Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’re so indecisive!”

The brunette woman drops her hands against the table, causing it to rattle. She freezes upon realizing she’s in a public space and looks worriedly at the rest of the cafe. Immediately, Ben and Tabby turn away, acting like they haven’t been eavesdropping the entire time. She lowers her voice, but not all that much considering Ben could still hear her. “Stop being so wishy-washy and pick a dessert for us to share.”

“I’m not indecisive, I just want you to choose something you like! I’m okay with literally anything!”

“Oh, so you’re okay with anything,” She crosses her arms.

The man rolls his eyes, “We’re literally just talking about dessert.”

“This is hard to watch,” Tabby whispers, wincing at the couple’s increasing volume, “Is this their first date?”

Ben cringes and tilts his head in thought. If this is their first date, they probably shouldn't go on another one. It, unfortunately, reminds Ben of a similar quarrel he and Claire had before their divorce where every conversation they’ve had seemed to turn into an argument. Every gesture and word of love twisted into hatred and discontent.

Ben hunches his shoulders and tries to ignore the couple one table away, not wanting them to unconsciously ruin his and Tabby’s time.

Until he hears the woman say, “...I really, really want to be happy with you but…I just want the most perfect version of imperfectness.”

Although it isn’t directed at him, her words pierce Ben’s heart. He attempted to make perfection and purpose out of nothing and instead almost ruined his closest relationships. The two don’t deserve this.

A phone rings, interrupting the argument and the woman digs into her purse. “...I’ll be back in a bit,” she says, standing up to take her to call outside and leaving her date to bury his face in his hands.

A few seconds pass by and Ben glances at the guy. An action that doesn’t go unnoticed by Tabby, who narrows her eyes. His eyes switch between her and the sad man.

You’re going to do something, aren’t you? Tabby silently asks.

Rather than answer her, he just does it.

Deciding that now is the best time, he turns to lean toward the man. “Hey, uh...I know I probably shouldn’t be interfering, but I hope you know that you shouldn’t need to put up with someone who demands more than your best. There’s no shame in it calling it quits on the first date, especially if it’s not going so well.” He gives the stranger a reassuring smile. Well, he hopes it comes across as reassuring, Tabby has always said he should work on his facial expressions.

Sighing, the other man runs his hand through his hair roughly, “This isn’t our first date…”

Oh, well that’s not good.

He turns to Ben with a slightly irritated look in his eyes, “...It’s our three-year anniversary.”

Oh.

That’s really not good.

And he just made assumptions like an idiot and now—“I,” he says, getting up from his chair, “should probably leave now. I’m sorry. Good luck with the rest of your,” he nods at the air in general because he’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that it’s their three-year—"anniversary."

The man just gives him a deadpan look in return.

Shiiiiit.

Mortified, Ben panics and starts to pick up his things.

This is why people say not to assume, Ben! You made an ass of yourself, Ben! You’re not your goddamn psychiatrist, Ben!

Tabby, who’s been watching the whole exchange with wide eyes, hisses his name but always the supportive one, also goes to stand. As they speedwalk out of the cafe, she turns to scold him. “What was that about, Layten?! You should have just left them alone.”

Ben has no idea how to answer her. It was very out of character for him, he barely talks to new people when they come up to him. And now, he’s just butting into other people’s problems?

But the guy just looked so defeated. It reminded Ben too much of the many mornings he would stare at himself in the mirror. He was so, so tired back then. Better to just let everything else wash over him than try to do anything himself.

Sam juggles the boxes in his arms to take a look at his phone GPS. According to the screen, Song’s Mercantile should only be a few yards away. He very carefully tucks his phone into his back pocket, but in doing so the topmost box starts to tilt.

“Oh, shit!” He shimmies his body side to side to rebalance the stack. He would be annoyed that Ed left him alone to carry everything, but Priya mentioned she had scheduled an ultrasound appointment the very same day they were meeting another potential supplier. Sam had waved off his best friend’s offers to go to the business meeting, he had left Ed high and dry before, so it was only fair that it would be Sam’s turn to handle it alone.

Sam mumbles the names of the shops he passes by, “Nope….nuh-uh...hmm...aha! Song’s!” Much like the shop’s website, the interior is filled with pastels and soft lighting. The sign on the glass spelling out “Song’s Mercantile” in an elegant script. He and Ed were worried that their shirt designs wouldn’t be classy enough (thank god they didn’t follow through with their drunken idea of printing dick jokes), but lo and behold, the titular Ms. Song called them to schedule their pitch.

He drops the stack of boxes on the sidewalk next to the entrance. He arches his back and stretches out his arms. Despite only carrying printed fabric, the weight of the boxes still wore him out.

Maybe he should work out more, Sam thinks and flexes his admittedly not-so-impressive biceps. Yeah…

He scans through the glass door, Ms. Song isn’t inside. He only sees frosted glass display cases and wall art of various flowers and cute designs. In fact, no one seems to be inside at all.

