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When the school day finally ends and Ben trudges through his front door, he just wants to be alone. It’s not that his day was particularly bad -- Ben’s days never are -- he’s just tired and aching from one too many of Gally’s signature tackles on the football field, not to mention he has a whole pile of homework to get through.
And that one niggling comment on his mind to ignore.
He pushes it aside, slips his shoes off and walks through the living room, making a beeline for the stairs.
“Benny!” Two voices chime out and he braces himself for impact.
“Hey, girls!” he grins as two pairs of arms wrap themselves around him, holding him to his spot. “Careful! You almost knocked me over! When did you get so strong?”
“Today,” comes one voice. “We did SO much running!”
“Did you really, Allie?”
“Yeah!”
“I almost tripped on a lump of grass but then I didn’t!”
“That’s very lucky, Caitlin. I’m glad you didn’t trip.”
He carefully pries himself from the arms of both sisters and steps back to look at the TV. “Are you watching Paw Patrol?”
“Yeah!”
That small reminder is enough for both girls to run back to the TV, plonk themselves down and continue watching. Ben breathes a small sigh of relief.
“Long day?”
Ben glances over and nods at his mom in the kitchen. “We ran laps in gym and then I went straight to football. What’s for dinner?”
“Well, it just so happens that I made your favorite…”
“Lasagna?!”
A sly nod.
“You’re the best! Thank you, mom!" Ben completes the 'thank you' by running to the kitchen and giving his mom a quick kiss on the cheek. "I’ll see you on the other end of this homework.”
He reaches the stairs and makes his way up, feeling a little better than he did on the way home. His relationship with his mom has always been good; after all, they’d only ever had each other after his dad walked out. Then, when Ben was nine, Vince had come along and earned the title of world’s best stepdad. A couple of years later came the twins and now Ben has two hilarious six-year-olds to entertain him when he’s bored.
But his family is not what’s on his mind as he climbs the stairs.
Shut up, he tells his brain. It was a stupid comment. It’s not true.
The door to his room is open, so he walks in, shuts it behind him, tosses his bag to the side and launches himself onto the bed.
“I thought you liked Minho.”
He jumps, flips over, remembering the words so vividly it’s like Brenda’s in the room with him. With a hard blink and shake of his head, he reminds himself that he’s alone. Nobody has to see how much it affected him.
Although it’s not that it bothers him, really. He doesn’t have a problem with being gay or bi or pan or anything else that Brenda could have been implying; it’s just that it’s not true. He isn’t anything but straight. He knows that. He’s always known that. Yes, he likes boys, but it’s more of an admiration thing. He wants to be like Minho, not with Minho.
Right?
His phone buzzes and he glances at the notification.
The Tank Engine to Octopus Legs: fry are u bringing newt or should i pick u both up?
Ben glares at the message. What’s Thomas talking about? Bringing Newt to what?
Shypan to Octopus Legs: i’ll take him! want me to swing past your place too? or anyone else want to carpool?
Carpool to what ?
Ben scrolls back through their messages, trying to piece it all together. Since Newt’s still living with Frypan, the two of them will usually carpool with Thomas to whatever the group has going on. Ben’s on the other side of town, so he generally makes his own way, depending on where they’re going which, at this moment, Ben can’t recall.
They’ve got the party at Brenda’s place but that’s not until Friday and today’s only…
Today’s only Friday. Shit.
The Tank Engine to Octopus Legs: yes please! i love u!
Mother Teresa (but not a nun) to Octopus Legs: how does newt feel about that?
The Tank Engine to Octopus Legs: mine and fry’s love is a secret. he’ll never know.
The Tank Engine to Octopus Legs: besides he doesn’t read the gc
Ben throws open his bedroom door and rushes to the bathroom, leaving his phone on the bed behind him. How could he forget what day of the week it is? Did nobody mention the weekend at school today? Was he not paying attention if they did? How did he not know it was Friday already?
He showers quickly, just enough to get rid of that stale, post-football sweat, and runs a towel over himself, thankful he has his own car and can drive himself to Brenda's without turning up too late.
Towel wrapped around his waist, Ben yells down the stairs.
“Mom, I forgot that party’s tonight! I won’t be here for dinner!”
