#henry white knuckling the steering wheel: SO ABOUT THOSE ALIENS

[astramachina]

the problem with House of the Setting Sun is that i keep getting sidetracked with frivolous world-building rather than actually working on the story like who cares if Hurricane had a rash of UFO sightings in '49, dude, you gotta focus.

[adamderiver]

Night at Hosnian Farms

for @huxloween day 2: corn maze (3.4k, benarmie)

Of all the fall festivities he’s forced to participate in because of high school marching band, Hux thinks their night at the corn maze is his favorite. It doesn’t involve any American football, freshman welcome rallies, or screaming fans. Tonight, the only screams will be ones of fright as First Order High School Marching Band takes on Hosnian Farms’ Corn Maze of Terror.

Drum major Phasma says that the trip is all in the spirit of marching band bonding, and it’s practically tradition by now, since it’s their third consecutive year of driving an hour out of town to Hosnian Farms. Everyone in the band with a drivers’ license—even some with only learner’s permits—fills up their cars with band students and begins the long drive into the early October night.

This year, Hux is stuck riding with Mitaka. Apparently Mitaka’s nerves while playing his clarinet also extend to driving distances farther than ten miles, because his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel appears almost skeletal as he crawls along the highway at an obnoxiously slow speed.

Honestly, Hux thinks he would be a better driver, and he won’t be sixteen for another two months.

“When’s the exit?” Mitaka asks, eyes never leaving the taillights of Phasma’s Subaru.

“Not for another fifteen miles,” Hux says, flicking back to the page of his phone with the map. Since Hux sat in the passenger’s seat, he received the wonderful honor of being Mitaka’s navigator.

“Okay, just let me know when it’s coming up, I don’t want to miss it.”

Hux doesn’t deign that with a reply, choosing instead to watch the cars going in the other direction race past. It’s only eight o’clock, but it’s already dark enough to turn the oncoming headlights into stars shooting across the night.

It’s only been approximately thirty sections before Mitaka feels he must speak again. “What do you think the theme’s going to be this year? Last year it was zombies.”

“I heard that the year before that, it was clowns,” says Thanisson from the backseat. “They would crawl around on the ground and grab your ankles.”

“How would you know? You weren’t even there,” snaps Unamo. They’re both sophomores, like Hux, so neither of them would’ve been in high school for the supposed year of ankle-grabbing clowns.

“If it is clowns again, I’m leaving,” Mitaka says.

“You can’t go home; you’re our ride,” Hux points out, sighing. It’s just like all of them, to suck the fun out of even this. At least he might get to watch some of them scream.

“Right.” Mitaka bites his lip. “Hux, is the exit coming up?”

“Not for another thirteen miles.”

“Okay, just. I don’t want to miss it.”

Even after all of that, Mitaka does almost miss it, having to swing his Prius around the sharp turn in probably the most reckless driving maneuver Mitaka will ever execute in his life. It’s partially Hux’s fault, since he wasn’t paying as close attention as he should’ve been to Google Maps, and if it was anyone other than Mitaka, he’d have gotten yelled at.

Mitaka parks in the grassy field designated “Parking Graveyard” right next to Phasma, who beckons Hux over.

“Hux! Are you ready for this?” She’s practically bouncing with excitement, and that’s saying a lot, considering that Phasma is someone who never bounces.

“I suppose so,” he replies, feigning boredom by looking at his fingernails. It’s a game he and Phasma like to play, seeing who can appear to care the least about everything.

Phasma punches him on the arm, a signal to quit the game, and Hux cracks a smile.

“Everyone, let’s gather ‘round!” she says, addressing the whole band now. “It’s five dollars to get in, and then you’re free to wander the maze…at your own risk.” Phasma smiles wickedly at the underclassmen, trying to scare them.

As they all make their way down the path to the ticket stand, one of Phasma’s other friends shouts, “Seniors first!” and cuts to the front of the line of band students.

“Really?” Hux mutters to Phasma.

“Sorry, Hux,” she says, running to the front of the line. “I hear it’s more fun in the back, anyway!”

Right. If it was anything other than a haunted corn maze, Phasma would’ve stuck with him in the back with the other sophomores. She couldn’t care less about ridiculous seniority traditions.

At the front of the line, Hux pays his five dollars and joins the rest of the sophomores as they have the rules explained to them.