Sam furrows his brows and checks his phone again. He’s thirty minutes early.

He scratches the back of his head and takes a look around at the area. He startles when he sees an actual man among the clothed mannequins in the storefront display. How the hell did he miss that?

Well, he knows why. He was carrying a stupidly tall stack of boxes.

He leaves the boxes where they are and steps in front of the glass wall. The scruffy-faced employee is on a tall ladder fiddling with a light fixture. The mannequins behind him are somehow arranged in seemingly impossible positions. It seems the shop’s display gimmick is more to make people stop and stare than to really showcase the clothes they sell.

That’s pretty cool.

Sam waves to get the guy’s attention, but the man’s too focused on hanging the light. Sam lightly taps on the glass.

The employee absently glances over, but then double-takes. His eyes go wide and he stops hammering.

Sam tilts his head, this dude looks familiar...fuck, it’s the asshole from the cafe. He points a finger at the presumptuous dick, “You’re the—”

Surprised himself, the other man forgets he’s on a ladder and tries to take a step back on thin air. He bites out a curse and pinwheels his arms in vain.

He falls.

Sam winces at the resounding crash and, feeling guilty, he runs inside the shop to check on the poor guy. Yeah, the man butted in where he shouldn’t but that doesn’t mean he deserves a damn concussion.

He slips into the storefront and tiptoes amongst the wreckage of mannequins, fabric, and plastic floral arrangement. He straightens up the toppled ladder and lying underneath is the employee. Sam quickly bends down to help him.

The other man groans as he stands, taking a moment to stretch out his neck. He peeks up at Sam and groans louder.

The dude’s look of dismay makes Sam smirk.

“I...really didn’t think I’d ever had to see you again.” The employee says, his face turning red. He busies himself with picking up some of the fallen decorations.

“Same, to be honest.” Sam shrugs, “But if it goes well for me, we may end up seeing each other a lot.” At the guy’s confusion, Sam continues, “I’m scheduled for a business meeting with Ms. Song?”

“Oh! You’re the new t-shirt company, Tabby mentioned you were coming.” Having lost some of his embarrassment the employee gives Sam a light chuckle, “Sorry, there was a small emergency she needed to take care of. She should be here soon.”

Sam nods and shrugs. “Cool. I’ll just bring in my stuff, then?”

No longer looking at Sam, the employee fixes up the mannequins. Thankfully, they’re sturdy enough not to have had their limbs come apart. “Yeah, you could just leave it wherever for now.”

Sam stays where he is for some reason, he feels like he should say something else, but doesn’t know what. The awkward silence continues for a few seconds more as he doesn’t yet leave the storefront.

He’s not really mad at the dude anymore. It seems to have been just a simple misunderstanding, and he and Mollie were getting a bit too loud at the cafe. It makes sense that someone would have gotten worried. At least it wasn’t an employee.

Sam decides he might as well be the one to extend an olive branch. He holds his hand out, “By the way, my name is Sam.”

The other man stares at the offered handshake and slowly returns it, “Ben.”

Sam gives Ben a wide grin, hoping it would make Ben feel less hesitant around him. “Let’s just forget about what happened...before. It’s nice to meet you for the first time, Ben.”

Ben latches onto the idea with enthusiasm, stammering out, “Yeah! Thanks, and sorry again.” He shakes his head and smiles also, smaller than Sam’s but nevertheless genuine, “Nice to meet you for the first time, too.”

Sam thinks he might like this guy and besides, it may help him and Ed if a friend of the owner is on their side. “Great! I’ll get the boxes and help with the display.” He leaves the storefront with a bounce in his step.

However, before he goes towards the shop door, Ben sticks his head out from behind the store display wall. “Wait, you don’t have to help!”

Sam waves him off. “Psshh, it’s my fault. I scared you.”

Ben’s face becomes unamused. “You didn’t scare me.”

“You literally shrieked like a little girl.” Sam laughs at Ben’s responding scoff as he goes to get the t-shirts before they get stolen or something.

“...you awake?”

Ben flutters his eyes open. The carpet underneath itches his hands.

“You can’t just sleep during your appointment.” His hair pulls roughly at his scalp as he turns his head to look up at Dr. Franklyn. Her pristine eyebrow is arched in a stern manner. She then writes on her notepad.

Disoriented from having apparently dozed off during therapy, he pushes himself up onto a sitting position, “R-right. Sorry.”

She sighs, and he can tell she’s miffed at him, “I asked you if you liked yourself.”

It’s a question she’s asked him every meeting. In the beginning it was obvious how much he didn’t, he tried to kill himself for god’s sake.

