Archive of Our Own

“Devi,” Fabiola says, leaning backwards on Devi’s bed, tossing chips in the air and trying to catch them, “this is a bad idea.” 

“You always say that when I have a good idea,” Devi says, yanking her cork board from her closet. “Like, always, and you’ve been wrong every time.” 

“No, she’s been right,” Eleanor interrupts, “without fail.” 

“Rude.” 

“You know this is a bad idea, so you’re deflecting it,” Fabiola says, shrugging. “You’ve seen Paxton’s soulmate mark, anyway. It doesn’t match yours, so I don’t know why you’re so into this.” 

“Because he’s hot,” Devi says, scoffing, her tone sounding exactly like a duh. “And what if my soulmate is bad at sex? Huh? What then? I need some good dick in my life before I’m stuck with mediocre to poor dick.” 

“This is so upsetting,” Fabiola mumbles, rolling her eyes. 

“Devi, you’re probably bad at sex,” Eleanor says, raising her eyebrows. “You haven’t exactly done it.” 

“It doesn’t matter if I’m bad at sex because I’m a girl,” Devi says. Fabiola covers her face and screams into her fingers. “Sex for guys is just pump, pump, pump and done.” 

“Stop,” Fabiola says, “like, forever. No more.” 

“Prude.” 

“I think I might hate you for real this time,” Fabiola says, crunching the chip bag. “This is unforgivable.” 

“Devi, please censor yourself, thanks,” Eleanor says, shaking her head quickly, as if she could dislodge the memory of what Devi had said. 

“Fine, but you both are weaklings,” Devi accuses, and flips her cork board over the side that functions as a white board. She writes How to trap Paxton at the top. 

“Oh, Devi, no,” Eleanor says, “no, that title is unforgivable. Absolutely not.” 

“Ugh, fine,” Devi says, erasing it with her sleeve, and replacing it with How to win over Paxton, sketching a frowning face next to it. 

“Still not great, but, fine, since I assume we aren’t going to get anything better,” Fabiola says, sitting up. “Though I have several objections, and I want all of them to be noted.” 

“Fine, they’re noted,” Devi says. “Now, help me brainstorm.” 

“I’m not helping you scheme on how to trick a man into dating you,” Fabiola says. 

“I’ll buy you that fancy screwdriver you want with the interchangeable heads.” 

“Buy him the things he likes and appear with them in hallways and stuff. Like Pavlov,” Fabiolas says, quickly, sitting up straight. “I saw it in a Tumblr post and while I do not approve of it, I really want that screwdriver.”  

“Nice values, Fabiola,” Eleanor says, rolling her eyes. 

“Leave me alone.”

“Why don’t you just, like, be nice to him? Y’know, show that you’d make a good girlfriend? That could work— better than Pavlovian responses and Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Never underestimate the power of science based manipulation, Eleanor,” Fabiola says, making a fist and hitting Eleanor on top of the head with it. 

“Yeah! What she said!” Devi says, gesturing with the dry erase marker. “Plus, why would I want to be myself? That never works.” 

“Yes, it does.” 

“No, lying is better.” 

“God, I cannot believe I am here,” Eleanor groans. 

“Well, you are, so be helpful.” 

“Y‘know, you could just move on from him,” Eleanor says, and Devi makes a face. “Find someone else, be happy, go on cute little picnic dates and move on from Paxton. Fabiola already said that your soulmate marks don’t match— what if he meets someone whose mark matches his?” 

Cold fear spears through Devi, but she brushes it aside, curling her hands into fists. “That’s… actually a great idea,” Devi says, feeling the warmth of an idea blooming in her chest. “Make him jealous.” 

“I literally never said that.” 

“But moving on with a new relationship to hold in his face? Jealous. Jealous, one hundred percent.” 

“I do not want my name on this,” Eleanor says, shaking her head, “like, at all.”

“Too late, you’re already a co-author,” Devi says, tugging her graph paper from her desk. “Help me make a plan to make him jealous.” 

Eleanor groans, blowing out a quick breath. “Oh, God, I’m gonna have to go to confession.” 

“Not right now you aren’t,” Devi says, sitting heavily on the foot of her bed. “Now’s trapping time.”

“You're on your own, Vishwakumar,” Eleanor says, holding her hands up, “I don’t even have any good boy-trapping ideas.”

“Yeah, and I am definitely underqualified for this,” Fabiola says, rolling her eyes and falling backwards with Eleanor. “Does he like cheese? Because if he does, just buy him cheese and you won’t have to involve any other boys. The only other boys you talk to are Trent and Ben, anyway.”

“Ben,” Devi says, writing his name down, and circling it, “that's perfect.” 

“No,” Fabiola says, “Devi, no, no, you cannot use Ben for this plan. He’ll never agree and he’ll think it’s ridiculous. He’d probably snitch on you to Paxton.”

“I have plenty of dirty secrets of Bens that he wouldn’t want leaked,” Devi says, waving a hand through the air in a doesn't matter gesture. “So, he’s perfect.”

“I think you might be a sociopath for real this time.”

“Like I said, sociopaths get shit done, Fab.”

“And you want me to do what?” Ben asks, slamming his locker door, before leaning against it, looking at her incredulously.

She rolls her eyes, in disbelief that he wants her to go over this again. “Be my fake boyfriend.”

“You’re even more in love with me than I thought,” Ben says, scrubbing a hand over his forehead, “you really have to move on from this, David, such strong infatuation can't be good for you.” 

“What part of fake do you not fucking understand?” Devi asks, slugging him in the shoulder. He winces, and grabs his arm. She rolls her eyes. “I want you to pretend to date me to make Paxton jealous.”

“That's a ridiculous plan,” Ben says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “First of all, you would fall even more in love with me. Second of all, Paxton isn’t exactly a jealous dude. And, third, do your soulmate marks even match?” 

She blushes, and stomps her foot, thinking about the triangular mark on the base of her spine, the three dots at each point, in contrast with Paxtons interconnecting circles. “Does it matter? It’s not like you dated Shira because your soulmate marks matched.”

“They didn’t.”

“That was my fucking point, Ben,” Devi says, groaning. “Forget it, you’re clearly useless.”

“Wait,” he says, and she stops, turning back around. He looks like a businessman all of a sudden, like he is ready to make a deal. “What's in it for me?”

“Um, hanging out with me,” Devi says, and Ben rolls his eyes.

“Not good enough.”

“You get a rebound from Shira,” Devi says, crossing her arms, “and any “dates” we go on, I’ll pay for my food and the tip.”

“And we never tell anyone this relationship is fake,” Ben says, “that would be super unfortunate for you, and kinda weird for me.”

“That's a self burn” Devi says, narrowing her eyes at him, “you realize that's a self burn, right?”

“Whatever,” he says, shrugging. “Now what?”

She opens her mouth to answer, then sees Paxton over Ben's shoulder, and flaps her hands nervously. “Paxtons coming,” she says— hisses, really— shifting her weight nervously, “we have to look couple-y. How do we look couple-y?”

She sees Ben roll his eyes, and he moves, pulling his hands from his pockets and cupping her jaw with them. He tilts her head up and leans down at the same time, and suddenly, he is kissing her.

It takes her a moment, but then it clicks, and Ben is kissing her, and every cell in her body screams at her to move forward. She is hit with the backwards gravity of a rocket launch, and her hands find his waist, fingernails digging into the leather of his jacket as he parts her lips, kissing her harder, and it is all too easy for her to forget that she is in the hallways of her school.

When Ben pulls away from her, it feels like she has been hit with whiplash, and it takes her a moment to pull away from him. Paxton is not behind Ben's shoulder anymore, and Devi looks behind her, catching him staring. She quickly looks away.

“You good?” Ben asks, sounding entirely too smug, and she digs her knuckles into the skin beneath his ribcage. He jerks, smacking her hand away, and when she looks at where they were, she can see creases in his jacket where she had pressed her palms against the leather. “Wow, is that how you thank me for catching the attention of your weird boy crush?” 

“Shut up, Ben,” Devi says, and punches him again. This time, he just rolls his eyes. “So, clearly, you’re doing this?” she asks, crossing her arms and looking at him with thinly veiled contempt. 

“Yeah, why not,” he says, readjusting his backpack on his shoulders. “I think I already started it with the whole impromptu makeout.”

“Yeah,” Devi says, and when she starts walking towards class, her legs are shaking, “no shit.”

“You’re just mad because it's the best kiss of your life.”

“Actually, the best kiss of my life was in Paxtons Jeep, so,” she says, making a face at him.

“I don’t remember kissing you in Paxtons Jeep,” he says, feigning thought as he follows her to class, and she rolls her eyes.

“Shut up,” she tells him. He groans, but listens. “We need to type up a contract for this thing, so we can have some type of guidelines.”

“What, afraid you’ll fall in love with me, David?” he asks, raising his eyebrows, smirking.

