and helpless longing leaves Ben feeling surly and prickly, and despite his best efforts, he finds himself taking out his temper on the boys around him. He doesn’t have a lot of friends at the reformatory, partly because he has never been particularly friendly and outgoing, but mostly because the majority of the teenagers locked up with him are unpleasant and violent, broken from whatever trauma led to the crimes that landed them in juvenile detention.

Ben has grown tall and strong enough that the newcomers often choose to avoid him when jockeying for position, and the few boys who have been here as long as Ben has know better than to bother him.

He sticks to himself as much as he can, but he is still prone to starting the occasional fight when a younger or more vulnerable kid finds themselves the victim of one of the more persistent bullies.

Todd, however, is getting on his nerves.

Ben clenches his teeth and resolutely stares at the words on the page in front of him, determined to read his novel and ignore the muttered cursing and discordant scales coming from his roommate, who has, for some unfathomable reason, decided to check out the cheap guitar from the underutilized music room in the rec.

Ben glares at the book in his hands, his focus slipping as Todd strums out an awkward tune. It’s not that he dislikes music; he just can’t stand how Todd is ruining the quiet he’s grown accustomed to. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the noise reverberating in his head in a drumbeat of irritation.

“Could you stop?” Ben snaps, not looking up from his book.

“Sorry, man! Just trying to learn.” Todd’s voice is cheerful, oblivious to Ben’s rising frustration. “I thought I’d practice while you read.”

Ben slams his book shut, the noise slicing through the room. “You thought the best time to practice guitar was when I was reading?”

Todd chuckles, undeterred. “You’re just jealous you can’t play. I’ll teach you, if you want.”

“No,” Ben mutters, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to calm down, “thank you.” The comment barely registers with Todd, who just shrugs and launches into another off-key riff.

Ben’s eyes flick to the empty space beside him. Luce should be here , he thinks. His head wouldn’t hurt if Luce were here. They could be talking about anything, or nothing at all. Instead, the bed feels heavy and lonely.

His mind drifts back to those nights when Luce would curl up beside him, whispering secrets and sharing stories of his own kind, foreign and frightening and strange, but lullabies in Luce’s lilting voice. Now? Now, the absence of Luce is a dull ache in his chest. He can’t help but wonder if Todd’s presence is a sign that he’s lost Luce for good.

“Hey,” Todd says, interrupting Ben’s spiraling thoughts. “You alright?” The guitar in his hands twangs unpleasantly and goes silent.

Ben clenches his jaw, not wanting to let Todd’s friendliness get to him. “Fine,” he grumbles, shifting on his bed. He hates that Todd seems to genuinely care.

“Look, I get it. It’s hard being in here. But it doesn’t have to suck all the time,” Todd continues, setting the guitar down and looking at Ben earnestly. “I can be your friend.”

“I don’t need a friend,” Ben shoots back, the words slipping out sharper than he intended. “What I want is my room back!”

Todd raises his hands defensively. “Whatever, dude. Just trying to help.”

Ben stares at him for a long moment, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Maybe it would be easier to let it out, to talk to someone. But he doesn’t want Todd to see how weak he feels.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, softly this time, though it sounds hollow even to him. Luckily, Todd either doesn’t hear or ignores him, turning his attention back to the stained chordbook on the desk in front of him.

A flicker of movement catches Ben’s eye. It’s subtle, just a shimmer in the corner of the room. His heart races as he turns, half-expecting to see Luce.

But it’s just the sunlight filtering through the window, casting playful shadows. Luce’s absence feels suffocating again, and Ben swallows hard. The light fades as Todd picks up the guitar once more, strumming an overly cheerful chord that sets Ben’s teeth on edge.

“I’m going for a walk,” Ben mutters, standing up.

“Okay! I’ll be here when you get back!” Todd calls after him, the enthusiasm in his voice making Ben feel even more irritable.

Ben steps out into the hallway, the clamor of the facility surrounding him. He walks, keeping his head down, trying to push away the turmoil inside him. It’s only a few minutes until quiet time, when all the boys will be locked in their rooms for the night, but Ben has just enough time to get a few lungfuls of fresh air.

He passes the common room where boys are gathered, playing games and watching TV. The atmosphere is lively, and part of him wants to join, to be part of something that feels normal, but he feels disconnected, like he’s watching through a glass wall.