Well, now he can’t really say that he fully loves himself, his cynical side doesn’t believe anyone really does, but he could for sure say he doesn’t despise himself as much as before. Whenever the bad thoughts creep in, he makes sure to tell someone, anyone. His mom, Tabby, hell, even his dad, just to release it out into the world and out of his mind.

He says this to Dr. Franklyn.

She doesn’t respond, just examines him from behind the desk. She taps her pen against the paper for a bit.

Then she says, “Why do you need Ben then?”

Although he’s confused at how the question is worded, Ben assumes it’s just another positive affirmation exercise.

In a monotone voice, he recites, “Ben has loving parents and friends who care about him...Ben is resilient and strong…Ben…”

He’s interrupted abruptly when Dr. Franklyn says, “I asked you, ‘Why Ben?’.”

The room goes quiet.

Still stunned at what she said, Ben gives an awkward chuckle, “What?”

She repeats herself, “Why. Do. You. Need. Ben?”

He gives her a weird look, is she okay? Is this weird psychologist humor? “What do you mean by that? I guess I would need myself?” Ben rubs his hands together still parsing how to answer her properly. “...Since I’m...Ben.”

Her face softens, pitying him for something he isn’t really sure about. She stands up from her desk and walks towards him until they’re face to face, “Ben isn’t you. He’s just a small part of you, Hannah.”

Hannah.

Hannah.

Hannah.

The name echoes through his ears as if his mind is just a deep empty cavern.

Bewildered, he has just half a mind to look down at himself.

Instead of his usual flannel shirt and cardigan combo, he’s wearing a red and striped tank top, tan skirt, and black leather jacket. The exact same clothing he first “met” Hannah in.

He forces his eyes away from himself to tell Dr. Franklyn that no, he isn’t Hannah. He isn’t. He isn’t. His name is Ben.

But the psychologist is gone.

Instead of her office, he’s surrounded by mirrors.

Everywhere he sees, it’s Hannah.

When he raises his hand, she raises her hand.

When he trembles, she trembles.

When he screams, she screams.

His eyes fly open and he gasps. Sweat drips down his forehead, droplets trailing into his eyes and mouth.

He’s back in his bedroom, dark except for the occasional beams of light that pass through his curtains.

He detangles his arms from his blankets to examine his body. His skin is covered with auburn hair and he can feel wild curls on his head. He pulls at them roughly as if his hair would come off and reveal platinum blonde hair underneath.

Ouch.

Okay, good. He’s Ben. It was just a fucking horrible nightmare. He’s Ben.

He needs to call Tabby.

Well, admittedly, he would rather just not go back to sleep and force himself to watch TV until he forgets his dream, but he had promised Tabby. Promised her that he would talk to her whenever he felt this way again. To not leave her behind again.

He picks up his phone from the nightstand and dials her. As soon as the call connects, he doesn’t bother to make any small talk.

He just talks and hopes she’s somewhat coherent enough this early in the morning to listen.

“Hey, Tabby, I-I had another one…I was at the psychologist’s this time and she just kept calling me Hannah. Hannah. Hannah. Until I fucking became her!” In anger, he practically screams the last sentence, his throat cracking midway through.

“...I thought she was gone, I thought I was finally in control. I thought...I thought…” His voice goes so quiet, he doesn’t know if the phone’s microphone would pick it up, “I thought I was whole again.”

Ben forces himself to push through, “I’m a grown man and I still get fucking nightmares every single fucking night!” He rubs his face harshly and lets out a breath.

Then another one.

And another one.

He can’t stop and oh fuck, he’s hyperventilating.

He thinks that he’s finally going to die and it’s when he didn’t even want to. And poor Tabby will be the witness to his literal last breaths.

A voice that is much deeper than his best friend’s says, “Try to breathe in for me slowly.”

Ben freezes and gawks at his phone screen.

He called Sam.

“Ben? Ben?!” Sam calls through the phone’s speaker. “If you can hear me, inhale slowly.”

Ben doesn’t know why he’s still on the phone. Why he isn’t apologizing to Sam for disturbing him at two am. He already lost control of his mind, it makes sense he’s also lost control of his body.

He places his phone back at his ear and breathes in.

“Okay, good. Do it for seven seconds.” And Sam starts counting down from seven.

Ben follows Sam’s instructions to breathe in and breathe out slowly until he no longer feels like he’s about to pass out.

Ben stops Sam from beginning another round of breathing by rushing out the apology he’s been holding in.

“Don’t apologize.” To Ben, Sam seems almost flippant, “I was already awake watching a stupid sitcom marathon.” Sam pauses for a moment, “If anything, I’m sorry for intruding in something personal. I should have immediately told you I wasn’t Tabby.”

Self-deprecatingly, Ben laughs bitterly, “...no it’s fine. I was the one who didn’t look at the screen. And thanks...for um, helping me instead of like, hanging up.” Ben facepalms.