She rolls her eyes, and shoulders past him to walk into class before he can. “Not even close.”

devi: ben can KISS

fabiola: Oh God please tell me you haven’t done something irreparably stupid

eleanor: i think i might hate you for real this time

devi: its not irreparably stupid if it ended with paxton staring me down like a hot piece of salami

fabiola: That is by far the worst simile I have ever heard in my life

devi: shut the fuck up you know you love it

fabiola: I really cannot say that I do

devi: uh huh

“So, you’re actually going through with this thing?” Ben says, setting his bag on the ground and eyeing her suspiciously. She had sent him an email earlier that day regarding a location to meet and discuss, and he had replied with a simple Whatever. “You really can't resist my good looks and extreme charm, huh?”

“Actually, you’re the only person I know that I can reasonably blackmail into doing this, so,” Devi replies, making a face at him, before tugging a piece of lined paper from her bag. “You’re gonna have to keep the contract, because I guarantee that Nalini will go through my backpack, and if she finds this, she will lose her ever loving shit.”

“No one in my house cares enough about me to look through my stuff, so, deal,” Ben says, and nods. Devi looks at him strangely—

— for a moment, he locks eyes with her, and Devi tries to figure him out, to see how much her week living at his house really meant to him, but then he looks away, picking at his fingernails, and the moment ends—

— before looking back down at the paper. 

She writes Contract: a written or spoken agreement, especially one concerning employment, sales, or tenancy, that is intended to be enforceable by law at the top of the paper, and when Ben looks at it, he snorts.

“Did you really just write the definition of contract at the top of our contract?” he asks, incredulous.

“Obviously,” she says, and looks at him like it is obvious why she did it, “I don’t know how deep your stupid goes.”

“Wow, okay,” he says, and rolls his eyes. “Rule number one should be that you can't insult me in public.”

“People are gonna realize we’re lying if I don’t insult you,” Devi says, tapping her pencil against the tabletop, “insulting each other is like, the focal point of our relationship.”

“Wow, that’s really sad but really true,” Ben says, nodding, and tapping his fingers against the table, “we can insult each other, but, like… it has to be flirty. Heart eyes.”

“Ew, don’t say heart eyes,” Devi says, wrinkling her nose, “that's gross.”

“Fine, whatever, no heart eyes,” Ben says, “but we’ve gotta at least be able to fake some amount of attraction towards each other.”

Devi’s heart flips in her chest. Fake it—

— there had been a few moments, once upon a time, where Devi could almost imagine it being real, could almost picture herself tilting forward and kissing him in the front seat of his dad's Porsche, but instead, Kamala had knocked on the window and everything had fallen apart—

— “yeah, easy enough for you,” she says, and watches him frown, “I’m hot as fuck, it isn’t hard to be attracted to me. But you’re basically a baby wipe come to life.”

“Rude.”

“But it's true.”

“I mean, not even close,” Ben says, but waves his hand in a dismissal regardless. “You’ll be fine.”

“If you put some cologne on and get a nose job,” Devi says, and Ben rolls his eyes, but stays quiet, “actually, we might be able to solve the problem with a paper bag and some Febreeze.”

“Why did you ask me if you’re only going to be mean to me and insult my looks?” Ben asks, his voice sincere, and Devi feels herself close off.

She ignores him, and says, “so, point number one is only romantic bickering, no full blown fights.” She writes it down, numbering it.

Ben makes a face, but lets it pass. “Point number two… don’t fall in love with me,” Ben says, and when she looks up at him half disgusted, half surprised, he winks. 

She lets it go without making a joke, and writes it down, hand a little shaky. 

“Point three should be no alteration of our relationship outside of faking it,” Devi says, and writes it down before he can even ask, “like, we only have this relationship in public.”

“Deal,” Ben says, and leans over the table, looking at the contract. “We should have dates.”

Devi’s mind spins, and she tries to parse out the meaning of his words. “What?”

“Like, we should date nights at the mall, or something. Show up where Paxton usually is,” Ben says, and shrugs. 

A confusing mix of relief and disappointment wells up in Devi’s chest, but she tamps it down, and nods instead. “That's smart,” Devi says, and holds a hand up to his face to keep him quiet, “scheduled date nights. I'm writing it down.” 

“Told you I was a genius,” Ben says, smirking. “Is there anything else you think we should add?”

“Um…” Devi looks over the list, and shakes her head. “Do we need to add no telling anyone this is fake to the list?” she asks, looking up at him.

“I’m guessing Fabiola and Eleanor already know?” Ben asks, raising his eyebrows. Devi cringes.

“I mean, not no?” she answers, like a question. “They sorta helped me come up with the plan, so they knew in advance, before the contract drafting period. Before you even did, really.” 

“First of all, you’re rambling,” Ben says, and takes the pen from her hand, spinning the paper around to face him. He starts writing. “Second of all, did you really need the hive mind to help you come up with this? Aren’t you obsessed with that one letter movie?” 

“To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before? Yes,” Devi says, trying to peek at what he is writing. He pushes her away. “But that was a very different circumstance.” 

“Okay, well, whatever,” he says, and sets the pen down, turning to paper to face her. He added the secret keeping clause, as well as another thing. 

6. Under no circumstances are the signatories to show or describe to one another their soulmate marks. This includes even a small portion of the mark, and should a mark be shown, the signatories agree to the immediate termination of their arrangement and the acknowledgement to never speak of this or to each other again. 

“Wow, brutal,” Devi says, but signs in the blank space she had outlined earlier regardless. “Not surprised you want that, considering I doubt you even have a soulmate mark anyway.”

“I have a soulmate mark, Devi, and it’s sexy as hell,” Ben says, smirking, and Devi looks up at him, eyebrows raised. 

“Thought we weren’t supposed to describe our soulmate marks, Ben,” Devi says. She holds up the contract in her hands, feigning like she is going to rip it, and Ben blanches. 

“Doesn’t count, now put down the paper,” Ben says, and pushes her hands back down on the table. She lets go of the paper, and looks down at it. There is a small tear in the place in between where she had held it, and she cringes. 

Ben does not seem to notice, and takes the paper and pen, signing in the spot she had marked for him to sign. His cursive has always been lovely, looping vowels and precise angles, and it is the only thing about him that Devi has ever been truly jealous of.

“Done,” he says, and passes the pen back to her. He takes a green folder out of his backpack, and slips the contract into it. He puts the folder back inside of his backpack, turning back to look at her—

— for a moment, the enormity of what she has done catches up to her, and she feels almost overwhelmed with the decision to do this, to fake this—

— but then Ben locks eyes with her and, well, despite everything, it calms her down—

— and sticks his hand out. 

“What are you doing?” Devi says, eyeing his hand suspiciously. 

“Handshake, David.”

“Ew, no, you might be venomous,” Devi says, mostly joking. 

“You literally made out with me this morning, so if I was venomous, you’d be dead by now,” he says, nonchalant, like he is unaware of the fact that his words make Devi’s stomach swoop. 

“Whatever,” Devi says, and takes his hands, ignoring the shivers his skin sends up her wrists, and choosing to believe that this is a better idea than it is.

devi: update,, ben and i are ~officially~ a fake power couple

eleanor: abd we dont have any concerns about this ??????

eleanor: and* but that's the last time i correct one of my mistakes. god loves me the way i am

devi: inspiring

devi: and we probably should have concerns about this but we really dont

devi: i think itll go perfectly without a hitch

eleanor: youre an idiot

eleanor: that's genuinely the dumbest thing ibe ever heard you say and you lied about having sex with paxton then told the truth in front of 2/6 of our parents

fabiola: I thought my mom was there too?

eleanor: im sorry, 3/6 of our parents

devi: you can just simplify that to ½

eleanor: jesus christ today is exhausting

devi: yeah i can second that

eleanor: emotional manipulation is exhausting?

devi: actually yeah believe it or not 

devi: we signed a contract and everything and writing that shit was exhausting,,, romance is so difficult 

fabiola: Um this is staged romance Devi don’t get it twisted 

devi: what? still exhausting 

fabiola: Ridiculous 

“You ready, David?” Ben says, when she tugs open the front door. She blinks at him.

“What?” she asks, looking at him strangely. “If you’re asking if I’m ready to see your alien face, then the answer is no, Gross, and I’m afraid I never will be.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you find my beauty blinding and you’ll never be prepared for it, we get it,” he says, and grabs her wrist, tugging her outside, “but this time, I meant more specifically for date night.”

“Date night?” Devi asks, raising her eyebrows. “Do you know something I don’t?” 

You wrote the contract and signed it, so don’t say that you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Ben says, rolling his eyes. “Date night at Dave and Busters— Paxtons there doing God only knows what with Trent and Michael.”

“Camerons little brother?” Devi asks, still not fully grasping the meaning of his words.

“I have no idea who Cameron is.”

