‧₊˚♪𝄞࿐₊˚⊹

He looks at me–really looks at me. And I'm afraid he's going to judge me or think less of me after what he witnessed. But he doesn't, and he doesn't have to speak for me to believe that.

We slowly get through the other untouched objects in the room–a bookcase, a dining set, a vintage mirror. We don't exchange many words, but my occasional laughs and comments are enough to keep the energy comfortable.

Once Ben finishes up with his assault on the final piece of furniture, we are left with nothing but a chaotic mess of shards and broken bits scattered across the concrete. My arms are numb from how many times I swung that bat or tossed something over my head.

After a few minutes of just standing there, both of us taking deep breaths and letting the adrenaline from the destruction fade, I slowly unclasp my face shield to allow myself a few filling breaths. Ben does the same, holding the shield close to his side and swiping his face of sweat.

Once the silence in the room settles, I start to notice the more subtle sounds around us. The faint hum of fluorescent lights above us. The distant sound of a door creaking open in the hallway. My heart, slowing to a regular beat, is the loudest thing in my ears.

Ben seems lost in his own head too, not moving a muscle. His eyes find mine, soft but intense, like he's searching for something. Something I'm not sure I can even give. His gaze drifts to the bat at my side, then back to my face. His fingers twitch, like he's considering something but doesn't follow through with it.

"You were right..." I begin once I find my voice. "This helped."

My voice is still breathy as a result of the physical activity we just went through, and it only quiets further when his expression shifts. His eyes don't stray from mine as he smiles faintly and signs with his gloved hands, I'm glad.

I bite my bottom lip gently as I take in the mess we made–mainly my doing. I realize just now that Ben hardly broke anything at all. He spent most of our time here watching me hack away at anything and everything fragile enough to break in two.

I glance down at the bat in my hand, still feeling the vibrations in my arms. It's almost like the weapon is a reminder of everything I've just let go of. The anxiety. The doubts. All of it had been pushed aside with each swing. But there's still a lingering sense of exhaustion, not just from the physical exertion but from everything else that's been building up inside me.

Ben takes a step closer, and I wonder if he's felt it too–this unspoken rift between us. The air seems thicker now, charged with something I can't quite name. His presence is calming, and steady like an anchor, as if he's the only thing holding everything together in this chaotic moment.

I can feel the heat creeping up my neck, and I force myself to blame it on the sweat.

His hands move again, and I know what he's asking before his fingers finish their signs. Are you okay?

The question is simple itself, but he's asking something deeper, something unspoken, and for a moment, I'm not sure if I should answer honestly. Because I can't quite put into words what I'm feeling–not when all the emotions I've been ignoring are rushing to the surface all at once.

I nod, though the gesture feels hollow against the heaviness in the air. "Yeah...I think so."

Ben doesn't look convinced for even a second. He steps even closer, his eyes never leaving mine, like he's waiting for me to say something more, something real. His fingers move slightly, this time almost like he's reaching for me. I can feel it–he wants to bridge this gap that's been gradually building between us. And it's not just in the way he's standing or how his gaze has yet to waver from mine. It's everything, from the quiet room to the lingering adrenaline still coursing through me.

My breath catches when his crowbar drops to the floor in a loud clatter, the noise bouncing off the walls. He doesn't flinch or react to the sound, instead raising his hand, not to sign, but to touch. His fingers brush just lightly against the side of my face, and I freeze, my pulse kicking up again, louder than it was in the heat of the destruction earlier.

The simple touch sends a ripple through me, making me feel both grounded and weightless at the same time. I open my mouth to say something but the words get stuck in my throat.

He doesn't fully commit, leaving an opportunity for me to turn this down before we both do something we'll regret. But I don't pull away and neither does he. His touch lingers, and that's when I realize that the connection I felt so fully at The Bean that morning goes far beyond musical harmony.

There's nothing left but this moment, this space between us that feels like it's been closing in since the day we met.

He's the first to lean in, slowly, almost hesitantly, as if waiting for me to shove him away, to stop him. But I physically can't move nor do I want to.

His dark pupils glance down at my lips before moving up to capture my eyes. His mouth is so close to my own now, the warmth of his breath mingling with mine, but we don't quite close the gap. I can feel the tension in his body, the way he's holding himself back, waiting for me. It's not the chaotic, frantic energy I'm used to with other people. No. This is calm, patient, and everything he has been with me since day one.

Then, he pauses, very obviously handing the choice to me.

I feel my heart beating faster by the minute, my breath shallower. My eyes switch between his lips and his brown irises, seeing everything there–the vulnerability, the longing, the quiet question that's been left unasked.

And before I could make my move and close that last bit of distance between us, Ben sucks in a breath, his gaze flicking to the door behind me. I feel the heat in my face as I turn quickly, trying to compose myself, and I see the worker from the counter standing there, his eyes wide as he watches us.

"Uh, sorry," he says, grinning like he knows exactly what he's interrupted. "I just had to come in to tell you your hour's up. You guys done in here?"

Ben looks back at me, his face flushed. But I can sense his deep disappointment, and a sliver of irritation that we were interrupted. His fingers twitch at his side, a silent gesture of...something. But whatever it is, I don't know what to make of it.

"I'll give you guys a minute," the guy says with a small smile, before he ducks out of the room and leaves the door cracked open.

Ben clears his throat, slowly dropping his hand from my face to sign something to me. Though I'm too flustered to process the meaning right away.

I pull off my gloves and say, my voice unsteady as I glance toward the door, trying to avoid his gaze for a second, "I, uh...I'll just grab a cab home." I was lucky to bring extra cash with me today, but that won't hurt my wallet any less.

Ben's brows furrow slightly, and I can tell he wants to argue, to protest, maybe even be upfront and insist he take me home himself. But he doesn't, and I don't blame him. Instead, he gives a slow nod, his lips pressing together as he holds my gaze, his eyes sweet yet laced with something I can't quite read. I can almost feel the yearning between us, like we've both been robbed of something we've been craving.

"Thanks for today," I add, forcing a small smile, but it feels shallow. My heart still races, the remnants of that almost-kiss linger on my lips, my skin. I feel awkward, disconnected from everything around me, like I've stepped into a world that doesn't quite fit anymore.

Ben signs something, his hand slow and careful as if he's trying to find the right words, but I'm not quick enough to read it before he lowers his hands, letting them rest by his sides. The silence presses in again, and I can't help but feel that he's just as uncertain as I am.

I take a step back toward the door, still not looking directly at him as I spew out last minute reminders I could have just said over a simple text. "Um...I'll see you tomorrow. I'll just meet you at the venue. Wear a suit. And, uh, maybe go over the song list one more time tonight."

He just watches me, giving me no indication if he heard anything I said. I stepped out of the rage room, feeling his gaze follow me until I was out of sight.

After today, I have no idea what will happen tomorrow. I am just hoping we can both get our shit together before we get lost in the music–and not in a good, poetic way.