“No problem at all” Ben hears Sam hum, “...Do you want to talk about it?”

Ben drops his head to his chest, “Oh, god no.”

Sam lightly laughs, “Yeah, I figured.”

Ben is grateful that Sam doesn’t push the subject. He barely had any idea how to explain his issues to Tabby, how would he talk about it to a guy he just met? Ben doesn’t have a lot of friends and he would like to not scare a potential one away.

But he also doesn’t want the call to end, so he asks Sam about the show he’s watching. Sam tells him it’s pretty generic and he isn’t surprised if it ends after one season. It’s an okay show to watch when there’s nothing else but infomercials.

“Hey, infomercials could be pretty entertaining.” Ben asserts, now much more relaxed.

“You do have a point.” Sam tries to say around a big yawn.

“Oh, sorry! I should let you go to bed,” Ben says, feeling a little guilty.

Sam denies being tired but is then interrupted by another gigantic yawn.

Ben playfully scolds, “Hey now, mister. It’s way past your bedtime.”

Sam chuckles, “Fine, dad.”

Sam doesn’t hang up yet, though, so Ben waits.

“Hey, Ben...If...if you want to call again? I’ll pick up. Well, not all the time because I might be working or taking a shit or something, but I’ll text you back. I swear.”

This startles a real laugh out of Ben. He doesn’t think he’ll ever have the nerve to go through with it, but he’s thankful for the offer, anyway, “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Ben listens to Sam hanging up before disconnecting too. He places his phone back on the nightstand and lies down on the driest area of his bed. He looks up at the ceiling and mentally thanks Sam again, wherever he is.

He closes his eyes for the night.

Sam walks straight to the bedding section of the Ikea, already used to the haphazard maze of a gigantic furniture store.

It’s not necessarily that Sam hates shopping (he actually likes absentmindedly strolling through the Ikea displays), he just thought he would have to go through the tradition of fully furnishing his space once. Or if he does need a new couch or table, he would notably be with another person.

But now he’s here. Girlfriendless after three years and he has to pick up new furniture because she took half of them.

He stares at the queen-sized bed filled with several layers of sheets and bedding. The blankets are the thick plushy kind and a massive body pillow lines the entire length.

Ugh, he just wants to jump onto it.

He glances at the aisles nearby. The fact that he could see nobody in a several feet radius and that this certain display is barricaded by several shelves gives him the courage to just leap carelessly onto the body pillow.

He yelps in pain and soreness along his front forces him to roll off the supposed pillow.

“What the fuck?” The mound of blankets groans and a curly mop of hair pops out from the top.

“Oh my god!” Sam goes to get off the bed, but as soon as he sits up, his side muscles give a sharp throb. He hisses and lies back down.

“Did-did you just jump on me?” The man’s voice is guttural, a side effect probably from being suddenly tackled by a full-grown man.

Sam covers his face to hide his blush, his other hand clutching his sore spot, “I seriously thought you were a giant pillow. You look—I mean, the bed looked super soft.” At the other man’s answered silence, Sam’s embarrassment rises, and he asks defensively, “Why the hell are you lying face down under a blanket in Ikea anyway?!”

After a beat of silence, the curly-haired man says, “...Sam?”

Now that Sam takes a closer look, he realizes that the curly hair looks very familiar, “Ben?!”

Ben huffs and unwraps himself from his blanket cocoon, “What are you doing here?”

“What am I...?” Incredulous at the weird situation he has ended up in, Sam gets distracted from the pain in his side. He rolls over to face Ben, “I’m shopping. Like a normal person. Why the hell were you taking a nap in the middle of Ikea?”

At Sam’s question, Ben’s expression shutters off. It disarms Sam as Ben had never called him again after that night, and Sam hadn’t seen much of Ben whenever he had meetings with Tabby. Perhaps behind his grumpy posturing, Ben may have actually been pleasantly surprised at meeting up with Sam again.

Ben tries to shrug from his lying position, the sheets of the blanket rise along with his shoulders, “It was an accident. Just wanted to try out the bed.” He gives Sam a stiff laugh that trails off when he looks at Sam. It is then when Sam notices how close the two of them are, so close he could see the deep circles underneath Ben’s eyes.

Sam realizes that maybe the lack of late-night phone calls wasn’t due to Ben no longer having any night terrors but rather not wanting to bother Sam. He told Ben he was okay with it. But maybe Sam should have reached out too.

Sam fake laughs as well and faces the ceiling to not stare so much, but it doesn’t occur to him to slide to the other side of the queen bed and away from Ben. He redirects the subject, “Yeah if you weren’t here, I would totally have fallen asleep too. This bed is nice.” He awkwardly pats the mattress.

Sam wonders why Ben is still lying on the bed, but it makes him want to stay too. Quiet ensues, only the mumbling sound of a crowd and the store’s speakers playing pop songs can be heard.