“That’s tonight?!”
“Yeah!”
“If you’re lucky there’ll be leftovers!”
“Thank you!”
He rushes back into his room and picks up his phone, laughing at what he sees.
Newt Kid in Town to Octopus Legs: thomas aaron murphy you’re on thin fucking ice
The Tank Engine to Octopus Legs: gulp
Mother Teresa (but not a nun) to Octopus Legs: run, thomas, run!
Ben’s smiling to himself as he gets dressed. He wishes he could have a relationship like the one Newt and Thomas have. Sure, they went through hell together, but what they have is so carefree and easy and genuine.
Ben pulls his water bottle from his backpack, planning to stay hydrated ahead of whatever this night entails. He’s prone to the world’s worst hangovers and is trying his best to stay on top of them.
“I thought you liked Minho.”
A cold chill runs through Ben’s body.
Why did she have to say it like that? Like she knew something he didn’t? There was nothing going on between Ben and Minho and, if there was, they would be the first to know about it!
They’d been in the cafeteria at lunch. Teresa, Brenda, Frypan, Newt and Ben. Teresa had been making some joke about how Ben was in love with one of the cheerleaders and it’s not like she was completely wrong about that; Andrea was hot and, yes, maybe Ben had been caught staring a little too long that time. But it wasn’t anything serious and he definitely wasn’t in love with her.
And then Brenda had made that stupid comment. He’d laughed, because it had come as such a surprise and he didn’t know what else to do. But the way she’d said it had stuck with him.
That, and the look Newt had given him. The warm, reassuring smile while everyone else was laughing along with it. Ben knew what that look was; it was Newt’s way of telling him it was okay if it was true.
But it isn’t! It isn’t true at all! Ben just likes Minho’s sense of humor! And the way he makes everyone feel welcome… and his hair… and those rare occasions when they hug and Ben gets that warm, fuzzy feeling of--
Oh, fuck.
And the way he grins at Ben whenever he walks into the room. How he has this unique way of making Ben feel comfortable and safe. That glint in his eye when something excites him and the infectious way it--
No!
Those times when he rests his hand on Ben’s back, guiding him to wherever they’re going. Or when he sends a wink especially for Ben. Or anytime he whispers something for only the two of them to--
Holy shit. Ben has a crush on Minho!
His water bottle crashes to the floor and he curses as water splashes across the carpet.
“You okay, honey?” comes a voice from downstairs. It takes Ben a moment to realise it's directed at him. How had she heard that?!
“Fine, Mom! I dropped my water bottle!”
He glares at the water, not really planning to do anything other than let it dry there, symbolic of this new information seeping into his brain.
Minho? A boy? A guy? Holy shit. That’s what this is. That's really what this is?!
He slumps down on the end of his bed ignoring the way his hands are violently shaking.
How can he be straight if he likes Minho? Maybe that's not what this is. Maybe he's making this up in his head. Maybe he’s only thinking about all of this because he knows Minho likes boys.
But, when he stops to think about it, it's the same tingly feeling as every other crush he’s had. That compulsion to be with them all the time, watching everything they do in awe, struggling to think properly when they speak. It’s just that he’s ignored it because… well, it’s Minho! They’ve grown up together! Not only that, but Minho just so happens to be a dude and Ben is… he hadn’t really thought he was…
Holy shit. Ben really isn’t straight!
He stands up suddenly, feeling the need to pace the room.
What the hell is he then? Does he really like guys? Or is Minho the exception to it all? Did Brenda know before he did? Did Newt know?
Holy shit. Did everyone know?!
It’s five minutes into his existential crisis that Ben realises he’s standing in his room, staring at the wall with no pants on. Why did he put his shirt on first? He never does that!
Maybe he shouldn’t go to the party. He’s obviously got a lot to think about. Besides, Minho will be there, and now it’ll be really hard not to act weird around him. It’ll be hard not to act weird around any of them. How many of them know?!
His phone buzzes and he picks it up, still pantless.
Minhopause to Octopus Legs: this was tonight???
Another buzz.
Minhopause to Octopus Legs: fuck it. i’m coming but i’ll be late. nobody told me it was friday today.