Instead, he finds himself in a small courtyard, the tall fences painted a once-cheerful blue, the cool air a welcome relief against his skin. He heads towards a squat bench, the only seat in the small bit of nature they have access to. A few trees stand tall, their leaves rustling gently in the wind.

Ben sinks onto the bench, his heart heavy with thoughts of his missing friend. Where are you? he wonders, staring up at the sky as clouds drift lazily by. Are you safe? He doesn’t know much about his monster’s life when he is away from Ben, but he knows it’s bad, and the worry gnaws at his belly.

“Luce?” he whispers, half-hoping for a response.

Nothing. Just the distant sounds of the facility and the chirping of birds overhead.

As he sits there, the weight of loneliness settles over him like a shroud. Maybe it was selfish to expect Luce to return, to slip back into his life as if nothing had changed. Ben feels a pang of guilt wash over him. Luce did what he could; now it is Ben who needs to find his own way.

A flicker of movement at the edge of the courtyard draws his attention. He squints into the shadows and sees something —his heart leaps, he jumps to his feet—but it's just a squirrel, twitching its russet tail before scrambling up a tree, leaving Ben alone once again.

The shrill squeal of the bell cuts through the evening air, summoning Ben back to his room.

Ten Years Later

B en stands in his apartment, the soft glow of city lights filtering through the curtains, casting neon shadows across the floor as cars hum on the streets below. The air is thick with anticipation, and the faint sound of music pulses from his speakers. He shifts nervously, glancing at the clock. His heart races, a mixture of excitement and anxiety coursing through him. Alex is in the bathroom, the pretty young man ‘freshening up’ from his night spent dancing with his friends at the bar Ben works security for.

He doesn’t make it a habit to take party boys home after work, but Alex is just his type—small and lithe and shifty, an echo of something it hurts to remember.

As he shrugs off his shirt and lights a candle, he tries to shake off the feeling that something is off. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s a restlessness in the back of his mind, a flicker of longing that makes him uneasy.

It’s been a decade. He’s been through therapy, and he’s rejoined society with a sealed record and a job that pays the rent on his tiny one-bedroom apartment, with any extra cash going toward ramen and Cheerios.

Alex creeps out of the bathroom, his eyeliner highlighting the blue of his shy eyes as he runs them hungrily over Ben’s chest. Ben grins at him, the flicker of arousal drowning out his melancholy.

“Hey.” Ben grins at Alex, reaching for his hand and pulling him down to sit on the couch, the tension between them electric. Alex makes a joke, and Ben laughs, trying to keep the mood light until the time is right and he can lean in, cupping the back of Alex’s head to kiss him, the condom and lube waiting on the coffee table.

Just as their lips nearly touch, a soft, almost imperceptible scratching noise drifts from the closed door of his bedroom. Ben’s heart skips a beat. He glances toward the sound, his breath hitching. It can’t be. Not now.

Alex notices the shift in Ben’s demeanor. “You okay?” he asks breathily, a hint of concern in his voice, eyes darting to the bedroom door and back.

“Yeah, I just … thought I heard something,” Ben replies, forcing a smile. He tries to shake it off, but the scratching grows louder, more insistent. The memories come flooding back: the late-night conversations, the laughter, the warmth of friendship mixed with something deeper. Luce, his tender monster, his childhood protector—how long has it been?

Before he can process his emotions, the scratching turns into a soft thump, and Ben’s heart races. Alex’s brow furrows as he shifts his attention to the source of the noise.

“Is your place haunted or something?” he jokes, but there’s a nervous edge to his laughter.

Ben chuckles awkwardly, but his mind is elsewhere. “Just my roommate,” he says, even though he knows the truth. The unbelievable, unbearable truth.

“You have a roommate?” Alex asks, shifting away from Ben. Ben doesn’t care; he barely even notices, his eyes fixed on the slowly turning doorknob. The door creaks open, a slice of light falls over the wooden floor, and then –

Luce’s face appears, his shimmering skin glistening in the low light, his large eyes wide with surprise. The sight of him sends a jolt through Ben, emotions swirling within him until he feels dizzy and light headed.

Luce is older now, taller, with a sharper face, but there is no denying that Ben is looking at the now grown-up face of a childhood friend he almost managed to convince himself was imaginary.

