Chapter Text
Generally speaking, Armitage Hux did not attend team-based competitions of any sort. Sports games, debate team, acapella sing-offs, whatever. The intensity over meaningless things, the screaming and whooping and god awful school colors...it was all too much to deal with. He made an exception, though, for these Robotics competitions. They were a bit boring, and the science building basement they were held in smelled like feet, but he knew it was important to go. So go he did.
He brought his own snacks this time, convinced that the artificial butter on the concession stand popcorn made him break out. He found an aisle seat in the second row, crossed his legs carefully, and dug into his bag of almonds. The yellow team—the team he was rooting for—was setting up their bot nearby. He spotted Breck, but didn’t call out, well aware of how important it was that he concentrate. Breck chewed his lip and wiped sweat from his brow with his long yellow sleeve. He took a rubber band from his wrist and started to pull his long red hair back, when a mark on his forehead caught Hux’s eye. A long, red gash spread from just above Breck’s left right eyebrow to his hairline. It was new. It was fresh. Hux jumped up and hopped the barrier.
Breck didn’t miss the familiar click of designer boots hitting the floor. “Armie, what are you doing?!”
Hux took Breck’s chin in his hand, gently, and inspected the wound on his forehead. “When did this happen?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Who did this?”
“Would you relax? I’m fine. I...slipped, getting out of the shower.”
“Breck.”
Breck could feel the hot stares of his teammates on him. He lowered his voice. “Can we talk about this later? Please?”
“Are you okay?”
Breck batted Hux’s hand away. “I’m fine. We’ll talk later. Please go back to your seat? Please.”
Hux huffed. It hurt him to see that face, one so like his own, marred and in pain. But he couldn’t force Breck to talk when he didn’t want to. And so he nodded, turned on his heel, adjusted his scarf, and made his way back to his seat. Leaving the team for the audience seating, he heard the following exchange:
“Yo, Tech, why didn’t you tell us your brother was hot?”
“Shut up, Jeremy.”
Halfway through the second round, Hux was disturbed by a tall, looming presence.
“Hey, can I get past you?”
Hux looked up to see a refrigerator of a man standing in the aisle, gesturing to the empty seat beside Hux. Great. Hux hated for strangers to sit close to him, especially ones with too-long limbs who show up late. Hux made a big sigh and stood to let the man through.
They crashed down into their seats at the same time, both of them resting an arm on the rest between them. Hux glared at the man, who moved his arm with a chuckle. “Just as I expected.”
“Excuse me?” returned Hux, incredulous. Who was this asshole to have expectations of him?
“What, you don’t remember me?”
“No, should I?”
“We had Figure Drawing I and II together a few years ago. Ben Solo? We sat next to each other? You told me I held my charcoal wrong?”
“Ah, yes. That sounds vaguely familiar. Armitage Hux.” Hux flopped out a hand for a shake, not making much of an effort to be polite or friendly.
“I know,” replied the man. Hux looked him over. Yes, he was familiar, now that he thought about it. Ben was always late to class, spoke too loudly, used off-brand materials. Hux remembered being vaguely attracted to him, the first time he saw him, but then he opened his mouth and any interest was immediately replaced with disdain. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t think you were into robotics. You’re in the fashion program, right?”
“Yes.”
“So...what are you doing here?”
Hux rolled his eyes. Sometimes he couldn’t believe the stupidity of others. How could Ben not realize he had zero interest in conversing with him?
“My brother is on the yellow team. I attend for moral support.”
“Oh? Which one is your brother?”
“Certainly not the ginger with a face just like mine.”
“Oh.”
“What are you doing here? I assume you’re in the arts, if we had Drawing together.”
“My cousin’s on the team. The one with all the hair buns.”
“Mm.”
For a moment Ben seemed to discouraged enough to stop talking, but his silence didn’t last long. “I like your scarf, where did you get it?”
Hux snorted. “It’s obviously an iconic Burberry.”
“I don’t know much about fashion, sorry. It looks expensive.”
“It is.”
“I didn’t know you were wealthy.”
“ I didn’t know you existed.”
Ben’s mouth flew shut. He turned toward the competition floor and fixed his eyes on a flag. Well fuck. He was sad . Christ. This was Hux’s biggest problem—he felt guilt too easily. He wanted so badly to be a cold bastard. He wanted Ben to shut up, and now he had. He should be thrilled. But he felt bad.
“I’m not wealthy...yet.” Hux began, and Ben’s eyes snapped towards him. “The scarf was a souvenir from a shoot I did. I do some modeling, to make money for school. And for networking. Sometimes I get to keep the items.”
“Well, uh. It looks nice on you.”
Oh for the love of God. This is what I get for trying to be nice, thought Hux. Some weirdo hitting on me.
“I have a girlfriend,” lied Hux.
Ben’s eyes fixed on the flag once again. After a few moments of silence, he rose and mumbled, “hafta go to the bathroom.”
Ben did not return.