Ben snorts to himself. It turns out he’s not the only one who finds the day of the week difficult to remember. He types a reply.
Ben Ten to Octopus Legs: me too. gally you had one job.
Buzz.
Gally from the Valley to Octopus Legs: reminding you to come to parties is above my pay grade
Buzz.
Gally from the Valley to Octopus Legs: and anyone who’s late is doing shots
Minhopause to Octopus Legs: WHAT?!!!!!
Ben Ten to Octopus Legs: okay <3
And, somehow, seven brief messages are what settle it for Ben. He’s going and, if anything seems weird, he’ll deal with it at the time.
About two hours later, Ben pulls up at Brenda’s house. In that time, he’s remembered to put pants on, choked on the amount of body spray he used, glared at his face in the mirror, gelled his hair in a way that looked stupid, washed it out, tried again, washed that out and ended up towel-drying his hair and going without any gel whatsoever.
In other words, he’d gotten ready seamlessly.
He opens Brenda’s front door and is greeted immediately by Thomas, who’s bouncing on his heels.
“Ben! You’re alive!”
That prompts a confused squint from Ben. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“ Minho got here before you!”
“Oh shit, am I that late?”
Newt wanders into the hallway then, sipping on a glass of water. “Ben,” he grins. “You’re in some deep trouble tonight, mate.”
“I am?”
They’re interrupted by a booming voice projecting from the kitchen.
“Ben, get your ass in here and do some shots!” Gally yells.
Thomas shoots him an apologetic look. “He’s been waiting for another victim,” he explains. “Minho had to literally jump out a window five minutes ago.”
“Holy shit! Is he okay?!”
Newt frowns at him. “You know this house is only one storey, right?”
Ben nods. “Right.”
He still wants to know if Minho’s okay.
“Ben! Hurry up or you’re doing twice as many!”
“Gally!” Frypan’s accusatory voice is followed by laughter.
“Bloody hell,” Newt mutters, putting his hand on Ben’s back and leading them all through to the kitchen. “Don’t drink anything you don’t want to, okay? I’ll tell him to shut up if you don’t want to drink.”
Ben notes that Newt hasn’t drunk since that night he ran away from home. He knows a big part of it involves feeling in control and, from what Newt had told them about that night, drunkenness was probably not something he associated with having a good time.
As such, he’d been the sober, sensible friend at their parties, and he hadn’t seemed to mind at all. From what Ben could see, Newt felt better knowing he was in the right state of mind to take care of his friends.
And, right now, he’s doing his best to protect Ben from Gally’s onslaught. They reach the kitchen and come face-to-face with Gally himself.
“Gally, Benjamin here is only going to drink as much as Benjamin wants to drink, not what you want to force-feed him as some sort of punishment for running late to a casual get-together. He’s a known light-weight and I’m not having you bully him into becoming very ill. Got it?”
Through the entire length of Newt’s statement, Gally is squinting a glare at Ben.
“Gally!” Newt finally gets his attention.
“Fine! Fine!” Gally turns to him. “ I heard you! Ben’s only going to drink what I force him to.”
“That’s not what I-”
“It’s okay, Newt,” Ben’s laughing at the fake smirk Gally’s sending him. “I’ve got this.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he’s spotted Minho in the living room, sitting on Frypan’s lap and gesturing wildly at Brenda and Teresa, who are crying with laughter at whatever he’s saying.
A chill goes through Ben’s spine as he remembers his recent discovery.
“It’s your funer--,” Newt stops himself, swatting at the air. “Tommy, would you please stop kissing the back of my neck! It’s very distracting!”
Thomas is now laughing directly into the back of Newt’s neck and Ben wonders if maybe he’s not as sober as Ben first thought when he walked in the door. They both head on through to the living room, with Newt trying to pry Thomas from his grasp with every step.
Minho spots Ben at that moment.
“Benny!” he yells, climbing up off Frypan’s lap and nearly kicking over Teresa’s drink in the process, which is saved by a swift retrieval on her part.
He stumbles into the kitchen and slaps Gally across the back. “Keep pouring, bartender!”
There’s a lock of Minho’s hair that’s come loose from its tight hold and Ben can’t stop staring at the way it sweeps across his forehead with every movement.