“Ben?” Luce’s voice is tentative, filled with a mixture of excitement and fear.

“Luce?” Ben gasps, standing up instinctively. The world outside fades away as he focuses on the figure before him. Memories rush back—playing hide and seek, whispering secrets, a bond that transcended the ordinary.

Alex’s mouth drops open in disbelief. “What the hell is going on?”

Ben swallows hard, caught between two worlds. “This is Luce. He’s—my roommate. I’m sorry, I don’t think now is a good time. Do you have money for a taxi? Can I call you an Uber?”

“An Uber? But—” Alex’s voice is laced with frustration, but Ben barely hears him. All he can focus on is Luce, who stands there, mostly hidden by the door, looking both ethereal and vulnerable.

“Is it really you?” Ben asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Luce nods, stepping forward hesitantly. “I came back to see you. I missed you, Ben.” His eyes dart over to Alex, darkening briefly. “I didn’t know you were busy.”

The darkness in Luce’s eyes strikes a chord deep within Ben. He feels an overwhelming rush of affection, memories flooding back of laughter and secret adventures. “I missed you too,” Ben replies, his heart swelling. Part of him feels guilty, and he resists the urge to step in front of Alex, as if that is enough to make the man disappear.

Alex, still processing, crosses his arms. “So, this is your roommate,” he says slowly. “This is weird, Ben. I wouldn’t have come home with you if I knew you had a boyfriend.”

“Luce isn’t my boyfriend,” Ben defends, turning to Alex. “He’s my friend. We were?—”

“Friends?” Luce interjects, a teasing lilt in his voice that makes Ben’s cheeks flush. It sounds like flirtation—it sounds like a challenge. It sounds like Ben is getting himself in trouble.

Ben glances between them, unsure how to explain the depth of his feelings for Luce. “We … we—it’s complicated.”

Alex watches Ben look at Luce, a mix of confusion and irritation playing across his features. “I think I should go,” he says, trying to regain some semblance of control in a situation spiraling out of his grasp.

“Wait,” Ben calls out. He isn’t being fair, but he doesn’t care. He can’t help himself. “I didn’t mean to dismiss you. It’s just … Luce?—”

“Yeah, I get it,” Alex mutters, backing away slightly. “But I don’t want to be a third wheel to some angsty dynamic. Good luck with … everything.”

“Alex, I’m sorry,” Ben insists, but he can see the tension in Alex’s posture. The chemistry they had felt moments ago has vanished, replaced by awkwardness.

“Bye Ben,” Alex says, turning to leave. “See you around, I guess.”

Ben feels a pang of regret as Alex exits the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. The air feels thick and heavy, and he turns back to Luce, who watches him with an unreadable expression.

“Sorry about that,” Ben says, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t expect you to show up like this.”

Luce shrugs, his eyes searching Ben’s face. “Clearly. I wanted to see you. It’s been a long time.”

“I know,” Ben replies, stepping closer. “I’ve thought about you so much. My therapist tried to tell me I imagined you, that you were a trauma response. I very nearly believed her.” He bites off the rest of his words, swallowing back a demand of where Luce went, of why he stayed away.

“Really? You thought about me?” Luce’s voice is hopeful, and Ben nods, the intensity of their connection igniting the air between them. Luce takes a deep breath, pushing the door of the bedroom open and stepping into the living room, so close that Ben aches to touch him. “I always felt safe with you. You were my best friend.”

Ben’s heart races. “You were mine too. I always felt like you understood me in a way no one else did.”

Luce’s gaze softens, and he moves even closer. “I never stopped thinking about you. I thought about what it would be like to come back, to see you again.”

“Me too,” Ben admits, feeling the gravity of the moment. “I just didn’t know if you would … if you could. Did I … do something wrong? To make you leave?”

Luce takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. “I can’t stay away anymore, Ben. I need you in my life.” He ignores Ben’s questions, but Ben doesn’t care. Luce’s presence and his words are as potent as amphetamines. Ben feels lightheaded from them.

Ben’s breath catches, and he feels a wave of emotion wash over him. “I need you too.” It's the easiest thing he’s ever admitted, and he can’t help himself: he reaches out and pulls Luce into his arms, tucking the smaller man against his bare chest.

