Benji's eyes fluttered open, as if pulled by tiny fairy threads, the soft, grey-orange glow illuminating the area. He blinked a few times, taking in the rolling waves of grass that seemed to pulsate with the movement of the light, mimicking the waves of the sea when the wind fluttered over them. Despite the movement happening around him, it felt as if time stood still; the repetitive motion was predictable, as if the moment was caught in a loop of Time.

Under his head he could hear the familiar steadiness of a heart beating; after all, he had found himself in this position countless times. Rising slowly, Benji glanced down at Victor's sleeping form, his face peaceful. It felt like it had been an eternity since he had seen his lover in such a state, his face plump and warm with color, relaxed. Benji cupped Victor's face in his hand and smiled to himself, careful not to disturb him. He gazed off into the distance, seeing the massive fluffy wild cows close by, grazing as if they had not a care in the world -- and they didn't. The area looked familiar, like someplace he had gone to in London while he was awake, but he couldn't remember where. Wanting to lie back down beside Victor and simply watch the world go by, Benji paused as he saw a figure approaching them.

He didn't feel threatened, per se, but he felt like he was being interrupted. As the figure approached, he realized it was Ish, and he relaxed a bit, waving at him. Once Ish had come closer, silently minimizing the distance between them, the wind picked up around them, making Benji shiver as it hit his bare skin. He suddenly felt extremely vulnerable, conscious for the first time of his and Victor's nakedness, as Ish observed him with unblinking eyes while Victor slept beside him, ignorant to his surroundings.

Opening his mouth to speak, Benji was cut off by a sharp sound penetrating the air, breaking him away from the scene of utter bliss.

When he looked around again, his eyes met the four corners of his room, and he sighed, reaching out to find the source of the ridiculous piercing menace that ruined a perfectly good dream. It was one of the better ones he had had lately, in fact.

He tried to retain the memory of the dream, realizing when he was awake that it had taken place at the Walthamstow Marshes, where he and his flatmates had gone the other day. Of course he had taken photos and tried to commit it to memory, vowing that one day he would come back and do some plein air painting if he had time. It had been a bit out of the way even of Brick Lane, but Benji was a sucker for green spaces in cities and the contrast between the industrial skyline and the robustness of nature.

Looking down at his phone after he had finally quieted it, Benji took his time getting out of bed. It was 9 am and he didn't have class until 10; plus, it was a short bike ride away to get to campus, so he didn't need to fuss with public transportation.

Once again, though, Benji woke up fucking starving. There was the normal sort of hunger that one got from sleeping and then waking up, but then there was the benzo-induced hunger that made things ten times worse especially when that sensation came with a lack of appetite. He definitely wasn't going to eat breakfast at home that morning.

Opening the shades and letting the overcast daylight into his room, Benji watched people down the road at the tail end of peak time rushing to their places of work and study. He pulled on a pair of dark jeans, a grey sweater, and his signature black leather jacket before grabbing his guitar and his school bag and exiting his room. Luckily, he hadn't had to make too many wardrobe modifications, as his style was already fairly similar to what he saw people wearing around London. However, he had a feeling that he, too, would soon share Londoners love for athleisure-wear if he stayed there long enough.

His flatmates were all in the throes of getting ready for class, too, as they were all in the composition program and thus, they all usually went to campus together. Benji greeted each of them in turn as he passed them while walking down the corridor, corralling them all to hurry up. He stepped into his black Chelsea boots and headed out the door to the Boris Bike rack to wait for them to join him, checking his phone for any notifications.

It was still a bit early for Victor to be awake, Benji realized, shrugging as he pocketed his phone, waving to Soledad as she led the rest of the flat over. They each took a bike and went off north, toward the Royal Academy of Music's campus in Marylebone, which was also conveniently located by Regents Park. The route also gave them the opportunity to cut through Hyde Park, and luckily at this time of year there weren't as many tourists as usual so there was less of a risk of running someone over by accident.

Racking his bike, Benji ran toward the nearest coffee shop to quickly grab a bite to eat and some coffee, accompanied by Rhiannon and Ish, who also hadn't had time to eat beforehand. Soledad and Nikita went on ahead with the expectation that the others would catch up soon.

In typical white girl fashion, Benji, Rhiannon, and Ish arrived to class a few minutes late, coffees in hand. Lucky for them, their lecturer arrived later than them, giving very few shits about taking attendance despite the notoriously small class size. For the next few hours, they took notes on music composition and tried their hands at their own original works, which they would present at the end of the semester. Benji enjoyed it, and found the collaborative group environment to be beneficial for helping him hone his skills.

He even found that his peers took his feedback seriously, which for some reason, he found hard to accept. It was hard to stop himself from prefacing everything he said with the typical "this is just my opinion, but" and finishing with "I hope that makes sense" or something to that effect. This earned him some amused grins from his peers and he generally believed they were simply having a laugh with him and not at his expense, but he could never be sure.

Class finished around one, and Benji and his flatmates contemplated what to do for lunch. Their university was in an area which was unfortunately overpriced (like the rest of London to an extent) because it was right in the center of Tourist Town. The prime location and beautiful view of course came with a heavy price tag, so they decided to seek out someplace more amenable to their wallets. Some of their classmates joined them, tagging along to their little ragtag group.

Despite being in the same class, they didn't all get the chance to get to know each other. Many of the students were British but many were also international, which made Benji feel a bit less intimidated. But as with a lot of interactions Benji has had, the conversation would inevitably turn to politics, and things usually went off like this:

After introductions, he would get a "Oh, are you American or Canadian? Love your accent."