“Rebecca’s boyfriend.”

“Rebecca?”

“Paxtons sister,” Devi says, and takes a step backwards, pushing open the front door. “Rebecca. She's like, twenty, and way cooler than you.”

“You say everyone is way cooler than me, so that doesn’t sound very much like a compliment for Rebecca.”

“She’s a high IQ genius with a boyfriend that has a rockin’ bod and she makes all of her own clothes,” Devi says, crossing her arms. “She’s super cool.”

“Yeah, agreed,” Ben says, “now, come on.”

“Bro, I don’t know who told you, but I have a brown mom, so I don’t really get to leave the house whenever I want. At least, not if I wanna stay alive.”

“I don’t think I can make a commentary on that in any way that lets me stay in your good graces,” Ben says, cringing. He pinches the back of his neck. “But, I do know that your mom likes me, and if I tell her that we’re going to study somewhere…?” 

“I’ll have to take my backpack and laptop,” Devi says, biting her lip, “and I don’t know what we’ll do with them.”

“Just leave them in my car, probably,” Ben says, and shrugs. 

“Wait here,” Devi says, and disappears inside of her house. Ben scuffs his shoe on the concrete of the porch, looking intently at the plants, and thinking about how exactly he had gotten himself into this. 

Kissing Devi was natural, as normal as breathing, and he misses it— 

— he thought for sure it would happen sooner, thought for sure he would gather the courage to kiss her in Malibu, before her cousin had knocked on the window behind him and scared them both half to death— 

— but sooner enough, Devi is opening the door, her backpack slung over her shoulder and a package of See’s candies in her hands. 

“Amma said I have to give these to you,” she says, holding the box of candies out to him. When he does not take it right away, she pushes it into his chest, and he grabs it clumsily, fingers brushing. It makes his skin feel shivery.

“Um, tell her thanks later for me, I guess,” Ben says, shrugging. Devi looks at him strangely, and he stifles the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Tell her yourself, Gross,” Devi says, “she invited you to dinner next Wednesday.”

“Are you gonna make an insanely spicy food that’ll make me wish I was dead?” Ben asks, walking with her to his car, and pulling her door open. She eyes him briefly, but tosses her backpack into the backseat and gets in. 

Ben walks around to the driver's seat, getting in the car and turning on the ignition. 

“Hmm, it depends,” Devi says.

“On?”

“How well this goes, and also how annoyed I am with you on Monday when we plan dinner for the week,” Devi says plainly, smiling at him with an out of character sweetness, as if she had not just threatened him. 

“So… you’re taking out your aggression on me in the form of spicy meals?” Ben says, programming the GPS. 

“I mean, it’s a good plan on my part,” she says, and shrugs, looking at the road. “What’s the game plan for Dave and Busters?” 

“Isn't it the same as the overarching game plan?” Ben asks, an anxious confusion blooming to life in his stomach. It travels up his spinal cord and into his brain, making his mind feel distantly foggy. “Make Paxton jealous and also achieve world domination?” 

“I mean, yeah, but how?” 

“Shouldn’t that be your thing?” Ben says, flicking his turn signal on and merging into the traffic. Ben has never particularly liked driving, and he experiences a low level panic every time he does it, a boiling tenseness that makes his fingers feel stiff and his nostrils flare. “I don’t exactly know the guy.”

“I mean, you’re both dudes, that has you linked.” 

“We are very different people,” Ben says, sparing a glance at her. She is worrying at her bottom lip, the skin pinned in between her teeth, and it makes her look almost impossibly tempting—

— Ben can remember kissing those lips, his hands pressing into her skin, getting lost in her in a way he did not know was possible—

— and she blows out a breath through her nostrils. “Paxton looks like he was born in 1991 and acts like a washed up child star.” 

“As opposed to your charming brand of pessimistic annoyance and most-than-inconspicuous stupidity?” 

“Wow, you managed to use every big word you know in one sentence,” Ben says, prickling at her insult, for reasons he cannot figure out, “good job, you get a gold star for your vocab practice today.” 

“At least I know big words, Gross,” Devi says, “you can’t even use anything over three syllables.” 

“Your last name is four, David, and I can use it perfectly well.” 

“Names don’t count,” Devi says, rolling her eyes. “And you changed the topic from making Paxton jealous— not that I’m complaining, because you mostly changed it to an open forum on your idiocy— but, I like having a plan.” 

“Yeah, because the coyote girl is known for her impeccable sense of planning,” Ben says, turning into the Dave and Busters parking lot. “And, the plan is on you, David. You’re the brains behind this scheme.” 

“So you admit that I’m smart,” Devi says, turning to him and pointing a finger in his face, the body language of a eureka! moment. 

“No,” Ben says carefully, pulling into a parking space and turning to face her, “I admit that you’re the only one of us that’s crazy enough to come up with a plan to trick someone whose soulmate mark doesn’t match yours into liking them.” 

Devi’s brow furrows. “How do you know our marks don’t match?” 

“Eleanor talks,” Ben says, shrugging, “she mentioned that they don’t match. Which, I’m sorry about, by the way.” 

“Really?” Devi asks, eyeing him skeptically. “Why aren’t you rubbing that in my face right now?” 

“Because it really sucks that the person you want isn’t the person the universe decided you should be with,” Ben says, and shrugs, pulling the keys from the ignition. “But if anyone goes around giving the universe the finger, it’s you, so I guess it doesn’t really matter.” 

“That’s very sweet, in a super weird way,” Devi says, and pats his arm awkwardly. It is a gesture so reminiscent of Kamala that it almost makes Ben laugh, but he smothers the urge at the very last moment. 

He gets out of the car and follows Devi to the door, holding it open for her and following her inside. 

“Whoa,” Devi says, looking around and blinking rapidly. “This is, like, neon hell.” 

“Yeah, agreed,” Ben says, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the contrasting colours. The lights are turned down, almost completely black, yet almost everywhere he looks, there is a glowing LED arcade game screen or neon sign flashing. “Do you ever have a weird urge to bite neon signs?” 

Devi looks up at him at the exact moment he looks down at her, and she is making the same face she made in her kitchen sophomore year, when he told her about his parents and the pizza shop, and he feels an overwhelming desire to tilt forward and kiss her. 

He does, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth, just a moment, before straightening back out. 

“What was that about?” Devi asks, and Ben’s mind scrambles to come up with an answer— 

— he cannot tell her that he just wanted to kiss her, not in a million years— 

— and he coughs, bringing a hand to the back of his neck, pinching it. “Though I saw Paxton,” he lies, cringing inwardly, “just another handsome rando.” 

“Paxton isn’t a handsome rando.” 

“My bad, he’s just a regular rando,” Ben says, and walks away, towards the welcome desk before she can offer a rebuttal. 

He gives the employee his credit card and lets Devi pick an absurdly high number of tokens to split between two swipe cards, and she snatches hers up as soon as the employee offers it to her. 

“We aren’t leaving here without a tooth rotting amount of sour patch kids and that dolphin plush with a top hat,” Devi says, tugging him in the direction of the skee ball machines. “I think I might actually die without that dolphin in my life.” 

“I really doubt that, but it’s good to know you’re that weak,” Ben says, swiping his card in one of the machines and ignoring the dirty look she gives him. 

They play a few rounds, a short string of tickets pooling around their feet, and Devi beats him almost consistently. 

“Why are you good at this?” Ben asks, watching her finish off the last of her balls, “isn’t it, like, mostly a game of luck?” 

“Luck schmuck,” Devi grumbles, tossing her last ball. It lands directly into the 100 hole, like a perfectly timed basket. “It’s science and a deep seated sense of athleticism that you just wouldn’t understand.” 

“Um, I seem to recall our pact not mentioning sports because neither of us are good at them,” Ben says, watching as she folds up her tickets, stuffing them into the pocket of her hoodie.

“Things change, Ben,” Devi says, shrugging, “people mature, some better than others. To be clear, I am referencing your colossal lack of facial hair.” 

“Why are you so obsessed with my ability to grow a beard?”

“You mean inability?” Devi says, reaching up and pinching his chin between her knuckles and the pad of her thumb. “There is no stubble here. Not even a five o’clock shadow, this is some impressive non-growth.” 

“Shut up,” Ben says, screwing up his face, but refusing to knock her hand away. “For your information, I shaved before I came, and I’m just really good at it.” 

“Ew, why did you shave before we came here?” Devi asks, letting go of his chin— 

— and he does not miss the feel of her skin against his, he does not— 

— and wiping her hand against her jeans. 

“Because I didn’t want my beard to tickle you when this inevitably ends in a hot makeout,” Ben says, mostly to tease her, and she looks at him in disgust. 

“I have so many problems with what you just said that I don’t even think I can list them all,” Devi says, looking at him with raised eyebrows, “like, a truly insane number of problems. Astronomical. The astronauts can measure it.” 