Shit. Now he’s thinking too hard about Minho again. Stop it, Ben. Not tonight. Just have a good time with your friends and worry about that later.
He can’t remember the last time he saw any of Minho’s hair come loose. And, although it suits him, Ben has the urge to just reach out and-
“Bottoms up, Ben!”
Gally hands him a shot, which Ben takes gratefully and downs within the same second, using it as a distraction from his own mind. In the next second he extends the glass for a second pour, desperately trying to ignore Minho’s amused gaze and quiet chuckle that Ben still somehow hears above the music.
“Save room for dessert,” Gally laughs, pouring another shot.
Minho raises an eyebrow at Ben. “Aren’t you a lightweight?”
“Shut up, Minho.” Ben downs the next shot and pours himself a third drink, this time mixing it with whatever juice that is before following Newt and Thomas’ track into the next room, leaving Minho and Gally to shake their heads behind him.
From then on, the night gets a little hazy. Drinking games, stories, dares and laughter fill most of the time up. There’s one instant where Ben’s pulled back into his doubt. He’s laughing at Thomas trying to breakdance when he spots Minho staring right at him from across the room. The eye contact lasts less than a second before Minho looks away again. In any other circumstance, Ben would have thought nothing of it. But, with his brain in the place that it is right now, he starts wondering.
Would it be possible for Minho to like him back?
By the time that thought has entered his mind, Frypan’s already distracting him with a glass of water, pressing it into his hand.
Water? Why does everyone think he needs to sober up?
Ben climbs down from the dining table to join Thomas’ breakdancing attempts, swaying wildly as he goes, spilling water until Frypan pries it back out of his hands.
A few hours later, Ben finally admits that he might possibly be drunk when he walks headfirst into a wall, nowhere near any door or passageway whatsoever, completely unprompted.
“God, Ben! Why don’t you go sit down for a bit?” Brenda tells him, in between bouts of laughter.
Teresa spins him around to check out his forehead and Ben has to stumble to regain his balance. Teresa’s quick and takes hold of both of his shoulders. She looks him in the eyes.
“You okay?” she asks.
The most Ben can manage through his confused state is a sloppy thumbs up.
Teresa rolls her eyes. “Get some fresh air and sober up a little. I’m not taking any more of my friends to hospitals this year.”
Instead of acting even remotely like a normal person would, Ben salutes her and wanders off through the kitchen, heading out the back door of the house. He finds a decent spot on the deck outside, breathing in the cool night air. There’s a full moon out and the backyard has this silvery glow covering it, including the huge rose garden that Brenda’s dad is so proud of.
It’s cold enough for him to shiver, so he wraps his arms around himself, listening to Frypan loudly singing along to some Taylor Swift song that Ben only knows a few words to. He thought he’d known the ‘Starbucks lovers’ line, but apparently even that was wrong.
Sitting in the moonlight, it doesn’t take him long to become convinced that he’s the protagonist in some cheesy, YA, coming-of-age movie. The reason for that being that Minho follows him out and lowers himself down to sit beside him. They sit there in silence for a minute or two until Ben has the strangest feeling of being watched. Hating the suspense, he turns to see that the feeling isn’t all that strange because he is, in fact, being watched by Minho.
Who is, despite being found out, still staring.
“Can I help you?” Ben asks, all uncertainty masked by the buzz of being a bit too drunk.
“Are your eyes green or blue?” Minho asks, squinting into them, not missing a beat.
Ben blinks once. “Green?”
Minho frowns and Ben starts to doubt his own eye color. “Brenda told me they were blue.”
“Why was Brenda talking about my eyes?”
It’s then that he notices the water glass in his own hand and takes a long sip, wondering how the glass got to be there and if it was even meant for him in the first place.
Instead of answering Ben’s question like any normal person would, Minho stares up at the sky. “Woah! The moon is huge! Ben, look at it!”
Of course, Ben’s already spotted the full moon tonight, so he doesn’t have to look. Instead he watches Minho carefully, wondering why he avoided the question.
His eyes are sparkling with that magical Minho glint, the moon reflected in each of them as he gazes up in wonder.
“Beautiful,” Ben says, swallowing hard.