With which Benji would sheepishly reply that he was American, and thus, open the floodgates to more questions.

"What do you think of Donald Trump?"

"Who did you vote for?"

"What's the class system like in the US?"

"I heard America is basically a third world country with a Gucci belt. Thoughts?"

"Why are police murdering Black people? That's barbaric! Why is your country so racist?"

At first, Benji had been put off by these conversations. It wasn't something one talked about with one's family let alone strangers one has met for the first time. But he found that these questions became easier to field once he had gotten the chance to think about them.

After all, Benji was a white working class kid from a big city in the Deep South, born to somewhat-but-not-terribly religious parents, and who also happened to be in an interracial relationship, which had also taught him a lot about cultural divides and what it meant to exist as himself in environments not designed for him. It also made him acutely aware of his own place in the world, and how while it might be easy to get defensive at being confronted with issues of nationality, race, class, he knew that he had more to learn.

As they made their way to a cheap student-praised restaurant in the northern part of the city, Benji calmly asked for his new acquaintances to enlighten him because he was curious about their thoughts. And slowly, he began to realize how much of what he knew about his own country was colored by forces outside of his control.

Luckily, he hadn't voted, but that was more because Benji hadn't been old enough at the time, so he didn't have to deal with the shame and ridicule associated with being a Trump supporter. Not that he ever would be a Trump supporter, of course. The entire prospect made him laugh. But if he were someone else, who looked the way he did, it's possible he would have. Sitting with that thought was sobering.

However, he had been forced to deal with the realities of his social class from when he was young; he had grown up frequenting thrift stores not in the typical gentrifier fashion to get cheap designer goods, but because that was legitimately the place where he could get decent clothes at an affordable price. There was no shame in that. And he had seen what his country was like even a half hour away from his home city, and how much of a difference that short distance made to the lives of people living there. At first he had laughed at the "Third World country in a Gucci belt" analogy, but not so much anymore.

Growing up in Atlanta, Benji had of course been confronted with the realities of racism and anti-Blackness, and he knew being asked about police brutality was just a fraction of what many of his friends both at home in Atlanta and there in London would go through on a daily basis. He had nothing to defend; all he could do was listen and have these conversations with others. Being gay, being poor, and being in an interracial relationship, these had all given him a lot of perspective. And what he learned from that was that there was no way out of it alone; they all needed allies, community. So he took in these new ideas and worldviews from his new friends, and he realized that it gave him clarity and understanding.

Of course these heavy topics of conversation would open up into lighter ones, and as they chatted over a meal, they grew closer. They would stroll through the park to continue with their discussions, returning to campus to practice. Benji would think about what his new friends had said, examining his own ideas, as he penned a new composition and tested out the sound on his guitar. He had his own soundproof little room so he didn't have to worry about irritating his flatmates or others living in the building.

In the evening Benji would leave campus, observing the red buses carrying people from work as they hurried home to their families -- even if they didn't seem like they were in any particular hurry. But he was glad the pace of life was slower; it reminded him a bit of the south, with the slower walking, slower days, but some people still talked fast, still kept to themselves, tried to keep people out of their way.

Many of the more central office buildings were still populated with people putting in extra hours, but Benji didn't envy them. Despite the pressure to perform at school, not having to do manual labor took a load off him. Instead, he had the heavy grey cloud over his head that followed him everywhere, but it came with the city, and the country, even.

This was one of the few times during the day when he was actually truly alone. As he took a bike from the rack and hopped on to go back to his flat, putting his earbuds in to listen to some music, he felt somehow at peace. For the moment, he didn't think about his dream from earlier at all.

Benji's breath hitched in his throat as he heard the familiar lyrics playing in his ears.

I threw a wish in the well, don't ask me, I'll never tell
I looked to you as it fell and now you're in my way

Smiling to himself, the damp wind whipping against his face, Benji found himself singing along to himself. Just like in New York, nobody gave a shit.

When he arrived back at his flat, putting the bike back on the rack, he found himself humming to himself as he stepped inside.

"Hey, Benji, grab a plate," Soledad said with a huge grin, "Nikita made pirozhki. Get 'em while they're still hot. And come join us, we're watching Killing Eve. Don't worry, we're starting on the first episode. I don't even mind re-watching, it's so good."

Kicking off his shoes in the doorway and setting his guitar case against the couch, he washed his hands before proceeding to accept the offer of food. He hadn't realized how hungry he'd been; too much time practicing did that sometimes.

He joined his flatmates on the couch with his plate, sitting cross-legged next to Ish and trying to hide his blush as he ate.

After Benji finished his food, satisfied, he set his plate aside, feeling himself dozing off. It was only 9, and he'd barely been up for twelve hours. He was engaged with the show, of course, and they binged a couple more episodes before calling it a night.

As they all rose to part for the night, Benji stretched, taking his plate to the kitchen and washing it. He glanced to the side, realizing that only he and Ish had remained behind, Ish with his phone in front of him but his eyes softly raking over Benji. His heart beating faster, Benji bit his lip. Ish wasn't slick.

Setting his now clean plate aside to dry, Benji glanced to the side again, and Ish's gaze remained on him. When he turned to look at him, the other man lowered his gaze. Benji smirked, padding to his room with a quick "g'night".

Taking three pills of Xanax from the sheet, Benji curled up in bed and awaited the familiar sensation of his mind wiped blank until morning.