A Peculiar Solace {Hardzello Love Story}

Six

It was a week until he was supposed to leave and Joe decided to tell the doctor that he planned on killing himself. It was only partially true now but if the doctor believed him, then there might have been a chance that he could stay.

It was sad, really. Joe's whole existence was sad, but this was pushing it. Wanting to stay just for Ben and not because he actually wanted to focus on getting better. Joe didn't want to get better. He was okay with how he was, but nobody needed to know that.

As he sat outside the office, waiting for his turn to go in and speak to the doctor, Gwilym appeared. He was smiling eagerly as he approached, something folded up in his hands.

"Will you give this to him?" Gwilym asked, offering the folded up paper. "To Mr. Hardy? Will you ask him to sign it?"

Before Joe could ask him what the hell he was talking about, the paper was laying on his lap and Gwilym ran off to join the others outside. Taking the paper, Joe unfolded it carefully.

It was straight out of a magazine. Maybe Vogue or GQ. It was a professionally taken picture. A bit of wording was on it, talking about the hottest up and coming men in the fashion industry. Ben's name was written on it, as well as a picture of Ben himself.

There was no way in denying that it was Ben. Joe knew his face well enough by now. Deciding it was a fine time to get some answers, he went to Ben's room. He had told Ben everything there was to know about him. His dreams, ambitions, why he tried to kill himself in the first place. He poured his heart out of the man. Joe demanded he does the same.

He showed the picture to Ben and he seemed frozen at the sight of it. He grabbed it, looking it over like it was a page ripped from the fucking bible. And in an instant, he ripped it apart, scattering the pieces to the floor. Joe felt terribly for Gwilym, but that didn't matter right now.

"Ben, come on. Just tell me what this is about." Joe demanded of him carefully. He wasn't going to judge. How could he? Look where they are. If Joe could fuck up his own suicide, than surely he could handle whatever truth bombs Ben could throw at him. "So what, were you a model or something?"

"Or something," Ben replied, sitting back on the bed, zippo lighter in hand.

"I have told you everything — everything —about myself. I barely know a thing about you. For fuck sake, sometimes I think you're not even real. Like some ghost that roams the halls and fingers me when the lights are out."

"How romantic," Ben spoke lazily.

"Shut the fuck up!" Joe snapped. "I just want to know you! I want to know all about you, why can't you just give me something. Anything!"

"You know I come from London. You know my birthday and small hobbies."

"Thats not enough, Ben." Joe muttered, his eyes narrowing.

Ben didn't say another word. He just flipped the lid of the zippo open and shut. Outranged, Joe snatched the lighter from his hand.

"Oy! The fuck is your problem? Give it back," Ben told him sternly.

Joe clenched the zippo in his hand. "No."

Ben rose from the bed, stepping closer. "Give it. Now."

"No!" Joe repeated.

"Either give me the lighter or—"

"Or what?" Joe cut off. "Are you gonna hit me? Is that how you ended up in here? Did you beat someone up? What, did you stab someone along the streets in London? What is it?"

"Why the fuck does it even matter?"

"BECAUSE!" Joe shouted. For a moment he thought somebody would come inside and break them up, but it never happened. "Because I need to know that this is real. That you are real and that I am not just making this up in my head as some subconscious way to stay alive."