It takes Minho a few seconds, but eventually his head slowly turns back to meet Ben. The information slowly filters through to his brain that Ben hadn’t been looking at the moon at all.
“Oh.”
Impulsivity is not one of Ben’s traits. In fact, he’s often the one holding his friends back from their own impulses and telling them to think before they speak, act, or do.
So, when he’s kissing Minho, he takes himself entirely by surprise.
Ben isn’t exactly sure who closes the distance but he suspects it might have been him. Their lips collide in a way that’s rougher than Ben expects and they start to topple back before Minho puts a hand down to steady them both. Ben’s filled with a wave of euphoria, smiling into it as if Minho’s lips had been created just for him. A gift.
It’s only when Minho’s hand reaches up to cup Ben’s cheek that he pulls back.
“Woah!” Ben all but shouts. “What are we doing?”
Minho laughs. “We’re making out.” He leans back in for more.
Whatever’s remaining of the sensible part of Ben’s brain decides to emerge and he finds himself doubting whether this is a good idea or if he even really wants it at all.
Ben pushes him away. “Wait, no! Minho! I don’t know what this all means! I’ve only just figured out that I like you!”
“Oh, you like me, do you?”
There’s that smirk that has Ben’s practical thoughts flying straight out of his head. Whatever he was about to say or do, it’s gone.
“I… yeah, I do.”
“Then the rest doesn’t matter.”
He shakes his head, wondering if maybe this would be easier to make sense of if he hadn’t done that last shot. “Huh? What do you mean?”
Minho points to Ben’s chest. “Feel this?”
“My nipple?”
“Oops.” Minho laughs. “My aim is off. This.”
“My heart?”
“Yeah! That! What’s it telling you to do?”
Ben shrugs. It’s been a while since he’s followed his instincts. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t think too hard. Just do what it’s telling you to do.”
Ben considers this. What is his heart telling him to do? Run away? Scream? Is it telling him he wants to-
“Ben, I said don’t think! Just do it!”
Less than a second passes before Ben’s arms are around Minho’s neck, lips together again. Ben can feel the smile as it builds on Minho’s lips and, after a moment or two, he’s mirroring the act.
When they pull away, Minho’s laughing.
“What?” Ben asks.
“I spent all this time gearing up to make the first move and you practically tackled me to the ground.”
“I didn’t tackle you. I pushed you forcefully.”
“With your lips.”
“Yeah,” Ben grins, and then the reality of that statement sets in. “First move? You wanted to…?”
Minho’s eyes widen. There’s an uncomfortable silence and suddenly he ducks his head, studying his own hands. “Ben, I’ve liked you for years. I thought that was obvious.”
It wasn’t obvious, Ben thinks to himself. He’d had no idea. Yes, maybe Ben could be a little oblivious and, yes, maybe Ben could pass off certain interactions as those between close friends, but he’d never once suspected a thing.
At that moment, Brenda’s voice returns to his mind.
“I thought you liked Minho.”
She was saying it to make him think about it. Because Minho liked Ben and Brenda must have had some hint of an idea that Ben might like him back.
As it turns out, Ben’s friends know him better than he knows himself.
Minho’s still wringing his hands nervously in his lap, waiting for a reply, so Ben reaches out and gently pulls them towards himself.
“Minho, I think I might have liked you for years too.”
Minho looks up, wide-eyed and hopeful. “You have?”
There’s a certain level of hesitation, but Ben slowly nods. “Yeah. Only I’m so much slower than you that I only figured it out this afternoon, right before the party.”
A nod from Minho. “You are pretty slow.”
Ben responds with an elbow to the ribs and Minho laughs.
“If you figured that out this afternoon then you move pretty fast, Benny!”
That’s a thought . Ben shakes his head in disbelief. “It felt right.”
Minho’s hands grip Ben’s a little tighter. “Good.”
When Ben looks back at Minho, he’s smiling at him. It’s the same smile that Newt gave him in the cafeteria.
It’s okay, the smile tells him. Do what you want, at your own pace, and I’ll be here.
“Ben!” comes a yell from the house, moving closer.
Ben drops their hands and turns to the doorway, expecting someone to appear.
“Ben?” Newt wanders out onto the deck, spotting him and Minho in the dark. “Oh, good. Are you both okay?”