They stand there for a moment, suspended in time, the world outside fading away. Luce’s hand reaches up, brushing against Ben’s cheek, and the touch sends shivers down Ben’s spine. Luce sighs, his breath hot against Ben’s skin. Luce slumps against him, giving up his weight with an ease that goes right to Ben’s head, sending blood rushing south.

“You’re not … angry with me?” Luce asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ben shakes his head, unable to speak, his heart pounding. He is, a little, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but the man in his arms, the race of his heart, the weight of this moment. Luce looks up at him, the size difference between them emphasized by their closeness.

Slowly, Ben leans down, alert for any hint of discomfort, any sign of retreat. It never comes. When their lips finally meet, it feels like igniting a cigarette with a blowtorch: breathtaking, terrifying and hot. Ben feels all the years of longing pour into that kiss, the warmth of Luce’s presence wrapping around him like a boa constrictor, lulling and deadly.

Luce pulls back slightly, his eyes searching Ben’s face. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t want me.”

“I have always,” Ben admits, feeling the burn of the words in his throat, “wanted you.” There’s a hint of his rage in his voice. But this isn’t the time for it. Not tonight, when everything is so raw.

Luce smiles, his eyes sparkling with joy. “Will you let me stay? I’ll leave, but only if you make me.”

Ben laughs, the sound bubbling up from deep within him. He wants to inform Luce that he cannot leave, that Ben won’t let him, that he would rather tie him to his bed, never permit him to leave his sight, but Luce isn’t human. The truth is, Ben can no more keep him against his will than he can a shadow.

“Stay.”

There is more he should ask, more he needs to know, so many questions that need answers, but Ben bites his tongue. It’s too much, too overwhelming, especially when Ben is exhausted and confused and still slightly drunk. If he asks, if he pushes, he’ll cry, or scream, or kiss Luce again, deeper and harder until he’s bending the smaller man over the arm of the couch—and none of those things will be particularly helpful.

“I’m tired,” Ben says, forcing himself to let go of Luce, to step back just enough to allow Luce to breathe. “Come to bed, we can talk in the morning.”

T hey don’t talk the next morning, or anytime over the next week. Ben knows he should push the issue, knows he needs answers before the anvil on his chest can fully lift. But Luce looks so fragile in the morning, his delicate fangs dimpling his bottom lip anxiously as he brews Ben’s coffee, dressed only in one of Ben’s larger t-shirts, which is stamped with the club logo.

He’s so desperate to please, so anxious, that Ben can’t bring himself to ask the questions that Luce would clearly rather avoid. So he takes his coffee with a smile even though it is already edging to afternoon, and he doesn’t ask before his shift starts at eight, and he doesn’t ask when he gets home around 4 a.m., holding his breath until he spots Luce curled up on the chair Ben keeps near the window, keeping watch over the city.

A week passes, then another. More than once, Luce deepens their kisses, his tricky fingers slipping their way under Ben’s waistband. Each time, Ben forces himself to step back, to gently refuse the timid advances of his monster.

He wants Luce like a drowning man wants air, but he has an unsettling certainty that Luce is only offering his body as a consolation prize, as a bribe to forget the last decade, to forget that Ben was ever abandoned.

And it is so, so tempting to take Luce up on his offer, to bury Ben’s doubts and misgivings in the back of his mind with each thrust of his hips, each drive into Luce’s flexible, willing body—but nothing has ever been transactional between them, and Ben refuses to allow sex to change that.

Luce isn’t like any one of the pretty men Ben has hooked up with, picked up at the club he works at, or found on dating sites. Ben wants more— needs more—from him than an evening of pleasure, and Ben will not treat him as such. Ben wants forever with Luce, ideally with them sharing the bed rather than Luce haunting the space beneath it, appearing every once in a while to break Ben’s heart before he vanishes again.

Luce makes no indication that he wants to leave, that he wants anything else but to be Ben’s , but it’s not real, it’s not stable and reliable and trustworthy until they talk, until Ben knows that Luce can stay and that Luce wants a physical relationship as more than a way to keep himself in Ben’s good graces. But Ben is terrified to push Luce, dreading the prospect of waking to cold sheets with no way to make contact, no way to follow should Luce leave him once again.

He can’t put it off forever, and on his night off, he can no longer avoid it.

