𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, benj nielsen x reader

13 | echoes of the heart

Y/N

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I sit on the curb, feeling the cool concrete against my legs as tears streak down my face, smudging my mascara into a blackened mess. My breath hitches, and I mutter, "Shit," feeling utterly defeated. I've always hated crying in front of people, and now Benj has seen me like this. It's as if every piece of armor I'd built to protect myself has been stripped away in one drunken, humiliating moment.

Benj slides down beside me, his own balance wavering slightly as he sits. I glance at him, noticing the way his eyes are slightly unfocused, the way his movements are just a tad slower than usual. He's just as drunk as I am. It's weird, seeing him like this—so out of his usual composed self. This is only the second time I've ever been drunk, and it's just as disorienting and chaotic as the first.

"What's wrong?" His voice is soft, almost hesitant, like he's afraid of intruding too much on my private misery. He pauses, then corrects himself, "Why were—why are you crying?"

I sniffle, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand, but it's no use; the tears keep coming, hot and relentless. My voice cracks when I answer, "M-Michael broke up with me."

Benj's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He stares at me, his drunken mind trying to process the information. "He broke up with you?" he repeats, as if the idea is too absurd to believe. I nod, letting out a shaky laugh that's more a sob than anything else.

"And I'm dressed like a fucking McDonald's worker," I add, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting me hard. I cover my face with my hands, wishing I could just disappear. "All because I didn't want to have sex with him."

"What?" Benj's shock turns to anger, his voice rising. "Wait, he broke up with you because you wouldn't sleep with him?"

I nod again, this time with more bitterness, the chuckle that escapes my lips filled with self-loathing. I peek through my fingers at Benj, whose expression is a mix of disbelief and anger. "God, I'm such a mess," I mumble, my hands still hiding my face from view. I don't want him to see me like this—broken, vulnerable, humiliated.

But Benj's voice is firm, filled with a sincerity that cuts through the haze of alcohol clouding my mind. "No, you're not," he says, his words steady and sure.

I lower my hands, meeting his gaze. "Don't pity me, Benj. I'm an asshole, and my life sucks. My parents are getting divorced, and everything is just... falling apart at once. It's hard to keep pretending like I'm happy all the time, like everything's okay when it's not."

Benj doesn't say anything, just looks at me with those intense, clear eyes of his, the kind that make you feel like you're the only person in the world. It's like he's telling me with that look that it's okay to be a mess, that he's here, and he's listening. For a moment, I hesitate, wondering if I'm saying too much, but the warmth in his gaze reassures me.

"Thank you, Benj," I say, my voice trembling, but filled with genuine gratitude.

"For what?" he asks, his brows furrowing slightly, his expression so earnest it makes my heart ache. His curls are slightly tousled, falling over his forehead in a way that's impossibly endearing.

"For being there. For being real." My cheeks are still wet, my nose red and raw from crying, but for the first time tonight, I feel something other than despair. I feel... comforted, safe even.

Benj smiles, a small, soft smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, and I can see the emotion in them, a glint of something deeper. His lips part as if he's about to say something, but the words seem to get caught in his throat. Instead, he just looks at me, and it's like we're communicating without needing to speak.