“Stay on the path,” a too-cheerful man with a plastic meat cleaver sticking out of his chest tells them. “Don’t touch our actors and they won’t touch you. And I know there’s gonna be a lot of things jumping out at you, but please try to keep the language clean. There are kids here. Hmmm…what else, what else.” The man pauses, stroking the handle of his meat cleaver. “Oh, yeah! This year’s theme is Butcher Shop Massacre! So should I say, ‘bon appetite!’” He sweeps his arm over the entrance to the maze before backing away into the corn.

The people in front of Hux surge ahead, eager to get spooked by the “actors,” but Hux hangs back. It’ll be more scary if he’s not surrounded by squealing flute players. At the first junction of the maze, the large group decides to take a right. Hux makes sure to take a left, and then he’s alone in the corn maze.

With the floodlights of the parking section fading behind him, Hux is soon enclosed by the corn. The path is only wide enough for maybe two people to walk side-by-side, and the stalks of corn are tall enough to make Hux feel like an ant crawling through a grassy field. The stalks look nearly gray in the darkness, more similar to something from an alien planet than anything more earthly. The October air is just sharp enough for Hux to leave his jacket zipped, and the light of the half-moon barely illuminates the dirt path ahead of him.

Hux can still hear the shrieks and laughter from other parts of the maze, but they somehow seem far quieter than than the whispering of the wind through the stalks of corn around him. It almost seems like the night is conspiring against him, waiting to release its monsters at a moment’s notice.

A rustling sound causes Hux to stop in his tracks. Someone is preparing to jump out and scare him; he’s an easy target now that he’s alone. They’ll probably laugh if he screams, scared by whatever meat cleaver nonsense Hosnian Farms cooked up this year. No, he won’t give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He’ll be ready; nothing can sneak up on him.

The rustling gets louder, and Hux thinks he sees a flash of something metallic to his right. He shuffles slightly to the left, keeping his eyes trained on the corn across from him. There’s suddenly no movement. The whole field around him has gone still. Hux lets out a breath.

“Boo.”

The voice is right in Hux’s ear, so near that the person’s breath tickles his neck. Hux’s fight-or-flight instincts kick in, and before he knows it, he’s rounded on the actor and socked them right in the nose.

“Ow, what the fuck, man!”

The shadowy figure staggers out of the corn, a hand over his nose. Hux has to hold back another yelp of surprise at his appearance before he remembers that it’s all just makeup to make the actors look scarier. This man sure has gone above and beyond, with fake guts oozing out of a massive wound in his side, charred flesh decorating his shoulder, and a bloody gash bisecting his face. He takes his hands away from his nose, and Hux realizes that he’s actually younger than he originally thought. The boy is probably around his age.

“Did you not hear Poe say that you’re not allowed to touch the actors?! This is assault.” His low voice is pinched. “I could have you arrested!”

“It was a reflex!” Hux protests. He’s pretty sure that this boy is under no authority to have him arrested.

“Still! You punched me!” The boy takes off his black beanie and runs his fingers through his dark mess of hair. “And you made me break character.”

“Break character?” Hux scoffs. “This is a corn maze, not bloody Hollywood.”

“A good actor brings his best to every role,” he insists, crossing his arms. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Right.” Hux rolls his eyes. “How do you know that I won’t understand? For all you know I’m an acting student myself.”

“Please,” the boy snorts. “You’re in high school. Don’t try to pull this I-know-more-than-you bullshit on me.”

Hux sniffs, slightly offended. He always thought he looked mature for his age, passable as someone quite a few years older. Something about his bone structure, he thought. “You can’t be acting superior either, then. You can’t be older than I am.”

“Yeah, but I go to New Republic High School for the Arts,” he snaps. “So I actually know what I’m talking about.”

Hux wrinkles his nose. “Oh, you’re one of those.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” The boy crosses his arms.

“It means that you’re one of those kids whose parents told them that they’re special and sent them off to become artists and musicians, when really they should be learning how the real world works.” Hux pauses, but the other boy doesn’t interrupt him, so he continues. “Also, you all have ridiculous names better suited for hippies in the sixties than for the modern era. Or you have a normal name, like Henry or Kyle, but your parents decided to be ‘creative’ and add extra letters, or switch up the vowels.”

The boy doesn’t say anything, and Hux wonders if he caused some sort of brain trauma when he punched him. After waving his hand over the boy’s eyes, he blinks and begins to speak. “First of all, I can’t believe you just used the phrase ‘the modern era.’ Second, my name isn’t Kyl-o or some shit, it’s Ben. Ben Solo.” He holds out his hand to shake, and Hux stares at it incredulously.