Minho looks and Ben and Ben looks right back at him.
“We’re good,” Minho replies on behalf of them both, not breaking eye contact.
Newt nods slowly and Ben knows he’s worked out that he’s interrupting something. But, nothing stops Newt from taking care of his friends.
“It’s cold out here, you idiots. Come inside. Or at least grab a blanket or something. Actually, just come inside. Ben, you’re swaying.”
And, although Ben is sitting down, it occurs to him that he is swaying, so he takes Newt’s advice and lets Minho help him up. They follow Newt back inside towards the couch and, just as they go to sit down, Newt throws a blanket over the two of them and hands them each a new glass of water.
After a few sips, Ben feels his head drooping and his eyes slowly closing. The last thing he remembers before he’s sound asleep is the warm comfort of Minho’s shoulder against his cheek.
Ben wakes up with a pounding headache. It’s the first thing he notices about the world around him and it’s so strong that it forces out a long, low, involuntary groan.
“Well, Ben’s finally awake,” a voice snickers, followed by many sources of laughter.
“Shh!” another urges them, from much closer beside him. “Leave him alone.”
There’s something firm pressing into his cheek and it moves with the sound of the voice. Minho’s voice?
He opens his eyes and finds himself asleep with his head on Minho’s lap.
“Oh my god,” Ben sits up suddenly, swallowing down the wave of nausea that hits him. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, Minho!”
“Good morning to you too,” Minho laughs. Everyone else is sitting around them on the floor, eating leftover pizza. The smell of it makes Ben’s stomach crawl and he leans forward, covering his face with his hands and squeezing his eyes tightly shut.
“I told you to be careful,” Newt says. Minho shushes him immediately.
“You okay?” he asks Ben, placing a gentle hand on his back. Minho’s trying to keep his voice down, which Ben appreciates.
Someone hands him a glass of water and Ben takes it gratefully, barely opening his eyes to drink it. The events of last night are playing over in his mind and it scares him. He kissed Minho. He kissed his friend of so many years.
And only then had Minho said he liked him. After the kiss. After Ben started to doubt it, or regret it, or worry about it. Only then.
If Minho had really liked Ben for years, Ben would have known. He definitely would have known.
Was Minho saying that to make Ben feel better while he was drunk? Was he hoping Ben would forget it in the morning?
He finishes the glass and remembers Minho had asked him something. “I’m sorry about last night,” he says.
“What do you mean?” Minho asks.
Ben finally has the courage to open his eyes again and looks to Minho, wondering if the guy’s already forgotten. He looks so confused that Ben wonders if maybe he has. Was Minho drunker than he was? Does that even matter? Forgetting wouldn’t be so bad. That’s much less embarrassing.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ben smiles sheepishly. “Forget it. I need to pee.”
Not waiting for a response and ignoring everyone else blatantly listening in, he stands up, making a beeline for the bathroom. He reaches it and turns to shut the door behind him when something pushes up against it, preventing it from closing.
“Let me in.”
Ben sighs. “I don’t need your help in here, Minho.”
The door pushes all the way open, much to Ben’s surprise and dismay, and suddenly Minho is in the room with him, shutting the door behind them both.
“What the hell?” he asks.
Ben shrugs. “What?”
“What? So last night doesn’t matter? I’m supposed to forget it?”
Ben’s not a big talker, so instead of trying to become one now, he moves to the sink and turns the tap, splashing his face with cold water before drying it with a towel.
“Ben? Hello?”
The towel is a great excuse to have his face covered, so Ben stays there a while longer, rubbing his face until it’s well and truly dry.
“What the hell, Ben?”
He lowers the towel and places it back on the rail carefully, smoothing it out. “I was drunk.”
The response on Minho’s end is stunned silence, which is rare from him. Ben looks up as he silently gestures, raising his hands as if to ask, yet again, ‘what the hell?’.
“Forget about Minho. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry?! Ben, did you miss the part where I told you I’d liked you for years ?”
Ben’s now staring at the bathroom floor, walls, anywhere but Minho. “You didn’t have to say that.”
“I didn’t have to tell you the truth? To confess to you something I’ve been trying to tell you for years? That’s good to know. Thank you, Ben. Thanks for that.”
