This isn't weird.

Delayed Onset

Indigo's theory was not well received.

Ben's inability to stand on both feet like a normal human being made it difficult to achieve the level of bluster he was going for, but he did his best, using the back of the couch to pull himself up and trying his hardest to stand at his full height while balanced on one foot. "Are you fucking serious right now?" he raged. "Are you fucking with me?"

"I assure you I am not," Indigo said blithely, his usual air of dispassionate composure returning in the face of such aggression.

"You think I'm fucking brain damaged?" Ben demanded.

"Only in the literal sense," Indigo replied with a shrug.

"I think I would have noticed by now if I had fucking brain damage, Indigo. I've been functioning just fucking fine for the last four years—"

"Three," Indigo corrected him. "The fourth year? Less so."

"Okay, sure. I haven't had a great year, but that isn't the fucking same thing as being fucking mentally handicapped."

"I'm not trying to insinuate anything about your intelligence, Ben, but you have to admit that your temperament has been somewhat... mercurial as of late."

"Well, that's because shit just fucking sucks right now, okay? I haven't exactly had many reasons to be in a sunshiney fucking mood lately, after Millie fucking ghosted me for months to hook up with some other random fucking guy—and then I lost my job, and yeah, I've probably been drinking a little too much—"

"Regardless of that egregious understatement, your erratic behavior started months before all of that. And may I remind you that you quit your job, after a series of pointless conflicts with everyone else around you—"

"Well, I got sick of being surrounded by fucking idiots!"

"Do you hear yourself, Ben?" Indigo fixed him with a long stare. "This isn't you."

Ben stared back, then let out a heavy exhale. He unclenched his fist and looked down at the tiny red peg that he was still clutching. "Well, okay, fine. Let's say my brain is fucked. It still doesn't make sense. I was perfectly fine for three years."

"I'm not a doctor, obviously," Indigo said, "but I have been doing a bit of reading. There are cases of delayed onset of symptoms years after experiencing a traumatic brain injury. Anxiety, depression, severe mood swings, personality changes. It isn't common, but it's not unheard of."

"That doesn't even sound real. How the fuck would that even work?"

"Again, I am not a doctor, so my ability to parse the literature is limited," Indigo explained. He was speaking quickly, trying to blurt out as much of his research as possible before Ben could interrupt. "But as I understand it, decreased blood flow to the injury site over the long term can impair function in that area of the brain, while causing hyperactivity in other areas to compensate."

Ben's defiant posture began to shrink, and he leaned against the couch, his expression tense but thoughtful. "Jesus Christ, you really have been doing some reading... But even if that were happening to me, what could I even do about it?" he asked quietly.

"There are treatment centers that specialize specifically in post-concussion symptoms. There's one less than two hours away from us, up in Portland. They have a special type of MRI to map brain activity and blood flow to see exactly which areas are injured, and a two week long rotational therapy treatment—"

"Indigo, even if something like that could help me—I don't have a job, I haven't had health insurance in months. There's no way I can afford something like that."

"I'll pay for it."

"What? No way. That has to be tens of thousands of dollars—"

"I will pay for it." Indigo's expression was deadly serious.

Ben's eyes widened in disbelief. "Why would you do that?"

"Because you're my friend." Indigo's composure was beginning to dissolve. "One of the only real friends I have ever had. If you haven't noticed, Ben, I'm not exactly the most socially well-adjusted, or, well, normal person. And you are one of the only people I have ever met who could be bothered to try to understand or connect with me on any level. I don't want to—No, I can't lose that. I can't lose you." His voice was strained; his eyes stung with tears.

Never in a million years would Ben ever have imagined such a show of emotion from his pathologically aloof roommate. He stared at Indigo for a long moment, then slowly, his expression softened into a small, sheepish grin. "Gee," he said, "I didn't know you cared."

Indigo scowled, wiping at his eyes. "Well, I do, asshole." He marched over to Ben and threw his arms around him in a tight, though awkwardly stiff, hug.

"Well, damn." Ben was startled by the sudden display of affection, but he slowly wrapped his arms around Indigo's shoulders and returned his embrace. He had to lean down to accommodate their height difference. "Okay, okay. I'll think about it."

"Good." Indigo let go of Ben and took several brisk steps backward, trying hard to restore some semblance of his usual poise. "And, you know—I care about Millie, too," he added, "and she loves you. I want you to be well for her, so you can both finally drop this exhausting will they/won't they routine and just fucking get together already."

Ben went quiet for a second, and looked down at the plastic peg in his palm one more time. "Do you really believe that?" he asked softly.

"Believe it? No, Ben, I know it. She's been looking at you like a lovesick puppy since day one, even when she was with Genevieve. It's nauseating. I don't care what Tess thinks. Millie isn't ever going to be happy with anyone else."

Ben looked down at the ground, trying to conceal the smile that had spread over his face. "I hope you're right," he muttered. "Okay. Yeah. I'll do it. I'll go see your fancy brain doctors."

"Good," Indigo said again, "because your consultation is scheduled for tomorrow."

"You motherfucker," Ben said with an affectionate grin.