Hux takes another look at their surroundings, the stalks of corn, the moon, the bloody makeup on Ben’s face, and says, “Seriously? You expect to make friends here?”

“Who says I want to make friends?” Ben growls in what could either be perceived as anger or an attempt at a sensual growl. Hux hopes it’s the former. Ben isn’t exactly his type, with his broad shoulders and the few inches of height that he has over Hux.

Well, Hux’s type also usually isn’t spilling fake guts over a tear in his black hoodie.

“Fine. I’m Hux.” Hux glances at the empty path ahead of them, trying to find a polite way to end the conversation. He suddenly remembers their marching band schedule; First Order HS is playing New Republic next Saturday. “Maybe I’ll see you at next weekend’s football game, when our schools play each other. It was nice to meet you.”

Hux is only able to take one step before Ben interrupts his departure.

“You play football?”

“No, I’m in the marching band.” Hux rolls his eyes and gestures to his thin frame. “Do you really think I have the build to be a football player?”

Ben studies him in the low light, resting his hand on his chin. “Probably not. You wouldn’t look good in all that padding, anyway.”

“Excuse me?” Hux swallows. Was he supposed to say thank you? Was that even a compliment?

Ben shrugs. “You know, you’re just. Good as is, I guess.”

“Well.” Is it awkward to exit the conversation now? Ben has certainly ruined the spooky mood for Hux.

“Well,” Ben echoes him, rubbing his hand over his lips before jerking back a step. “Shit. I’m bleeding.”

Hux looks at Ben’s face quizzically. “Isn’t that the point?”

“No, not my makeup, my nose! You punched me and now I’m bleeding!”

“Oh,” Hux says stupidly, still standing completely still as Ben hops up and down frantically, pinching the bridge of his nose. He tilts his head back, and at least Hux knows what to say now. “Don’t do that. Tilt your head forward so the blood doesn’t run down the back of your throat.”

Ben complies without complaint, tipping his head toward the ground. A couple drops of blood land softly in the dirt, and Hux almost laughs. Hosnian Farms’ haunted corn maze, now with authentic blood splatters.

“I’m gonna go find the medical tent,” Ben mumbles, taking two steps farther along the path before stopping. He looks back over his shoulder, face still marred by both his fake wound and his Hux-inflicted one. “Can you help me find the medical tent?”

Hux sighs. This was not what he signed up for when he got into Mitaka’s car an hour ago. “I suppose. Which way?”

Ben looks back and forth, considering.

“You don’t know?” Hux sighs. He’d be able to muster up some more compassion if Ben just had some damn common sense.

“Hey, gimme a break, I might be concussed.” Ben removes his hand from his nose and wipes the blood on his hoodie.

“That would explain a lot,” Hux mutters.

“It’s this way.” Ben points farther down the path, away from the entrance Hux had come from.

“Okay then.” Hux takes three steps past Ben, but before he knows it, Ben’s linking his arm through Hux’s. Hux turns his head to look pointedly at Ben, who is suddenly close enough for Hux to make out the tiny particles of makeup decorating his cheeks. He just gives Hux a half-shrug.

“I could be concussed. I could get dizzy and fall,” he says, his breath tickling Hux’s cheek. It’s very warm, especially in the cold night air, and Hux has to stop himself from leaning closer.

He always forgets how warm other people are, their breath and hands and mouths enough to set Hux on fire.

They shuffle along silently for an awkward minute, Hux dragging Ben along beside him. Hux doesn’t know why Ben’s long legs can’t keep up with his powerful strides. Maybe he just likes to be dragged.

“You can turn left here,” Ben says, tugging on Hux’s arm.

“There’s no turn here.” Hux gestures to the wall of corn to their left. For the first time, he starts to wonder if Ben really is concussed.

“I know. It’s a shortcut. C’mon.”

“A minute ago you could barely remember which way the damn thing was, and now you think you know a shortcut?!”

“Yeah, it’ll be a lot faster, trust me.” Ben tugs on Hux’s arm again, and Hux sighs and steps into the corn.

When Hux said he wanted an immersive corn maze experience, he thought he was being a bit more metaphorical.

The stalks brush Hux’s arms as he weaves through the corn after Ben, their earthy scent surrounding the two of them as the moonlight reflects off Ben’s dark hair. At this point Ben is pulling him by his hand, staying almost a full step ahead of Hux. Hux doesn’t remember when Ben laced their fingers together, and he’s almost glad it happened without his notice. Otherwise, he would’ve protested, and Ben’s hands are quite warm. They have a quality of security to them, slightly calloused and covering his own. It’s nice in a way that Hux doesn’t want to explain.