Sam feels a weird tension brewing in the small amount of space between their bodies. He doesn’t know what it means and it’s starting to make him feel uncomfortable. He wants to say something. He needs to say something.

From the corner of his eye, Sam can see the blankets covering Ben shift as if the man is going to get up, so he blurts out,

“Mollie left me.” The rustling stops and Sam takes it as a signal to keep talking, “...for good this time.”

A few seconds tick by until Ben relaxes back onto the bed. He still isn’t looking at Sam but says, “I’m sorry...To hear that, I mean.”

Sam hums in agreement, “Me too.”

He’s expecting another awkward silence to start, so Sam’s surprised when Ben decides to continue speaking.

“I’m divorced.” Ben finally rolls over and they’re facing each other again, “Did I tell you? That night? I-I don’t really remember that much.” He exhales deeply and looks away briefly, embarrassed. Sam wants to tell him that he shouldn’t be. Sam wouldn’t laugh at something that seems to really cause Ben's anxiety.

If anything, Sam would be okay if Ben called him whenever. It doesn't have to only be during nightmares. But instead, what he says is, “Can you tell me about her?”

Ben looks alarmed for a moment, but then he narrows his eyes, “Only if you tell me about Mollie.”

Sam swallows, but nods.

Ben talks about his ex-wife named Claire which makes Sam wonder who Hannah is. He’s pretty sure that’s the name Ben mentioned was in his nightmare. But Sam doesn’t ask to clarify, he’s afraid that Ben would stop talking otherwise.

They trade stories about the loves of their lives who left. Their first dates, first arguments, first anniversaries...and how something so great went wrong.

Sam has no idea how long they’ve spent on the display bed of an Ikea, but he feels like he’s laughed and cried for a lifetime. As he gazes at the tear tracks down Ben’s face, Sam doesn’t think he’s the only one who feels that way.

Soon, it goes quiet again. However, rather than feeling like they’ve run out of things to say, now it feels more relaxed. They don’t speak because they don’t need to. They understand each other in a way beyond words.

Sam feels more comfortable now than he’s been since the breakup and he wants to thank Ben in some way. But he knows that the other man would probably brush him off, maybe say it’s only fair since Sam listened to him before. Ben’s just that kind of person.

He’s startled out of his thoughts when Ben’s hand accidentally brushes against his. Sam didn’t notice that they’ve gotten even closer next to each other. His heart starts to race and he doesn’t know why.

“Mommy! Can I sleep on a bed too?”

Both men jump at the sudden arrival of a child’s voice. Sam sits up and turns towards the little girl. She waits for her mother who runs towards them.

The woman narrows her eyes suspiciously upon seeing the two grown men and wraps her arm around her daughter’s shoulders to hurry her along.

Once the mother and daughter are out of view, Sam bursts into laughter, and a few beats later, Ben joins him. They finally leave the bed and attempt to tidy the sheets.

Ben checks the time on his watch, “Oh wow. Haha...the store’s almost about to close.” He shoves his hands inside his jacket pockets, “I’m surprised that none of the employees caught us.”

Sam groans, remembering he still has several items on his list to buy, “I have to pick up some more stuff.” He gestures at his shopping cart that he totally forgot existed.

Ben nods, “Same here.”

Sam grabs the handle of the cart and wheels it back and forth for a bit, “Where are you heading?” He doesn’t know if he hopes that they could continue talking freely with each other or if what just happened was just under the magic of the Ikea bed.

Unfortunately, Ben points at an area of the store that is opposite of where Sam has to go. So they part ways.

But not before Sam turns back around and says, “It was nice seeing you again...We should hang out more. Y’know outside of an Ikea.” He gives Ben a lazy salute in farewell.

Ben runs a hand through his curls sheepishly and replies with a thumbs up.

Chapter Text

Ben picks at his meal, very aware of his mother’s excited gaze. Ever since his mother had told him about how she felt when she got the call about his...incident, Ben had promised himself to visit more often, to lessen the fear he now noticed exists behind his mother’s eyes. So, they started weekend brunch where his mother would ask about his week, and Ben would nod and smile. Usually, he would answer vaguely, nothing new really happening to him, but lately, there’s been something—or rather, someone, occupying his mind as of late.

Today, however, Ben could tell that she’s extra eager about something today.

Ben looks up from his scrambled eggs, “...yeah, mom?”

She has her chin rested against her hand and a toothy grin on her face, “...do you have any plans for today?”

Ben furrows his brow, a little confused, “...um...no?” With the way she’s acting, today must be something important. Shit, is it her birthday? Wait, what day is it anyway?

His mother drops her hand against the table and sighs, “It’s Valentine’s Day! Isn’t your boy going to take you somewhere special?” She rolls her eyes, “God knows your father lost every trace of romance thirty years ago, so I can only live vicariously through my favorite son.”