“You do realize that isn’t technically what astronomical means, right?” Ben asks. “At least, not in the sense that you used it.” 

“Of course I know that,” she says, smacking his arm gently, with the back of her hand— 

— that was a friendship punch— 

— “I just never waste an opportunity to bring up astronauts.” 

“Right, you were really into The Martian for a while,” Ben says, tapping his forehead with two fingers.

“If by a while you mean ever since I read it, then, yeah, I have been,” Devi says. “Now what?”

“What do you mean now what?” Ben asks, furrowing his brow. “We’ve still got the whole of Dave and Busters, plus, like, I’m sure they have some of those gross soft pretzels that you love.”

“No soft pretzel is a gross soft pretzel,” Devi says, rolling her eyes. “We should try to find Paxton.” 

Ben blinks, clearing his brains. He pinches the back of his neck, a ridiculous nervous habit—

— he had completely forgotten what they were here for, that he was not meant to just be enjoying his day with Devi, that they are instead here to do a ridiculous task, to make Paxton jealous, to get him to like her, and it hits Ben all over again how temporary he is, even to Devi, who he has always felt permanent around—

— but he never has been, is the thing—

— then lets his hand drop. “Yeah, we can do a perimeter, if you want,” he says, nodding to himself. 

“How did you even know Paxton was here?” Devi asks, turning towards some older arcade games, like Pac-Man and Frogger. She grabs his hands, without interlocking their fingers—

— he tries not to think about why—

—but he is not good at that, not really, not with Devi—

— and tugging him along with her. He follows easily, eyeing the games, making a mental list of the ones he wants to play later.

“Have you ever played Q*bert?” he asks, scanning over the room, trying to find Paxton. “It’s a puzzle game, so it would really test your limited intelligence, but I think you would like it.” 

“A dig on my intelligence is really rich considering it’s coming from you, ye of little brain,” Devi says, stopping suddenly and peeking around a Donkey Kong game. “Target located.”

“You found him?” Ben asks, and looks around the game when Devi points. Paxton is playing a motorcycle racing game against Trent, his face drawn in concentration. “Yeah, very Paxton of him.”

“What?” Devi asks, looking at him strangely. 

“The game he’s playing,” Ben says, inclining his head towards Paxton and Trent for a moment. “Competitive motorcycle. Very Paxton.”

“I suppose,” Devi says, and shrugs. Paxton moves, almost like he is turning to look at them, and they both duck back behind the Donkey Kong game. Ben locks eyes with her, and laughs, holding up his free hand for a high five.

She high fives him, then drops both of his hands. He ducks them into his pockets. “What's the plan, David?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“The plan is to look like you’re in love with me, and… get ready to lose,” she says, and motions in the direction of the row of games Paxton is at.

There is a floor to ceiling Space Invaders game taking up a small portion of a pillar wall, and Ben nods, pointing towards that one. For his eleventh birthday, his father got him an authentic Space Invaders arcade game—

— nevermind the fact that Howard had not actually been there to give it to him in person—

— and Ben spent the majority of every weekend for two months playing the game obsessively, and he still does, now, when he really misses his father.

“That one,” Ben says. Devi eyes him suspiciously, and opens her mouth, no doubt to argue. He beats her to the punch. “What, David, afraid you can’t beat me?” he asks, letting his voice adopt a teasing lilt, raising an eyebrow, exactly the kind of tone that always makes her want to beat him.

“I can beat you every day of the week and twice on Sunday,” she says, walking quickly in the direction of the game. Ben lets her pick the side she wants, sitting down in the one she does not pick.

“That's the Lord's day,” Ben says, and Devi stops inputting her name halfways through to look at him critically. 

“A Lord that neither of us believe in,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Hinduism is one thousand times cooler than Christianity.” 

“So is Judaism.”

“Fair enough,” Devi says, and finishes putting her name in, tapping her feet against the corrugated metal floor. “Come on, Gross, I got a stuffed dolphin to win and a boy to impress.” 

Ben locks in his name and presses play, reading the instructions as they phase along the screen, Star Wars style. 

“Wait, so we just blast aliens until they’re dead?” Devi says, “how is that hard?” 

“They get faster, and closer to you, and if they keep running into you, you die,” Ben says, shrugging. He falls silent in concentration as the game starts, only faintly hearing Devi’s groans of frustration interspersed with unearned trash talk. 

It turns out that Devi is not good at offensive games, and she is dead by the time Ben finishes off the first round of aliens. He makes it two more before he runs out of lives, and turns to look at a very frustrated Devi. 

She has her arms crossed, bottom lip pushed out in a pout, and he chuckles. “Can't handle losing, huh, David?” he asks, stretching, and pulling his tickets from the slot at the bottom of the machine.

“I hate you and your stupid face and stupid game,” Devi says, lifting a leg to kick him. “It isn’t even skill based.” 

Ben furrows his brow. “Uh, it is absolutely skill based,” he says, “the games you play aren’t, so I think you are just projecting.”

“Air hockey is one hundred percent skill based,” Devi says, rolling her eyes and kicking him again. 

“Skeeball definitely isn’t,” he says. 

She uncrosses her arms, and gestures like she is going to hit him— stupid friendship punches— but he catches at her arm, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and tugging it down, presses her arm into her lap. 

“Rude,” she mutters, looking at him when he doesn’t let her go. 

“Paxton is looking at us,” Ben whispers, flicking his eyes towards the game Paxton was playing. He is leaning against it, his phone resting in his hands while his eyes rest on them. “What do you want to do?” 

“Don’t take this too seriously,” she says, through her teeth, then leans forward and kisses him. 

He gasps into it, but kisses her back, the hand still wrapped around her wrist tugging her closer, an unbridled chemical reaction that he was unprepared to experience—

— it is a different feeling, Devi kissing him versus him kissing Devi—

— and he cups her jaw, tilting her head. When his lips part, he slips his tongue into her mouth, and she groans, and his entire body heats up, tugging her closer. He digs a hand into her hair, scraping his fingernails against her scalp, and she whimpers, high up in her throat, digging her nails into his arm.

He moves, and bumps into a button in between the seats, and it makes a loud, electronic sound, and he breaks away from her. Her lips are pink, swollen, and eyes blown wide, pupils dilated—

— he did that—

— and she tugs her hands back, pressing them against her chest. “Oh my God,” she whispers, and scrubs a hand over her face. “Sorry, I— didn’t really think that through.”

He clears his throat, and pinches the back of his neck, trying to will his blush away. “It's cool,” he says, nodding. He gets up, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and nervously fiddling with some of his tickets. “I’m gonna just… go get a hotdog, or something.”

“Yeah,” Devi says, nodding, a little absently, “yeah, get your— get your hotdog on.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

“Enjoy it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yep.” 

“Thanks.”

Devi taps her fingernails against the glass top of the prize counter, waiting impatiently for Ben to get out of the restroom, eyeing the rows of stuffed animals. Kissing Ben had been… good, too good, addictive and swirling and far too easy to fall into. 

“Hey, Little D,” says a voice behind her, and Devi starts, spinning around, coming face to face with Paxton—

— her heart does not speed up like it used to, but she barely even notices, too caught up in the look of him to realize—

— and she smiles, leaning against the prize counter. “What's up, Big P?”

“Ugh, the worst nickname,” Paxton says, but laughs regardless, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “But, how are you? I mean, we haven’t— it's been a while.”

“Yeah,” Devi says, rolling down the sleeves of her hoodie, “how— how are you?”

“Good, good,” he says, nodding, “I messed up my shoulder, so I’ve been benched, but other than that… yeah, I’m good.”

“I heard,” Devi says, worrying nervously at the cuff of her sleeve. It had felt like international news when Paxton first tore his rotator cuff, everything, all of a sudden, becoming off kilter and tilted, and Devi had agonized over what to say or do in response to it, but every time Paxton came into her line of sight, all ideas left her, and they existed in steady silence and unsteady smiles. “I wanted to… try to say something, or help, but I didn’t—”

“— know how?” he asks, smiling, with one corner of his mouth— he looks pretty, smiling like that, like he has been carved out of marble— and nodding. “Yeah, no one did.” Devi watches him pinch the skin on his elbow between two fingers—

— just like Ben pinches his neck—

— “It must’ve sucked for you,” Paxton says, “not knowing something.”

Devi frowns, feeling absurdly insulted, but she swallows it, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, sort of.” 

“Um, hey, I wanted to ask,” Paxton starts, then stops, looking out of her range of view. “Oh, speak of the devil,” he whispers, and nods his head.

Devi turns, looking, and, oh—

— Ben, hands in his pockets, looking the exact picture of out of place—

— and Devi waves him over, her mind spinning, trying to decide between playing it cool and playing it up. 