Ben sits cross-legged on his bed, staring at the familiar shadows emanating from beneath it. The room is dimly lit, a warm glow from the bedside lamp casting soft light across the walls. It’s a quiet evening, and the world outside seems far away despite the predictable sounds of traffic, shouts, and clanging metal, barely muffled by the thin walls of his apartment. His heart races with anticipation and dread, feeling vaguely sick as he waits for Luce to emerge.

After a long moment, he hears the gentle rustling sound, like fabric brushing against wood. Suddenly, Luce appears, slipping out from beneath the bed, his shimmering skin glowing in the lamplight. His large, expressive eyes catch Ben’s gaze, and a smile spreads across Ben’s face despite the weight of the looming conversation.

“Hey,” Ben says, the words barely audible but filled with warmth and longing.

“Hey,” Luce replies, his voice soft yet carrying a weight that hints at the conversation they both know is coming. He settles gracefully beside Ben, their knees brushing against each other.

For a few moments, they sit in silence, letting the tension of the past ten years hang in the air. Ben takes a deep breath, knowing they have to talk about what happened, about why Luce left.

“I missed you for ten years,” Ben finally says, breaking the silence. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

“I missed you too,” Luce replies, his gaze dropping to the floor. “More than I can say.” He doesn’t answer Ben’s unasked question, merely wiggling closer to Ben’s body. Ben should insist on distance, should keep a professional amount of space between them, but he can already taste the hint of brimstone on the back of his tongue, and he has never been strong enough to push Luce away.

Ben watches him closely, the emptiness in Luce’s eyes striking him, even when his gaze is directed at the carpet. “You left without a word. I thought … I thought something happened to you. I called for you for months; I waited for even longer. I’ve been angry at you. I’ve been heartbroken. I was so sure that you died that I grieved for years. I need to know why you left me, Luce. I deserve that much, at least.” He can’t bring himself to voice the rest of it, the painful truth that has been haunting him since the moment Luce came back: Ben won’t survive it Luce leaves him again, not if Luce allows Ben to believe he can keep him .

“I had to leave you,” Luce says, his voice trembling slightly. “It was the only way to keep you safe.”

Ben’s heart sinks with confusion, “Safe? From what?” Ben had been in juvie, sure, but no one had bothered him, not since Luce killed his abuser. As for Luce himself—“I swear to god if you were pulling some Edward Cullen bullshit—” Ben’s hands clench into fists with anger. He has never been afraid of Luce, not really, and if the stupid monster had decided to make that decision for them both?—

Luce’s dark eyes leap to Ben’s like he’s been electrocuted. “No!” he yelps, sounding almost insulted. “Not from me. You could break me like a twig if you wanted to! But I never told you about my father, did I? He was dangerous and mean and controlling and when he noticed that I was … not as bloodthirsty as he was, he sent me away, and I wound up under your bed.”

There is so much Ben doesn’t know about his strange friend, so much he doesn’t know about a world that he barely believes in.

“This world, Ben— your world—was supposed to make me stronger, make me crueler, and my father was always going to come back for me. I should never have followed you around; I should never have become your friend. It was selfish and weak of me, and it put you in danger. When my father called me home, I had to leave immediately. I couldn’t risk him coming after me and finding you.”

Ben swallows, wishing he had thought to refill the water glass on his bedside table before starting this conversation. “He would have hurt me,” he fills in the blank, and Luce flinches, looking up at Ben with guilt-stricken eyes.

“Worse,” Luce says, his sharp, pearly claws cutting into his palms. Ben forces himself to relax, wedging his own hands into Luce’s fists to prevent any more harm to that soft skin. “My father wanted to control me and my sisters. He thought that if I had someone to love, someone who could give me strength, he could lose his grip on me. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t have hurt you. He would have made me do it.”

Ben processes this, trying to wrap his mind around what Luce isn’t saying, the awful truth he is speaking around. Ben thinks of his own trauma as relatively mild, all things considered, and he dealt with most of it in therapy. But he knows better than to push for more details, his mind shying away from the abuse Luce suffered before he was sent away, and the abuse he likely suffered after, all in the name of keeping Ben safe.

“You could have run,” Ben realizes. “But if you did, and your father came looking, he would have found me before he found you.”

“It was for the best,” Luce says firmly, gripping Ben’s hands. “I wasn’t going to let you get caught in the crossfire. I knew if I stayed away, he’d leave you alone. I was terrified of what he might do.”