Why is Minho mad at him? Ben’s doing him a favour here. They can both pretend this never happened and Ben can go back to pining over Minho in secret, without the guy ever having to do anything about it. It’s easier that way.
“Minho, you didn’t have to pretend you liked me because I made a bad decision.”
“What bad decision?”
“Kissing you.”
Ben regrets it as soon as he’s said it, because Minho looks so hurt that Ben immediately wonders if they’ll ever be friends again. He screwed up in two words.
“Kissing me was a bad decision?”
Ben doesn’t miss the way Minho’s voice has dropped and is now shaking. It scares him; Minho never lets his guard down. Not for anyone.
Why is this so frustrating? Ben glares down at the ground again, as if it might bring him some common sense.
“I kissed you, Minho. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why the hell not?!”
Minho’s voice is getting louder and more desperate and Ben wonders if he’s got it all wrong.
“Because you’re my friend and now I’ve ruined it.”
Minho takes a step closer and for a brief moment Ben wonders if he’s about to get punched. Instead, Minho grabs him by the front of the shirt.
“Listen here, Ben. I’ve been awake all night because you got me so excited that my crush of more than two years finally likes me back. Yeah, you kissed me. And I kissed you back because I’ve been dreaming of that moment this whole time. So, no. You didn’t ruin anything. You made it all so much better, but if you carry on this conversation the way it’s going, you really will ruin everything, so tread carefully.”
The hand on Ben’s shirt loosens slightly but doesn’t let go, and Ben can’t bring himself to look down at it, given he’s stuck, staring straight into Minho’s hurt and angry eyes.
“You mean it?” he asks.
The hand releases. “Yes, Ben. I like you. Why would that be a lie?”
Ben shrugs. “It didn’t seem real.”
“Because we were drunk?”
“Maybe.”
Minho considers this for a second and his eyes travel down Ben’s body and back up again. “Are you still drunk?”
A gulp. “Nope.”
Arms wrap tightly around Ben’s waist as he finds Minho’s shoulders to do the same, their lips meeting forcefully in the middle. Minho’s pulling them both towards the bathroom sink, his firm grip keeping them pressed together as his back bumps the surface behind him. One of Ben’s legs wraps itself around Minho’s, locking them even tighter together at the same moment that Minho’s tongue slips into his mouth. He lets out a quiet moan, and it has nothing to do with the hangover.
Of course, they’re in a house full of teenagers, and every important moment has to get interrupted--
“What are you two doing in there?! I need a shower!” Brenda yells, pounding on the door. “This is my house!”
Minho breaks away from the best kiss of Ben’s life. “There’s another bathroom!” he shouts back, rolling his eyes, intending to return to exactly what he was doing.
“Gally’s in there! Go make out somewhere else!”
There’s laughter from the living room and Ben locks eyes with Minho. Maybe they really did all know.
Minho seems to read his mind. “They knew I liked you,” he whispers. “I didn’t tell them about last night but…”
“It’s fine,” Ben assures him, lifting a hand from Minho’s shoulder to wave it dismissively. “If this is going to happen, they might as well know about it now.”
“If this is going to…?” Minho trails off as Ben takes his hand and pulls him over to the bathroom door, opening it suddenly to find a very shocked Brenda on the other side.
“It’s all yours,” Ben smirks as he walks on through, swinging their arms between the two of them as they stroll back into the living room.
Brenda cheers behind them and, as they come into view of everyone else, the cheering catches on, smiles erupting on the faces of their closest friends.
“Oh my god, it actually happened!” Teresa squeals. “Minho, you did it!”
Minho, being himself, shrugs nonchalantly. “He kissed me first.”
“Ben?” she all but screeches. “Ben, you did it!”
Ben grins as he’s pulled into a hug from her, laughing as the others join in too, like they’ve just won the grand final. He looks over to Minho and sees him laughing along with him, without a care in the world.
It’s scary, knowing what this might mean about who he is and who he loves. But, in this moment, Ben’s surprised to find he’s so much more excited than scared. Like a huge weight has been taken off his shoulders and now he can stand a little taller and surer of who he is.
And, looking around, he knows that whoever he is, he’s loved.