“I’m your only son.” Ben points out automatically before processing what she actually said, “...and what do you mean, ‘my boy’?”

“Yeah! Michael what’s-his-name.”

Ben squints his eyes and tilts his head trying to understand what the hell is mom is talking about. Unbidden, his mind flashes an image of Sam and a montage of every conversation he’s had with his mother. In retrospect, Sam’s name had popped up quite a bit and it makes him realize just exactly what his mom thinks is going on.

This causes his face to heat up and his fork drops onto the plate with a loud clang. Strained, he says, “Sam...his name's Sam, Mom.”

His mom laughs, delighted at seeing his probably very red face, “Yes, him! Do you have any plans for today?”

Ben opens his mouth to fervently deny that the other man is his valentine, but upon looking at how happy she is for his nonexistent love life, he thinks it isn’t so bad for him to just go along with it. It’s not like she’ll ever meet Sam, anyway.

He coughs and takes a long sip of his orange juice to give himself time to think. He pretty much finishes the entire glass and picks up his fork again, putting on a mock disappointed frown on his face, “Oh, well...unfortunately, Sam’s too busy and...and it’s not like we have anywhere to go anyway.”

“Nonsense!” His mom slaps Ben’s arm—not as lightly as should have been warranted—and stands up from the dining table. She turns towards the kitchen counter and digs into her purse. Ben takes a few more bites of toast.

“Aha!” She waves around a small piece of paper, “I got this fancy restaurant flyer during my mani-pedi appointment.” She dances back to Ben and brandishes the flyer in front of him, “A Valentine’s Day 2-for-1 deal. Perfect for you and Sam.”

Ben holds his free hand up to push away the paper out of his face, “Mom! I said he was busy today.”

She huffs, “It’s a Saturday! He can’t just blow off my son on Valentine’s Day.”

Too busy staring up at the ceiling to call for any higher power to stop his mom’s foolishness, he notices too late his mom eyeing up his cell phone laying on the table.

His palm stings as it slaps the wooden surface at the empty space where his iPhone was just a second before. He shakes his sore hand and cradles it, watching his mother unlock his phone. He curses his past self for being lazy and using 1234 as his password.

He watches helplessly as she finds Sam on his contact list and presses call.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he chants and buries his face into his arms. This cannot be happening right now.

“Is this Sam? I’m Betty Layten, Ben’s mom.” Still trying to hide from reality, he only hears his mom childishly giggle, “Oh stop, just call me Betty. It’s very nice to meet you too! My son talks about you all the time.”

Ben groans, but continues to listen to the conversation. He’s unable to hear Sam, but from his mom’s response, they seem to be enjoying themselves.

“So anyway,” She says and then taps the wood next to his ear incessantly until he raises his head, “I have a gift, so you boys can celebrate Valentine’s Day.” She rattles off the information from the front of the pink and red flyer.

She laughs and talks for another minute or so and then says goodbye. She gives back the phone to Ben and he can see that Sam is still on the line. He quickly gets up from the dining table and walks far, far away from his mother’s range of hearing.

He stares at the phone utterly terrified, holding it at arm’s distance. What the fuck should he say? Sorry, my mom asked you out on a date for me? He heaves one last sigh and places the phone against his ear, “...Sam?”

“Why hello there, lover boy!” Ben could hear Sam’s shit-eating grin.

Ben pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and stammers, “Um, er...I have no idea why my mom thinks we’re dating...and I’m so, so sorry about this.”

Sam snickers, “I feel like I’m in middle school having our parents chaperoning our dates. Is she going to drop you off? Does little Benny have a curfew?”

“Shut up,” Ben whines, “...just forget any of this happened and we’ll never talk about it ever again.”

“Hey now,” Sam says, his voice suddenly taking a serious lilt, “I didn’t say no to this date. In fact, I told your mother that I would be honored to take her beloved son on a date this Valentine’s Day.”

Ben’s jaw drops and his throat dries up. His mind blanks.

Then resets.

Sam’s just doing this to humor his mother. That’s it.

Hahaha…

Ben gulps audibly and shakes any weird thoughts from his head.

“Wow...you really don’t have to let my mom boss you around like that...but thanks, I think? I’ll see you later, I guess...for our pretend date.”

Sam goes silent for a few seconds, and Ben almost thinks the other man hung up until Sam says, “Uh, yeah right. Our pretend date. Just text me the info.”

Ben’s heart continues to race even long after they both hang up.

Sam waits for Ben outside the entrance of the restaurant. Sam jokingly texted Ben that he would have picked him up but Ben had texted back a very fervent, all-caps “NO”.

He arrived perhaps a bit too early than their chosen meeting time, but Sam had been unusually nervous all afternoon. An underlying sensation that made him fidgety even when doing the most basic of activities.

Hell, he got restless enough to want to go to the gym and he hates going to the gym.