Ben’s heart aches for Luce, but more than that, inside he is raging at his own helplessness, his own role as clueless anchor, trapping Luce in his father’s grip.

“You should have told me. We could have figured something out together.”

Luce shakes his head. “You don’t understand. He was powerful. I couldn’t risk it. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to come back, but I couldn’t let him use you against me.”

A heavy silence fills the room. Ben’s thoughts swirl, pieces of the past starting to fall into place. “But you’re back now,” he says, a hint of hope in his voice. “ Something changed.”

Luce looks up, eyes bright with a mix of bloodlust and satisfaction. “My sisters and I … we killed him. He spent years pitting us against each other, ensuring each of us thought of the others as threats. But he made the mistake of hitting our mother in front of us, and it turned out that all of us, working together, were enough. We tore him to pieces in his own throne room.”

Ben feels a surge of emotion—relief, joy, and a lingering sense of anger. “You killed him. You’re free.” His voice sounds far away, even to his own ears. Ben’s mind keeps throwing images at him—a hulking, fire-eyed monster leering at his sleeping form, able at any moment to tear Ben to pieces, no matter how hard he fought, no matter how loudly he begged. Ben rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes, struggling to suppress his imagination until it can only haunt him in his inevitable nightmares.

Clearly, he has a lot of processing to do, but it will have to wait until Luce doesn’t need Ben to be present with him.

“We had to,” Luce insists, his voice firm. “But I … I want to come home. I want to be with you, Ben.”

Ben’s heart swells at the thought, but he can’t ignore the complications. “Home? What does that mean? Will you leave again if one of your other family members comes looking?”

Luce reaches for Ben’s hand, his touch sending warmth through Ben’s body. “They won’t. They promised. Besides, my sisters don’t care about anything but their own power. As long as I don't threaten that, they’ll never come after me. I’ll leave if you want me to, but you are the only home I have ever had.”

Ben searches Luce’s eyes, seeking the truth in his words. “If you come back, you cannot leave again, Luce. Do you understand me?” He hesitates, hating to say the words but unwilling to lie to Luce, unwilling to take a risk on something this important. “Your father might have made you injure me; he might have made you kill me. But you disappearing absolutely gutted me. If you do it again, you will break me. If you do it again, you can never come back. I deserve better than that. Am I being absolutely clear?”

Luce flinches, hunching his frail shoulders around his ears. “Crystal,” he whispers. “I’ve spent ten years wishing I could see you again, wanting nothing more than to come home. Please let me stay, Ben. I’ll give you everything you want—I’ll be anything you need. I just want you. ”

The weight of Luce’s words fills the air, and Ben’s heart pounds in his chest. Not even in the filthiest of fever dreams has he imagined Luce saying something like that, let alone meaning it . His words hit every button Ben has, every tendency to cherish and protect and dominate and in that moment Ben knows that he lied. Luce can leave him a million times and Ben will forgive him whenever he shows up. Ben will offer him his heart to be smashed over and over and over again, just for the chance to see Luce smile at him.

“I just want you to stay,” Ben manages, because now is not the time for his sexual proclivities or to admit how lost he remains for his pretty monster. He shouldn’t be. Not after ten years, and certainly not as an adult, no longer a child nursing his first crush, isolated from the rest of the world and hero worshiping the most unlikely of saviors. “Please, don’t ever leave me.” Again. The final word goes unsaid, but Ben is sure that Luce hears it in the needy squeak of his voice, breaking like it did for that awful period of time when he was thirteen.

He doesn’t mean to beg, but he can’t bring himself to regret it when Luce’s mouth falls open, shock and awe clear across his rapidly warming face.

“I won’t,” Luce whispers, bringing one of Ben’s hands to his mouth and brushing his lips over Ben’s knuckles in a kiss Ben feels down to his bones. “I love you. I just want to be by your side again.”

The quiet confession is enough to break what little will Ben has left. His anger leaves him, the slight hint of fear and any trace of logic and maturity abandoning him completely. “You’ve always had my heart,” he tells his monster. “I never stopped loving you. I would have waited for you forever.”