Ben, though, seems to decide for her, slipping an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek, soft—

— the gesture should not make her heart flip, but it does—

— and then looks at Paxton. “Hey, man,” he says, holding his hand out. Paxton claps it, then shakes it once, dropping it, and Devi cringes inwardly. “How’s it going?” 

Ben has noticeably improved at talking to Paxton since their sophomore year, and is able to adopt more of a laid back, dude-bro kind of tone, at odds with his usual high strung academic vocabulary. It almost makes Devi proud, and adds to the strange cocktail of emotions swirling in her brain.

“Good, good,” Paxton says, “just try to get through the rest of the school year til graduation.” 

“I feel you— we’ve still got a year left and I’m already ready for the end of it all,” Ben says, nodding. 

Paxton chuckles. “Yeah, I said that all the time when I was a junior, and people always told me to wait until I was a senior to see how bad it is,” he clicks his tongue, and shakes his head, making that face that always made Devi melt. Ben’s arm squeezes tighter around her waist. “But I feel pretty much the same, so I think everyone was full of shit.” 

“I get it,” Ben says, and nods. There is an uncomfortable stretch of silence that is likely shorter than it feels, and Devi digs a single fingernail into the back of Ben's hand to get him to say something, anything. It works, because he says, “Devi and I have to get going soon— her mom wants her home in an hour, and we still need to hit the grocery store for dinner, so…” 

“Ah, yeah, see you around man,” Paxton says, then turns to Devi, his face noticeably shifting. “Devi… I’ll text you.” 

Her heart flutters. “Okay!” she says, a little too bright, then clears her throat, trying to pull herself together. “Cool, cool.” 

“See ya.”

“Yeah, you too,” Paxton says, and disappears back into the depths of the arcade. 

Devi sags, letting out a nervous breath. “Jesus Christ, that was exhausting,” she says, putting her face in her hands. 

“You have nothing in common with that man,” Ben says, and makes a face that she can just see through her fingers. “Why are you still interested in him?”

“None of your business,” she snaps, refusing to drop her hands and meet his eyes— 

— she does not think about how right he is, because to acknowledge the chance that he is right is to give up on something that has become too big a piece of her identity to drift away from— 

— “just… take me home.”

“Devi, I didn’t—” 

“I told you to take me home, Ben,” she says, unsure of where the anger, the hurt, comes from. 

“Don’t you want an absurd amount of candy and a stuffed dolphin?” he asks, an obvious last ditch attempt to get her to calm down, to apologize to him, and she scoffs. 

“Actually, no,” she says, finally caving and turning to look at him. His face is studiously even, but his eyes give away that he is hurt. “Now take me home, before I get Kamala to do it for you.” 

“Okay,” he says, nodding, and Devi can see a lifetime of sadness behind his gaze, “okay.” 

paxton: u never told me u got w bram 

devi: his names ben 

devi: and i didn’t know i had to

paxton: idk i thought we were friends

devi: yeah 

devi: im sorry

devi: i shouldve told u

paxton: how long has it been 

devi: few weeks. nothing super serious 

paxton: cool cool 

paxton: so besides kissing w nerds what else have u been doin

devi: not much

devi: school mostly. started playing my harp again 

paxton: I didn’t kno u played

paxton: that’s lit tho 

paxton: rebecca plays violin bc genius kids always do and she said harp is rly hard 

devi: it’s not easy but yeah i love it

devi: it’s important to me

paxton: that’s neat

paxton: anything else

devi: not rly. you??

paxton: nah

“This is the driest conversation I’ve ever read in my life,” Eleanor says, frowning dramatically at the screen. “Like, bad wine dry.” 

“Hey, dry wines are really good,” Fabiola says, looking irreparably insulted, “the sweet wines are awful.” 

“Take that back right now before I fucking kill you in Devi’s bedroom,” Eleanor says, her face going dangerously slack, “because I’ll do it, right here, right now.” 

“No, you won’t,” Devi says, interrupting, and taking her phone from Fabiola’s hand. “Just, one of you, tell me how to fix this.” 

“What?” Eleanor asks, furrowing her brow. “I don’t… understand.” 

“Maybe Paxton is just a bad texter,” Fabiola says, “and to be clear, ninety percent of why I’m helping you is because you haven’t given me my screwdriver yet.” 

“I swear to God, shut up about the screwdriver, it’s on order, I will literally show you my Amazon history right now,” Devi says, pointing in the general direction of her laptop. 

“Down with Jeff Bezos!” Eleanor shouts, and Devi groans inwardly when Fabiola nods, interjecting with her own point of view.

“Yeah, yeah, hope he blows up or dies terribly, all that good shit,” Devi says, interrupting, “we have a more personal and solvable problem right now, though.” 

“Is this really solvable?” Eleanor says, cringing, the corners of her mouth turned down. “I mean, have you ever actually liked talking to Paxton?” 

“What? Of course I have—” 

“— Name literally one time where you’ve genuinely enjoyed yourself around Paxton while talking at the same time,” Fabiola demands, cocking her head. “Bonus points if he was fully clothed and you both were sober.” 

“I found out he speaks Japanese,” Devi supplies, racking her brain, “and— oh! One time we played Smash Bros with Rebecca, and it was fantastic. Best day of my life.” 

“The best day of your life was when you beat Ben in the spelling bee because he cheated, don’t lie,” Eleanor says, tsking.

“And that doesn’t count, because it was with another person,” Fabiola adds, and Eleanor nods. “Sans company. Seriously.” 

“Do you even know his middle name?” Eleanor asks, and Devi huffs out an annoyed breath. 

“Bernard?” she guesses, refusing to admit defeat. 

“Nope,” Eleanor says, shaking her head. “Seriously, Devi. You need to reflect on this.” 

“But what if I just don’t instead,” Devi says, sitting down heavily in her desk chair, studying the palms of her hands. “It’s so much easier to just not.”

“Okay, but you don’t really have the option to ignore this,” Eleanor says, voice stern, and Devi groans— in part because she is annoyed, but also because she knows that Eleanor is right— and taps her feet rapidly against her rug. “You got us wrapped into this— Ben wrapped into this.” 

“You need to figure out if this is really what you want,” Fabiola says, gentle, her fingers knotting together in her lap. 

“I know,” Devi says, “I know.” 

devi: my mom wants u to come over for dinner on wednesday 

ben: What time should I be there? I don’t want to be late. 

devi: we aren’t white, so we eat kinda late 

devi: but she’s gonna wanna interrogate you so 

devi: 5:30

ben: Interrogate me? What? 

devi: i think she’s sus that there’s smthn going on with us 

ben: Wow I mean, she’s kinda right? I’m almost impressed with her spidey senses. 

devi: don’t be she has fangs and she will disembowel you she’s a doctor she’ll even put little plastic sheets down

devi: just,, best behaviour

ben: Yeah, because I’m the one that needs to be told to be on his best behaviour. 

ben: I seem to recall a Model UN meeting that ended with someone starting WWIII. And it wasn’t me. 

devi: i thought we agreed to move on from that !

ben: Never.

ben: Am I allowed to touch you? 

devi: in general??

ben: No, at dinner at your house. 

devi: um. just don’t be dumb about it. follow my lead, kay???

ben: Deal. See you at 5:30 on Wednesday. 

devi: IMG.PNG 01 

eleanor: it’s loading

eleanor: better not be a dick pic

fabiola: That isn’t even logical el

eleanor: it’s a constant fear 

fabiola: fair enough 

eleanor: WHOA it just loaded ehat the fuck

devi: HOW DO I HANDLE THIS 

fabiola: Wait hold on that was kind of sexy why is that sexy

eleanor: it WAS sexy

eleanor: does he touch you a lot??

devi: i mean yeah now that im thinking about it he does 

eleanor: oh my god she’s bonding with him

eleanor: fabiola she’s bonding with him

fabiola: God I fucking knew this would go this way

fabiola: Devi I love you but you are a FUCKING idiot 

devi: rude

devi: what do i dooooooo i don’t know

eleanor: don’t be fucking stupid that’s what you do

fabiola: a hard instruction for her, surely

devi: im leaving this gc now

eleanor: i'll just add you back. it’s a vicious cycle vishwakumar 

*devi has left the crisis (group chat)*

“Why do I get the feeling that amma told you to make something that’ll make Ben cry?” Devi asks, watching Kamala chop up onions. Her movements falter. 

“I believe her exact words were I want to see if he has learned anything, and if not, I want to see the boy cry,” Kamala says, turning around, tapping the flat of her knife against the lip of the countertop. “So, you were right. Exactly right, actually. Spot on.” 

“Always am,” Devi says, stealing a piece of bread. “What’re we making? Pav bhaji?” 

“You are good at being right,” Kamala says, nodding. “What time is Benjamin getting here?” 

“Five thirty,” Devi says, and Kamala checks her watch, “but he’ll likely be early— he’s like that.” 