Ben leads him in a weaving pattern that Hux is sure can’t be a shortcut of any kind. They seem to be getting farther from the corn maze itself, since the shrieks and laughter of Hux’s bandmates are fading behind them. It seems to get darker with each footstep, Ben’s fake injuries looking more real by the second. It almost seems as if Hux is truly being led out into a cornfield by some kind of monster.

“We’re lost.” Hux doesn’t phrase it as a question, too preoccupied with imagining the search party stumbling upon his missing body, years later.

“No, we’re not.” Ben stops walking between two narrow rows and turns to face Hux, their linked hands hanging in the space between them.

“Then why have we stopped?”

Ben exhales. “Okay, Hux, I’m gonna level with you. We’re not lost, but we’re not headed to the medical tent either.”

“Then what…” Hux’s voice blows away with the wind that ruffles Ben’s hair around his face. His eyes are as bottomless as the night sky and as soft as velvet. “Then what…” Hux tries again.

Ben rolls his eyes to look up at the moon, takes a deep breath, steps forward, and kisses Hux.

It’s a thunderous moment, the blood pounding in Hux’s ears as he melts against Ben, Ben’s warmth, Ben’s soft lips. He tastes like cinnamon gum, as fiery as the blush crawling across Hux’s cheeks. Ben kisses Hux as if his lips can banish the chill from his bones, and the warmth blooms all the way down to Hux’s toes, bright as a bonfire.

Ben pulls away after several dizzying seconds. He stays close enough that they’re still sharing breath, noses nearly brushing.

“Um,” Ben breathes, “was that okay?”

“What the hell, Ben?” Hux whispers back, but his voice is as soft and breathy as Ben’s. “You’re supposed to ask that beforehand.”

“But that would’ve ruined the moment of spontaneity! Plus, you were totally checking me out earlier.”

Hux leans back and whacks Ben’s shoulder with his free hand, the other still twined with Ben’s. “I was not!”

“Yes, you were. The moment was right; it was romantic.”

“Romantic?” Hux repeats, looking at their surroundings. “You think stalks of corn are romantic?”

Ben rolls his eyes. “I was talking about the moonlight, not the dumb corn.”

“Still.” Hux attempts to frown at him. “The moonlight hardly makes up for the fact that you’re dressed like some kind of murder victim.”

“Uh, yeah, about that…” Ben leans in closer again. “You got some of my, uh, blood makeup on your face.”

For the first time since they broke apart, Hux notices that the bottom half of Ben’s bloody gash has been transformed into a red smear. It looks more like Ben was gnawing on Hux’s face rather than kissing it.

“Fucking hell, Ben, what am I going to tell my bandmates?” Hux pats his pockets, searching for his phone to check the damage.

“Here, I got it.” Ben licks his thumb and starts scrubbing it over the corner of Hux’s mouth.

“Stop, that’s disgusting.” Hux shoves Ben’s arm away, stepping back. He finally locates his phone in his jacket pocket and takes it out. He’s missed one message from Phasma: Where are you?? The rest of us are all through the maze and want to start driving back.

Ben frowns. “What? It’s just my spit. We were literally making out a minute ago.”

“That was hardly ‘making out,’” Hux comments as he untangles his fingers from Ben’s to text Phasma back. Be there in 5, he sends her.

“Oh, really?” Ben says, sliding closer. He places his hands on Hux’s hips. “I don’t think I’m quite clear on the difference. Can you give me a demonstration?”

“Ben, I really have to go, my friends are leaving.” Hux steps out of his embrace.

Ben’s face falls. “Oh. Was it the cheesy line? Did I push too far? I’m sorry, but everything was just going so well I thought I’d try to say something smooth—”

“Ben,” Hux interrupts. “You’re fine, but I really do have to go, so if you could show me back to the entrance to the maze…?”

“Oh. Sure.”

Ben still doesn’t move, so Hux hands him his phone. “Put your number in, and I’ll text you sometime.”

Ben grins, and Hux can’t help but smile too. His fake scar almost suits him.

By the time Hux emerges from the corn maze, Phasma looks like she’s about to send out a search party.

“Hux, what the hell, where were you?” She squints her eyes at him. “And what the fuck happened to your mouth?”

Hux reaches up a hand to touch where Ben’s makeup still stains the side of his face. “I was kissing monsters,” he says dryly.

Phasma laughs, not sure what to make of this response. “Sounds romantic.”

Hux glances up at the moon. “You know, it kind of was.”