Luce’s face firms into determination, and he shifts his weight, scrambling until he is on Ben’s lap, his knees on either side of Ben’s hips. Ben’s attention shifts, rapidly, to just how long it has been since he’s had sex, to just how affected he is by Luce’s persistent seduction attempts. Ben’s hands find their way to Luce’s slim hips and Luce sighs, shifting slightly until Ben holds him still, noting with pleasure the widening of Luce’s eyes, the faint flush of his luminescent skin.

“So love me,” Luce invites, the implication in his voice clear. “Forever.”

Ben has every intention of doing so, but he needs to make his point before he forgets everything else. “Not until you promise to be honest with me,” Ben says, voice firm. “If someone comes for you, you let me know. If I am in danger, we decide what to do together . You do not vanish off the face of the earth without a single word.” He shakes Luce, just hard enough to ensure that he has his attention. “Do you understand me?”

“I promise I’ll keep you safe,” Luce says, a hint of a smile returning to his lips. “No more secrets. I want to be with you, Ben, in every way.”

Ben knows he’s being manipulated, can see how neatly Luce sidesteps his question, promising safety and honesty but not that he won’t leave if he thinks it necessary. He considers pushing the issue, attempting to bully his way into an agreement, but that will only lead to Luce lying to him.

Ben is tired of lies. He lifts Luce from his lap reluctantly but firmly, ignoring his dissatisfied little yelp as Ben deposits him on his feet. “I’m taking you to dinner,” Ben explains, needing time and space to smooth over the lingering consequences of both their choices. He wants Luce, he plans to have him, but not until his hands aren’t shaking, not until he is no longer rattled.

“I’m not hungry,” Luce whines, uncharacteristically pouty.

Ben smiles, charmed by Luce’s neediness. “I am,” he replies softly. “And I want pizza. How long has it been since you’ve had pizza?”

Luce flashes his fangs at Ben. “How long has it been since you fed me pizza?”

Ben stands up with a laugh, thinking back to the flat squares of over-sugared tomato sauce and cheap cheese that he used to smuggle back to his room for Luce. “That was cardboard, not Giovanni’s. Trust me.”

“I do,” Luce relents, putting his hand in Ben’s with a shy, happy smile.

I t’s a first date, but it hardly feels like one. There’s no need for small talk, no awkward pauses followed by rushed interruptions as they both talk at the same time. Ben has never been able to be himself with anyone else the way he can with Luce. They don’t talk about anything deep, delving into the past unnecessary when instead they can focus on the future.

The only difference is that this time, Luce isn’t hiding: he is out in public, the faint shimmer to his skin dismissed as highlight, his fangs hidden behind his wine glass. The only eyes on Luce are covetous, envious when they meet Ben’s. Luce doesn’t seem to notice, his luminous gaze fixed firmly on Ben, but Ben is just a man, and he can’t help but be proud.

Luce nearly skips home, clearly giddy from the single glass of wine and the good food—and maybe because he’s as happy as Ben is, high on the future they are planning on building together.

His joy is contagious, and Ben lets it spread through him like molasses, slow and sweet and purposeful. I’m going to make love to him, he thinks.

They kiss in the elevator and Ben spins Luce under his arm down the hallway in a breathless, clumsy dance. They don’t bother turning on any lights before their shoes are kicked off, shirts and belts hitting the floor before they fall onto the already mussed sheets of Ben’s bed. Their bed.

“Have you ever had sex before?” Ben murmurs, nipping the question into the underside of Luce’s jaw.

Luce’s fingers tangle in Ben’s hair, pulling pleasantly against his scalp. “No,” he admits. “But yours isn’t the only bed I’ve been under. I know the basics.”

Ben shouldn’t be happy about Luce’s inexperience, but Luce has always felt like his , and this feels no different.

Luce misinterprets Ben’s sudden stillness and reaches up to touch Ben’s face. “It’s okay,” Luce reassures him. “I trust you. You aren’t going to hurt me.”

“Never, never, never,” Ben replies, leaning down to kiss Luce again, deeper and harder, his hands slipping over Luce’s body, tracing the lithe muscles and tugging his pants down his thighs and over his knees.

“Oh,” Luce breathes, going limp and malleable in Ben’s arms. It lights a fire in Ben’s blood, calling to his darker nature. He takes a moment to roll over to the side of the bed, digging through his bedside table’s drawer for the bottle of lube he keeps there.