“Does Nalini Auntie know you are dating him?” Kamala asks, and Devi chokes on her bread. Kamala walks around the center island slowly, and pats her on the back, hard, until she can breathe again. “So, no?” she asks, and Devi whirls around, looking at Kamala critically. 

“How did you know?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at Kamala suspiciously. She decides against leaning into the complicated, and plays along, on the off chance Ben touches her. “What kind of sneaky cousin powers did Cal Tech teach you?” 

“Not sneaky, just deductive reasoning,” Kamala says, holding her hands up by her ears, almost like she is surrendering. “I— at Malibu, in the car, it looked like you liked him so I just thought—”

“Oh my God,” Devi says, putting her face in her hands. She smooths her thumbs over her brows. “This is the worst case scenario, except, like, bigger.” 

“It is not bad—”

“You’re not gonna get it,” Devi says, dropping her hands, and looking up at Kamala. She is not mad, not really, but she looks hurt regardless. “Not like, in a bad way, just… it’s hard to explain. And if I could, I would, completely, I— I don’t like not telling you things. Which is crazy, because like, this time last year I’d tell you to go makeout with Prashant instead of talking to me.” 

“I am confused.” 

“Look, it’s— it’s complicated,” Devi says, twisting her fingers, “and, I love you, but it’s… there’s no way for me to read you in on this. Not right now. I would if I could, I promise, cross my heart and everything.”

“Cross your heart?” Kamala repeats, her face wrinkling, and Devi huffs. 

“It’s like— if I’m lying, I’ll die.” 

“Devi!” Kamala says, scolding, “that’s not okay!” 

“It’s figurative— Jesus Christ, Kamala, pull it together,” Devi says, splaying her fingers out in the pockets of her cardigan. “Ben and I are— are dating, okay? I haven't told amma yet, but she probably already knows.” 

“Can I ask just one question?” Kamala says, raising her hand. Devi nods, and prepares herself for a crash course in sex ed. “Have you seen his mark?” 

Devi wrinkles her eyebrows—

— she lives in a household of lucky flukes. Two arranged marriages, amma and appa, Kamala and Prashant, both with matching soulmate marks, stupid in love, miracles on top of miracles— 

— and then there is Devi, the liar and the fraud, pretending to like someone that will never feel that for her— 

— it occurs to her, that maybe, she is barely even pretending anymore, and her head spins—

— under no circumstances are the signatories to show or describe to one another their soulmate marks— 

— and she digs her fingernails into her palms, to steady herself, to pull it together. “Uh, we didn’t— didn’t want that to dictate our… relationship,” Devi says, bold-faced lie, shifting her weight from foot to foot, “so, no. I— we haven’t.” 

“Seri,” Kamala says, and nods, tapping her fingers against her thighs. “Okay. That's okay.” 

“It’s stressing you out, isn't it?” Devi asks, making a face. 

“Does it stress you out?” Kamala asks, and for a moment, Devi almost thinks she will lean forward and hug her. “We— we’re very different people, Devi.” 

“It’s hard to explain,” Devi says, and licks her lips. She considers, for just a moment, breaking the part in the contract she signed that said she— they— would not tell anyone that the relationship is fake, but then the doorbell rings and she snaps out of it. “I— that’s probably Ben, so.”

Kamala nods, and taps Devi’s shoulder, awkward and loving. “Go,” she says, and walks around Devi, moving back to the stove, “before Nalini Auntie has a chance to get to him first.”

“Oh, God,” Devi says, and turns, practically running to the door.

She beats her mom there, and tugs the door open. “Whoa,” she says, looking Ben up and down. He is wearing a button down and pressed dress pants, a bouquet of gladioli in his hands, and a million emotions run through Devi’s head—

— when had she told him her favourite flowers? And why did he bring them? What could that mean?— 

— and she reaches out tentatively, taking the flowers. “Where did you get these?” she asks, trying her hardest not to sound out of breath, despite feeling like she has just run a marathon, all because she looked at him.

“A florist in town,” Ben answers, and comes inside, toeing off his shoes without needing to be told, “it's where my mom goes whenever she hosts an event, or where my dad goes when he needs to apologize to my mom for something.”

“And where you go when you need to woo the family of your fake girlfriend,” Devi whispers, closing the door with one hand, and when he looks up at her, he winks.

“Naturally. I’m pretty sure my mom has, like, a punch card or something,” Ben jokes, fidgeting, his hands in his pockets. 

“Um, I’m gonna go find a vase for these,” Devi says, awkwardly lifting the flowers, “you can wait here and risk being alone with Nalini, or—”

“— I pick or,” Ben says, nodding, and Devi snorts, “I choose life. Your mom is awesome, but honestly, she scares the shit out of me.” 

“Y’know, I’m weirdly glad to hear that,” Devi says, and motions for him to follow her. “Kamala is in the kitchen— we’re making pav bhaji.” 

“How do you eat that? Because the last time I was here, I got made fun of for how I ate dosa for a solid three weeks,” Ben asks, and Devi laughs.

“You ate it like a taco,” Devi says, through a laugh, “a freaking taco.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ben says, waving his hand dismissively.

“Are you talking about when Benjamin ate dosa like a taco?” Kamala asks, looking back from the stove. Devi snorts. 

“I’m always talking about how dumb that moment was,” Devi says, leaning down to rummage through the cabinets for a vase. She finds one, and sets it in the sink, turning on the faucet and moving it to fill up the vase. 

“It wasn't dumb,” Kamala says. Devi looks at her, raising her eyebrows. Kamala blows out a breath. “It was a little dumb. But a… good effort.”

“Thank you, Kamala,” Ben says, “Devi, you’re mean.”

“You love it,” she snaps, playfully, and turns off the faucet, lifting the vase from the sink. She sets the flowers inside of it carefully, then skirts around Ben, setting them on the center of the dining room table. “Congrats, you made the centerpiece.”

Ben is flushed red when Devi turns to look at him, and he reaches up, pinching the back of his neck. It makes Devi want to squeeze his hand. “I-I’m glad,” he says, and smiles, nearly genuine. “Where’s your mom?”

“She’s upstairs, probably figuring out the best place to hide a knife to stab you with,” Devi jokes, and Kamala tuts from her spot at the stove. 

“That is so rude, Devi,” she says, and Devi rolls her eyes.

“You totally thought she was about to murder Steve when we found him in your room,” Devi says, watching Ben’s face morph into a frown of confusion. “I’m still kinda surprised she didnt, actually.”

“Regardless, it is still rude,” Kamal says.

Devi opens her mouth to reply, then sees her mom appear behind Ben's shoulder, and closes it. “What is rude?” Nalini asks, tilting her head to one side.

“Um-- saying that Ben doesn't have a mustache,” Devi says, and Ben shoots her a look that clearly says, Devi, really? 

“I don’t understand why saying something that is true is rude,” Nalini says. Devis face splits into a grin, and she rolls her lips in, smiling at Ben’s insulted expression. 

“It was more the way she said it,” Ben says, and Devi narrows her eyes at him. He smirks. 

Ben turns around, looking at Nalini, and holds his hand out. “How are you, Dr Vishwakumar?” he asks, and Nalini smiles, shaking his hand once.

“I am well,” she says, nodding, “and how are you?”

“I'm good, I’m good.” 

“Good,” she says, and looks at Devi, over Ben’s shoulder. “Kanna, can you show him where to put his jacket, please? I am going to help Kamala finish up dinner.”

“Yeah, no problem.” She grabs Ben by the arm, tugging him back towards the foyer. “Kamala interrogated me,” she whispers, as soon as they are out of earshot of Nalini and Kamala. 

“What do you mean interrogated?” Ben asks, taking his time shrugging off his jacket. “Do you think she, like— she knows?” 

“No, she's a genius, but only in a lab,” Devi says, putting her face in her hands and groaning as quietly as possible. “She asked if I’ve seen your soulmate mark yet.”

Ben makes a noise, one that is impossible for her to describe, and taps against one of her knuckles, softly. “Are you just trying to find a way to see me without my shirt on?” he asks, and Devi snorts, looking at him critically.

“You’re a moron,” she says, rolling her eyes. “No one wants to see you without a shirt. You’re so white, I think the light would reflect off of your chest and kill us all.”

“That implies that my chest is completely flat and hairless,” Ben says, hanging his coat up on an empty peg by the wall, “which is woefully untrue.”

“You dont even have a beard, so the idea that you have chest hair just seems like a stretch. At best,” Devi says, leaning against the wall as Ben reorganizes himself, fixing the cuffs on his button down--

-- he is dressed quite formally, Devi realizes, a blue button down and those stupidly perfect dress pants, and she tries not to linger on what that implies--

-- and looking at her with a somewhat insulted frown on his face. 

“I can grow a beard, Devi,” he says, rolling his eyes, “I just shave because I like it better.”