Maybe it’s the idea that he’s going on a date at all (no matter if it is “for pretend”). He tried to put himself back into the dating scene a few weeks after breaking up with Mollie, but it usually didn’t go anywhere. He would stroll up to a girl in a bar much like how he had first met Mollie, start chatting for a while...and then go home alone. He was never interested enough to call any of them back if they did give him their number. After that, he just gave up. There’s no point to put himself out there if he won’t follow through with it.

In fact, the only person he’s really been hanging out with is Ben (Sam doesn’t begrudge Ed bailing on their weekend bro nights, his best friend has been preoccupied with Priya and their unborn child).

Checking his phone only tells him that a measly minute has gone by and the anticipation almost makes him mess up his precisely coiffed hair.

“Hey, Sam.” Sam straight-up jumps at hearing Ben’s voice which leads to Ben and a few other bystanders looking at him a little concerned.

With his back still facing the other man, Sam forces himself to take a few deep breaths. Keep it cool, dude.

Sam pivots smoothly and raises a hand in greeting. “Beeeen!” he says, “You ready for our date?” He gives Ben a cheeky smile which makes Ben roll his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” Upon turning towards the fancy glass double doors of the restaurant, Ben’s mouth tightens into a thin line.

“Hey, hey,” Sam calls out to Ben feeling a little worried, “If this really does make you uncomfortable, we don’t have to do this. We could just leave now and tell your mom we did a bunch of mushy romantic stuff if she asks. Look!” Sam flourishes his hands as if he was holding something, “I even gave you this gigantic bouquet of imaginary roses and a box of the most expensive imaginary chocolate.”

To Sam’s relief, Ben laughs and says, “Thank you...for real. I just feel bad that you have to go through all this.”

“We already went over this, Ben. It’ll just be like us bros hanging out...except with candles and violin music playing in the background,” Sam says and holds out his elbow for Ben to take.

Being the best fake-date ever, Ben not only locks his arm with Sam’s but also picks up Sam’s imaginary roses and sniffs at empty air, “They smell great.”

Arm in arm, the two men walk into the restaurant and are led to their table. It’s a standard affair, a square table big enough to only seat two people with a modern styled box lamp in the center creating a dim glow.

“Hmm...what’s the least expensive thing here?” Ben mumbles as he inspects the menu.

Sam places a hand over his chest, mock offended. “Excuse you, I am not a cheap date. I gave you gifts outside.”

Ben doesn’t even have the gall to look at him. “You’re missing the keyword: imaginary. This may be a 2-for-1, but it’s not much of a deal if the “1” is the same price as ten cartons of Chinese takeout.”

Sam closes his menu with a snap and opens his mouth to sass Ben further, but is immediately frozen at the sight of Mollie walking into the restaurant with another man.

He whips the menu back open and basically uses it as a shield. He’s freaking out and he has no idea why. Is it because he hasn’t seen Mollie in months? Because she’s moved on with someone else and he’s still single?

Is it because he’s also on a date—excuse me, not-date?

He takes a peek at Ben, who's asking the server which of the entrees are part of the Valentine’s deal.

“Okay, I’ll have that...and Sam?”

Sam raises his line of sight above the menu. The server’s pleasant smile is juxtaposed with her furrowed eyebrows and Ben looks concerned.

Sam smiles with all teeth and says, “I would like a little more time with the menu, please.”

The server acquiesces to his request and takes Ben’s menu before leaving.

Ben whispers, “Are you okay? Is it the food?”

Sam tries to subtly point his head towards his ex-girlfriend and her date.

Ben just stares confused and slightly shakes his head, “What?”

Sam twitches his head a few more times, his eyes widening in frustration.

Ben still doesn’t understand and wow, Sam realizes Ben would be a horrible partner in a game of charades.

Sam closes his eyes in defeat and scoots his chair closer to Ben. He places his menu wall in a way that barricades both men from the rest of the restaurant and harshly whispers, “I’m trying to say that—”

“Sam?” Mollie’s light voice rings clear among the murmur of the crowd.

Sam watches Ben just freeze and his face scrunches up in a grimace that’s bordering constipated which, with Ben being Ben, was a common occurrence in his friend’s social life. And as always, it made Sam feel like he’s watching a puppy get bullied around.

But alas, Sam is too busy with forcing himself to make pleasantries with his ex.

Sam steels himself and lowers the menu, pasting on a cheery grin, “Mollie! Hi! What a surprise.” Now no longer behind the safety of a list of food items, Sam is approached by the beautiful form of his former girlfriend. She’s wearing a classy lace trimmed dress with sleeves that span the length of her arm and her hair is pinned up with smaller curls framing her face.

He stands up. He and Mollie stare at each other for a couple of seconds unsure of how to greet one another until he just takes the plunge to initiate a hug. The hug is awkward, a tad rushed, and ending with a quick friendly rub on the back.