Luce lies on the bed, eyes closed, body trembling though Ben has barely touched him. It makes Ben feel feral, so hungry and needy that his skin can barely contain him. He runs a warm hand down Luce’s chest, stopping just above his navel. Luce opens his eyes and meets Ben’s, a smirk playing on his lips. “Touch me,” he whispers. “Please.”

"Where should I touch you, Luce?" Ben asks, his voice low and seductive in the shadowy warmth of the bedroom. “Here?” He tweaks a rosy nipple, catching Luce’s surprised little yelp with his mouth. “What about here?” He slips his hand lower, over Luce’s hips until he can brush his fingers over Luce’s slim, pale cock.

Luce moans, arching up off the bed, his fingernails scrabbling against Ben’s sheets, his sharp little claws tearing the cheap fabric. “Oh, you like that.” Ben grins, shifting his grip on Luce’s cock, giving it a soft squeeze. Luce cries out, arching further into Ben's touch. Ben chuckles and sits up, pulling Luce into his lap.

Ben guides Luce's hand to his own cock, which is already hard. "You are so beautiful," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss Luce's neck. "I can't wait to see you take my cum."

Luce whimpers at the thought, his fingers tightening around Ben's shaft. Ben pulls away, causing Luce to pant in frustration and chase his lips with a tilt of his chin. Luce rolls his hips backwards, grinding his ass against Ben’s hard cock.

"Not yet," Ben says, laying Luce back against the pillow. "First, I need to open your tight little ass."

Luce nods eagerly, sharp fangs digging into his lips. Ben slides down the bed, settling his shoulders between Luce’s spread legs, humming as he opens the bottle of lube and coats his fingers with slickness. He wants to see this up close, needs to watch Luce stretch and prepare to take Ben’s length.

Luce cries out as Ben presses two fingers inside him, his body tensing in pleasure. Ben pumps his fingers in and out, curling them to hit just the right spot. Luce whimpers, hips bucking against Ben's hand. Ben hadn’t been sure how similar Luce’s anatomy was to humans’, but judging from Luce’s reaction, he is built in much the same way.

"So tight," Ben murmurs, eyes fixated on the sight of his fingers disappearing inside of Luce.

Luce moans, throwing his head back and flashing the pale arch of his throat. Ben can’t resist the invitation and leans down, sucking a mark high on Luce’s neck. He adds a third finger, stretching Luce's tight hole further.

Ben takes his time opening Luce up, dragging his lips over Luce’s jaw and kissing him softly on the lips. "You are so beautiful," he murmurs. “So warm and tight. I can’t wait to be inside you. I can’t wait to feel you cum around me.”

“I’m ready,” Luce growls, his claws finding Ben’s shoulders and sinking in, sending sparks of hot pain down his spine.

Ben eases his fingers free, adding more lube to his hand before he strokes his own hard, weeping cock, coating his length with lube. He kisses Luce deeply, gently positioning his cock at Luce’s loosened rim of muscle and easing inside, swallowing Luce’s startled cry.

Luce arches into the sensation, his body begging for more. Ben begins to move, savoring the scalding grip of Luce’s body. Luce cries out, claws digging into Ben's shoulders as he does.

Ben leans down to nip at Luce's neck, his free hand gripping Luce's cock tightly and stroking. "Let go, baby," he pants, too close to the edge for this to take much longer but refusing to orgasm before Luce does.

Luce cries out, his body shuddering as he comes, his hot seed splashing over Ben’s knuckles. Ben groans, muscles turning to water as he rolls them both over in the sheets, his own orgasm taking him by surprise.

Ben lies still for a few moments, trying to catch his breath, holding Luce tightly against his chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’m … sticky,” Luce whispers, nuzzling his face into Ben’s chest.

Ben grins down at him, easing himself out from beneath Luce, humming at the soft noises of discontent. As quickly as he can, he dampens a washcloth and returns to the bedroom, guiding Luce’s legs open and cleaning up the mess.

Luce looks down at him sleepily, biting back a yawn as he tangles his thin fingers in Ben’s hair. “Will you hold me, Ben?” he asks, tugging Ben back up the bed.

Ben goes willingly, dragging the sheet up and over them both.

Outside, the sun begins to break. They’ll sleep through most of it, but it will be a beautiful day.