“Uh-huh,” Devi says, pushing off from the wall and grabbing him by the wrist. “C’mon, amma will be getting suspicious and… I think having you alive is starting to grow on me.”

“Knew it.”

“Shush, Gross.”

“So, Benjamin,” Nalini says, fidgeting with her spoon, “what are your college plans?”

“The goal is Yale or Harvard,” Ben says, repeating the same plan that Devi has heard him recite for every first day of school her entire life, “I want to be a lawyer.” 

“Isn't your father a lawyer?” Nalini asks, leaning back in her seat and looking at Ben. Devi can tell that she is about to begin a barrage of questions, and she cringes inwardly. 

“Yes,” Ben answers, taking a sip of his water. So far, he has only turned red, but Devi is sure the back of his neck is sweating. 

“He works hard?” 

Ben makes a face, and Devi resists the urge to kick her mom from under the table— 

— Devi had not exactly been explicit in describing Howard and Vivian’s parenting choices, but there had been a moment when she had described the calendar in Howard’s office— 

— it was just all travel dates, amma, and none of it had any of Ben’s school events written on it. I don’t think they stay for dinner— 

— that made Devi assume her mother knew better, but apparently not—

— and instead, she swallows her unwarranted feeling of insult and tears a piece off of her bread roll with a viciousness she was not prepared for. 

“I— yes, he works very hard,” Ben says, measured, the tone he always uses when he talks to adults, “he represents a lot of celebrities, so he doesn’t have a different option for work ethic.” 

“I see,” Nalini says, nodding. “Are you dating my daughter?” 

Devi chokes, and Kamala squeaks, patting Devi on the back— again— and when Nalini looks at her, she tries her best to School her expression. 

“Wrong pipe,” Devi explains, then locks eyes with Ben. For his part, he has remained mostly neutral, his expression studiously even. She shakes her head, and hopes he understands. 

“I’m not dating her,” Ben says, and Devi lets out a nervous breath, “we just— we’re friends.” 

“Mmhmm,” Nalini says, and taps her fingernails against the table, “regardless, I am glad that you are friends. Having enemies is a bad look, Devi.” 

“Only a bad look for Ben,” Devi says, on impulse. 

“Be nice.” 

“Only on weekends,” Devi says, and Nalini gives her a look, but lets it go. “How was work, amma?” 

Nalini answers, and Devi lets herself feel normal, and barely— 

— barely— 

— notices the butterflies that Ben’s eyes on her send through her stomach and up her chest. Instead, she focuses on Kamala’s laugh and Ben’s coughing when he eats a particularly spicy bite, only wishing for a moment that every dinner could be like this.

“God, I thought she was gonna disembowel me,” Ben says, soapy hands scrubbing at the dishes in the sink. “I really thought I was dead there. Like, for real dead.” 

“Eh, not with witnesses,” Devi says, smiling, “just make sure you’re never alone with her, and you will be fine.” 

“Good to know,” Ben says, setting his dish on the towel Nalini had laid out. Devi picks it up, smoothing the dish cloth over it until it is dry enough to catch a distorted version of her reflection staring back at her. “Thank you for having me.” 

“You should be thanking Nalini,” Devi says, turning around to set the plate inside the cabinet, “she’s the one who made me invite you.” 

“I will,” Ben says, and turns to look at her, “it would just be impolite to not thank my fake girlfriend, yeah?” 

For some reason, the fake stings at her heart. “Damn straight, Gross,” she says, instead of trying to dissect her feelings about it, “I am a delight of a host.” 

“Where was Kamala’s boyfriend, by the way?” Ben asks, pulling his hands from the sink and depositing a handful of silverware on the towel for her to dry. “I thought for sure I’d be spending the night hearing about and from hot Prashant.” 

“It’s weird when you call him that,” Devi says, making a face. “He was busy, something about engineering and robots and a lizard-like creature attacking Tokyo and needing to engineer robots to fight the lizard creature. I don’t know, I’m not an engineer.” 

“Got it,” Ben says, nodding, and pulling the plug on the sink. The water starts to drain, and he rinses his hands off, flicking water from them. “Did you like your flowers?” he asks, after a long stretch of silence. 

Devi drops the last of the spoons in the silverware drawer, and nervously taps her fingers against the lip of the counter. “I thought they were for, like, the house?” 

Ben flushes red. “No, they— I got them for you,” he says, and reaches up to pinch his neck. 

On instinct, she swats his hand, and he drops it back to his side. “Doesn't that hurt?” she asks, biting her bottom lip in between her teeth. 

“Doesn't that?” he asks, inclining his head towards her mouth. She lets her lip go. 

“I asked first.” 

“I asked second.” 

“You are in sufferable.” 

“I get it from being around you all the time.” 

“You love it, Ben.” 

“And you don’t?” he asks, and she falters, her eyes dropping to his lips, and before she can even think about thinking it through, she is kissing him. 

His hands are still wet when they press against her jaw, the chill of them shocking her, and she gasps into his mouth. He walks her backwards, pinning her against the counter, and she digs her fingernails into his shoulders, kissing him harder, trying to get him to tilt the way she wants him to. 

She considers trying to hop up, to kiss on the counter and wrap her legs around his waist, but she knows that the logistics will be too complicated, and it does not matter anymore when Ben smooths his palm over the bare skin across her stomach and up the side of her ribs. 

“Ben,” she whispers, when he pulls away from her, ducking his head and— oh, he is kissing her neck, lips and teeth intent, and she lets her eyes slip closed. “Okay.” 

“Do you like that?” he asks, against her skin, and whether it is the worth of his breath or the content of his words that sends a zip up her spine, she does not know. 

“Yeah,” she says, and when his teeth scrape against her jawline, it is both heavenly and hellish. “Wait,” she whispers, and he stops, letting her push him away gently. “We can’t— not— no, my kitchen— Kamala and amma—” 

“Right, yeah, Kamala and a— Dr Vishwakumar.” 

Devi makes a face. “You almost called her amma,” she says, affronted. 

“My brain isn’t exactly on right now,” he says, and looks at her lips, pointedly, “at least, not the right parts.” 

“Uh huh,” Devi says, and takes the chance to look him over. His hair is missed and lips swollen, the precise angles of her clothing wrinkled, and Devi cringes. “Oh, this is bad.” 

“It can’t be that bad,” Ben says, then looks down at himself. “Oh, shit.” 

“I don’t—” 

“— you’re a harlot,” he says, joking in his tone. She slugs him in the shoulder regardless. 

“If you want to survive,” Devi says, “then you’ll do what I tell you.” 

Ben rolls his eyes, but listens, and Devi tries not to linger too long on how much his trust in her has grown. How much things have changed. How good it all feels— 

— everything good is temporary, and this is no exception— 

— so instead, she watches as Ben artfully splashes water on his pants, and laughs like there is no expiration date to worry about. 

*devi has been added to the crisis (group chat)* 

devi: god ben is too good to me

eleanor: i agree with you. tell him you like him

devi: i don’t know if i like. if i ~like~ him or just like him

fabiola: How do you not know?? If you wanna kiss him and be around him and talk to him all the time then you like him it is literally not that hard 

devi: yes it is!! i made it hard because i made it fake 

eleanor: yeah, then you can make it real 

devi: what if our soulmate marks don’t match?? 

fabiola: My parents don’t and theyre happy

fabiola: It’s not unheard of

fabiola: And honestly you should just worry about that later Devi 

eleanor: seconded

devi: fine. pray for me

eleanor: ew no 

fabiola: Will do

fabiola: El you’re a bad friend

eleanor: no im just instituting boundaries

fabiola: Whatever helps you sleep at night 

“Hey,” she says, ducking under his arm when he holds his front door open for her. She falters in his foyer, blinking. “When did you get a Peloton?” 

“I don’t know,” Ben says, shrugging, and walking into his kitchen, “came downstairs one day, and it was just here.” 

“Interesting,” Devi says, and turns away from the Peloton, looking at him, “anyway, we need to…” 

She trails off, staring at the sliver of skin between his jeans and his t-shirt, the sliver of skin where his soulmate mark is visible— 

— under no circumstances are the signatories to show or describe to one another their soulmate marks— 

— it is identical to hers, angles and dots, and, oh, God— 

— and should a mark be shown, the signatories agree to the immediate termination of their arrangement—

— she thinks she may pass out, looking at him—  

— and the acknowledgement to never speak of this or to each other again—

— and there is not a chance he will want her now, not when she has used him, not when she has hurt him, not when she has enlisted him to get another guy to want her— 

— a guy she does not even want anymore— 

— and she covers her mouth with both hands. 

“We need to what?” Ben asks, setting two mugs down on the kitchen counter, turning to face her. 

“We,” she starts, and makes a split second decision, one she cannot give herself any space to regret, “we need to stop this. The dating thing.” 

Ben’s brow furrows. “What?” 

