This isn't weird.

Hands Off

"Uh huh. Wow. That sucks."

Ben didn't actually know what he was replying to. When Cassie spoke, he rarely listened. Probably something about her mom getting sicker, or being an ungrateful bitch, or both. Maybe she was complaining about how some other waitress only got better tips or hours or something because she was a total skank. It didn't matter.

"Uh huh. Wow. That sucks."

Those words carried him through most of their conversations. They generally applied to anything she had to say at any given moment, and as long as he randomly interjected them every few minutes, she seemed completely satisfied that he was paying attention.

She was on her sixth cigarette, and Ben was sick from the smell, or the shame, or both. Chain smoking on the balcony was Cassie's usual post-sex ritual. He would zone out on a patio chair while she burned through half a pack and complained about her life and the people in it. He invariably spend this time counting down the minutes until she would finally fucking leave.

He never let her stay the night. As far as she was concerned, he always had an early morning at work.

Tonight, she was particularly keyed up about her pointless ranting, and there was no clear end in sight. When she reached into the pack for number seven, he wanted to scream. Instead, he sat up and said, "I need to take a shower."

He had hoped she would take the hint, but she just asked, "Want me to join you?"

"No." He stood up and went inside. Ben locked the bathroom door behind him, and stayed in the shower until the water had gone completely cold, praying that if he took long enough she would be gone when he came out. The water eased his nausea somewhat, but failed to make him feel any cleaner, and was getting uncomfortably close to sober by the time he was finished. He stared into the mirror for a while, just to waste time, hating the unfamiliar, miserable man looking back at him. His hair was overgrown and unruly, his chin unkempt with several days of unchecked scruff. His eyes looked glassy, exhausted, sunken.

When he finally stepped out into his room, Cassie was there. Her back was turned to him, but he could see that she was standing in front of an open drawer in his dresser.

"Oh my god," she gasped with excitement he had never heard from her before. "Ben!" When she turned around to face him, she was holding a small black box that he didn't immediately recognize. Her face was absolutely giddy. "How long have you been planning this?"

Ben realized what she was holding up with sudden horror. His pulse spiked. "Why the fuck are you going through my stuff?" he demanded.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry—you wanted it to be a surprise, didn't you?" Cassie said, smiling, as he came closer. He snatched the box from her hand, quickly checking to confirm that the blue opal ring was still safe within.

"Are you fucking insane?" he shouted. "This isn't for you, keep your fucking hands off of it!"

Cassie's expression shifted rapidly from confusion, to disappointment, to blind rage. "Why the fuck do you have a fucking engagement ring in your fucking dresser, then?"

"That's none of your fucking business! You shouldn't be going through my fucking drawers in the first place," Ben snapped, his voice getting louder with every word.

"None of my business? How the fuck is it not my business, I'm your fucking girlfriend—" she started, but he cut her off.

"When the fuck have I ever called you my girlfriend?" he exclaimed, almost laughing. "Are you really fucking stupid enough to think this is an actual relationship? We just fuck sometimes, when I'm fucking wasted enough to stomach it, and then I have to listen to you bitch about your pathetic fucking life until I want to blow my fucking brains out!"

"You motherfucker—" Everything Cassie said at that point was just shrill, grating noise to him; he didn't hear a single word. She screamed a great deal of profanity, smashed a lamp, and then—to Ben's great relief—stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door hard enough to knock a few framed posters off of the wall.

Dizzy with rage, Ben sat down on the edge of his bed, breathing heavily. He looked down at the ring again. The idea of it anywhere near Cassie's finger made him want to throw up, or put his fist through a wall, or both, possibly at the same time. He clutched it closely to his chest, as if it were a tiny baby bird in need of his protection.

After several minutes of cooling down, Ben stood up. He went to the kitchen, where he grabbed an open bottle of tequila from the counter and unceremoniously dumped its contents down the sink.

A voice came from behind him, even and toneless.

"Does this mean you're finally back, then?"

Ben whirled around with a startled gasp. "Fuck! I didn't know you were home."

"Hm. Even if I was not, I suspect I would have been hard pressed to find a place in this city where I wouldn't have heard that exchange," Indigo replied. He looked different somehow, and Ben realized that it was because for once, he wasn't carrying a camera.

"Fuck. Fuck. I'm sorry." Ben dropped the now empty bottle in the trash and rubbed his temples.

"Don't be. This is, by far, the most pleased I have been with you in months." He looked at Ben, and subtly raised an eyebrow. "Would you care to tell me about what you have there in your hand?"

Ben looked down at the ring box. He had completely forgotten that he was holding it. "Um..."

Indigo walked to the table and took a seat, crossing one leg elegantly over the opposite knee. "Sit," he said. "I think it's time we caught up."

For the first time in a long time, Ben didn't feel completely alone.