Sam has to admit that the sight of her still makes him sigh, but unlike when they were together or hell, even a couple of months ago, his heart no longer beats as fast and the butterflies have long since disappeared from his stomach. It surprises him, as he was afraid that bumping into her again would spark some latent despair. They had parted somewhat amicably, but like with any other couple breaking up, they knew they wouldn’t be comfortable even being just friends.

Her face softens and he wonders if she’s thinking the same thing about him. The fondness will always be there, but not enough to try again, “Hi, Sam. It’s been a while.”

Her date walks up behind her and places his hand at the curve of her hip, “Our table’s ready,” he says and smiles politely.

“Jerry…” She says to—well, Jerry, “this is Sam and um, I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

Oh, shit. Ben. He fucking forgot about Ben.

In a panic, Sam whips his head toward his friend who had stood also. Ben had schooled his face into a more friendly expression, but the slight wrinkle in his forehead betrays his discomfort. Oh, right. Although Sam and Ben had spent long talks about each other's exes, the last time Ben really saw Mollie in person was the dreaded first-date-or-anniversary misunderstanding. A rush of embarrassment and adrenaline courses through his body.

Maybe it’s the romance music that has been playing on loop throughout the restaurant. Most likely it’s due to the fact he’s still single and bumped into his moved-on ex. Or perhaps, as a very, very tiny voice in the back of his mind points out, he wants the pretend-date to be a real-date.

It’s probably all of that combined that leads him to wrap his arm around Ben’s waist and introduce his friend as, “My boyfriend, Ben Layten.” He continues to smile pleasantly at Mollie and Jerry, but he’s pretty sure he’s accidentally squeezing Ben’s side a bit too hard. Why the fuck, did he have to go and say that?

Mollie’s eyebrows lift slightly, but her smile grows wide and genuine. With their relationship having lasted around three years, she of course knew that Sam’s sexuality wasn’t always on the straight and narrow. “It’s nice to meet you, Ben. I’m Mollie,” She raises her hand for a handshake.

Sam feels a drop of sweat trail down the back of his neck and his chest grows tight. When Ben faces him, Sam tries to telepathically project his apologies.

Ben purses his lips and then lets out a stiff chuckle. He nods at Mollie and returns her handshake, “Yeah, it’s good to meet you too.”

Sam exhales an inward sigh of relief as they also introduce themselves to Jerry.

Throughout the whole exchange, Sam keeps his arm around Ben. The same whisper in his head telling him that he may never get the chance to do so again, so he might as well make the most of it right? It shames Sam as if he’s taking advantage of his friend, but he still doesn’t remove his arm.

Mollie and Jerry don’t stay for long, having to go to their own table. Once the couple is out of sight, Sam, with great effort, lets his arm fall away from Ben. He brushes his hand through his hair as if it would wipe away the warmth from Ben’s body. Sam and Ben sit back down, the residual tension making their movements jerky and wooden.

Sam and Ben don’t speak, they don’t even look at each other. Sam taps his fingers against the plastic surface of his menu and Ben plays with his table napkin. Sam sneaks a peek at Ben whose eyes have glossed over in deep thought. Did Sam fuck this up?

The same server who must have finished her go-around stops at their table once again. Sam focuses all his attention on finally ordering his food.

The server leaves them to their silence.

Sam has had enough, damn it!

Sam leans closer to Ben—yet, again—but this time places his hand on Ben’s to pause his napkin fiddling, “Hey, listen,” Sam whispers, his dark brown eyes boring into Ben’s blue-gray pair, “I’m so, so sorry earlier, I just...just freaked out? I know we joked it was a pretend date, but—”

“Sam.”

“May-maybe it could be a not-pretend-date? Or oh, fuck!” Sam facepalms himself harshly—pretty much slaps himself—with his free hand.

“Sam.”

“I totally groped you. Like what the hell, Sam? Verbal consent!”

“Sam!”

Sam flinches at the volume of Ben’s voice and now he’s the one avoiding eye contact. He watches Ben’s hand under his turn palm up, so they’re basically holding hands.

Sam swallows.

Ben doesn’t talk immediately, instead rubbing Sam’s hand with his thumb.

Ben clears his throat, “I...I didn’t not like it?...Um, you calling me your boyfriend, I mean.”

Sam squeezes Ben’s hand as hope warms his chest and he flicks his eyes up.

“Oh yeah?” Sam smirks. The remaining tension in his shoulders disappears at seeing a blush overtake Ben’s cheeks, a delightful contrast to the grumpy huff he makes at Sam. Now confident that he’s not going to be brutally rejected, Sam doesn’t hesitate to interlock their fingers together.

Sam doesn’t know if he and Ben will last their first anniversary, much less their third. But he’s willing to take the leap.