“It’s not working, and I— I thought about it a lot and I don’t want to trick Paxton,” she says, digging her fingernails into her palms, “not anymore. It isn’t fair.” 

“Devi, I don’t understand—” 

“You— you don’t have to understand,” she says, trying not to cry, trying to summon every scrap of strength within her, even coping mechanism she ever used after her father died—

— this is different sun a death, though, because Ben is right there, but she can never reach out towards him— 

— to swallow her tears. “We just— it’s done.” 

Ben’s frown slips, and his face falls horribly, painfully even. “So that’s it?” he asks, reaching both hands behind his head. He almost looks like he is trying to make wings, or an angel's halo. “No more this? No more us?”

His use of us hits her directly in the chest, and she chokes the pain down, shouldering it. “There never really was an us,” she says, watching the hurt flicker across Ben’s face, “was there?” 

“I guess not,” he says, and turns out of the kitchen. He skirts around the Peloton, and takes the stairs two at a time. He shouts, “you can find your own way out.” 

She does, and waits until she is out of view of his house to cry. 

ben: MISSED CALL 11:34 AM 

ben: MISSED CALL 12:12 PM 

ben: MISSED CALL 1:55 PM 

ben: MISSED CALL 1:57 PM 

devi: please. 

ben: MISSED CALL 7:29 PM 

ben: MISSED CALL 7:31 PM 

“Oh, Devi,” Kamala says, watching as Devi walks into her room, head hanging low, in the middle of the night. “What happened?” 

“I’m a liar and a fraud and a horrible friend and cousin-slash-sister,” she says, falling forward on Kamala’s bed, her glasses pressing against her cheekbones. “I think I might be the worst person alive.” 

“The worst person alive is Piers Morgan, now sit up, please,” Kamala says, tugging at the sleeve of Devi’s cardigan. She does not sit up, because she has never been one for following instructions, not really, but she does turn her head, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Tell me what happened.” 

“It’s a long story,” Devi says, chewing on her lip, “you might hate me by the end of it.” 

“It is impossible for me to hate you for real,” Kamala says, and scratches softly at Devi’s scalp, “tell me.” 

Devi caves. She tells the whole story: her promise of a screwdriver for Fabiola and the kisses and the contract, the date and kitchen kiss and Peloton machine and the way he says her name, teasing, light on his tongue like an I like you id waiting directly behind it. And when she hesitates, Kamala sees it, and pulls the truth from between Devi’s teeth with a practiced ease that only she can use. 

“Wow,” Kamala says, when Devi falls quiet, the whole story wrung out of her like water. “That is… a lot.” 

“You hate me, don’t you?” Devi asks, screwing her face up in a frown, looking exactly like she is going to cry. Kamala worries her thumb underneath Devi's eye, and her cheekbone, and that of all things soothes her. “Please don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Kamala says, and Devi believes that she means it, “I could never hate you. I told you, I wasn’t lying.” 

“What do I do?” Devi asks, feeling small. Young. Vulnerable. 

“You tell the truth,” Kamala says, easing her hand over Devi’s flyaways. “You did not even give Ben a chance.”

“I’ve known him my whole life,” Devi argues, scratching her fingernails against Kamala’s comforter, “I know he— he isn’t gonna forgive me.” 

“Wait, what?” Kamala asks, furrowing her brow. “Yennaku puriyale.” 

“I roped my freaking soulmate into a fake dating scheme to get another person to like me and I— I don’t even like the other person anymore,” Devi says, rolling over to lie flat on her back. “He’s not gonna want me. He’s not gonna forgive me for that.” 

“You both did that, though,” Kamala says, “it isn’t like you tricked him into it— he agreed.”

“But—” 

“Eh! No buts!” Kamala says, and pokes Devi in the side. Devi yelps, and sits up, looking at Kamala through slitted eyes. “You’d do him a disservice to not tell him.” 

“The only way he’d want me is if I told him about our soulmate marks,” Devi says, sticking out her bottom lip, studying her hands. 

“So do not tell him,” Kamala says, shrugging. 

Devi’s mind turns. “Explain.” 

“Tell him you like him for real, and see what he says. If no, then maybe don’t bring up the mark. If yes, tell him.” 

“That’s almost evil,” Devi says, frowning, “I don’t— I can’t lie to him.” 

“Then tell him regardless,” Kamala says, “if you really can’t lie.” 

Devi falls quiet, and so does Kamala, picking at her fingernails. It was the first thing about her that Devi had realized was imperfect— her ragged cuticles, uneven nails— and it was the crack that made Devi realize she can relate to her. 

“Can I sleep in here?” Devi asks, her voice hushed, and Kamala makes a soft noise in the back of her throat. 

“Of course, Devi,” she says, and lays her head on Devi’s shoulder. Devi breathes her in— she smells like roses and jasmine oodhebathi, so specific to her— and sighs. “Do you want to watch Kuch Kuch Hota Hai? I know it is your be happy movie.” 

“Because it’s ridiculous,” Devi answers, and Kamala snorts. 

“You have to speak kindly of Kajol,” Kamala says, squeezing Devi’s arm, and getting up to grab her laptop from her desk. “Shah Rukh Khan is a different story, though.”

“No one was suggesting being nice to him.”

“Good.” 

devi: can we talk? 

ben: Are you going to drop the news of some insane decision on me and then run away again? 

devi: i 

devi: i can’t promise that i wont 

ben: …

ben: You know that isnt encouraging, right? 

ben: isn’t*

devi: ill be over in ten minutes 

ben: Fine. 

“Your— your Peloton is gone,” Devi says, pointing at the empty space where the Peloton used to be, “where’d it… how do you hide a Peloton?” 

“Apparently my dad is adding a basement,” Ben says, “but it’s California, so, can’t wait for that to not work out for him.”

“Yeah, that’s a bad plan,” Devi says, and inhales, twisting her fingers together. “I—”

“Why are you here, Devi?” Ben asks, his voice sounding weak, wrung out. He is still wearing his pajama shorts, and it makes Devi feel impossibly sad and boils up a need inside of her to take care of him. 

“I-I like you,” she says, and he furrows his brow, so she closes her eyes, “I like you, and your face, and— you’re the only person in the world who corrects grammar in a text to add a piece of punctuation and it’s ridiculous but I like you so much, so much it hurts just a little.”

“Oh, my God,” Ben says, and then she feels his hands pressing into her hips, and he is kissing her, hard, breathless, his hands gripping at her desperately and she tugs on his hair without really thinking it through. 

He groans, pulling her tighter, and tugging at her bottom lip with his teeth. “Devi,” he whispers, kissing her lips, “are you serious?” 

“Yes,” she says, and digs her fingernails into his arms, “I have to tell you something, and— oh, my God— you’ve got to stop kissing me, for-for just a second.” 

“I don’t ever want to stop kissing you,” he says, scraping his teeth along the muscle in her neck, and she honest-to-God moans. 

“It’s important,” she says, and grabs him around the arms, pushing him back, “just listen.” 

“If you say psych, I’ll drown myself.” 

“I’m not gonna say sike,” she says, and tugs her hoodie off. She had found one of the tshirts she had cut into crop tops the summer before her freshman year, and it is a little tight in the shoulders, but she does not mind. She turns around, and takes a deep breath. “Look,” she whispers. 

“What?” he says, his voice confused, and she reaches around, brushing her fingertips over the top of her soulmate mark. 

“Look,” she says again, and she can feel Ben’s eyes on her before his hands touch her. 

“Are— are you serious?” he whispers, and she nods, not trusting herself to speak. “Oh my God,” he says, and then his lips are on the small of her back, over her mark, and she gasps, arching into him. 

He kisses up the line of her spine, lips dragging, and goosebumps covering her skin. When he reaches the hem of her shirt, he lifts it, kissing until her bra strap stops him. 

“Ben,” she whispers, spinning around, and cupping his face with her hands. He is kneeling on the ground, and the sight sends a flutter through her. “Stand up, c’mon.” 

“How long have you known?” he asks, standing up, sinking a hand into her hair. 

“Since the day I freaked out,” she says, grabbing his free hand and kissing it, on the side of his palm. “I thought— I thought that you’d hate me.” 

“I can’t hate you,” he says, smoothing his thumb over her cheekbone, “I don’t— why would I hate you?”

“Because you’re my freaking soulmate and I roped you into a scheme to get someone else to want me,” Devi says, and he laughs, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Why wouldn’t you hate me?”

“Because you had no clue,” Ben says, kissing the other side of her mouth, “I forgive you, if that makes you feel better.” 

“It does,” Devi says, nodding, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders, “anything I can do to turn the I forgive you to I like you?” 

He pretends to think about it, then presses their foreheads together. “You can kiss me more,” he says, “like, for the rest of forever.” 

She laughs, and opens her mouth to answer, but he kisses her before she can. She tilts into it, kissing him as hard as she can, and makes a note to herself to promise to agree to his terms.