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As far as spring break trips go, Tristan is pretty sure this is a great first one to have.
They couldn’t have been happier when Ivy suggested their little group should take advantage of their vacation hours and the students’ open schedules, citing their lack of in-person visits the last couple of weeks and a general need to get away from the studio and work as a whole.
It's been a year since they were all on TV together, since Tristan started trekking their own path. They live at school most of the year, and when they're not there, they've got a room at Ivy’s. It's nice to have someone like that—to have someone and somewhere you can call home. It also meant that they got to watch Zaid and Ivy gravitate towards each other last summer, a witness to the way they started dating tentatively a few months after the show. Once they realized how easy it all was between the two of them, that ‘tentative’ flew out the window. They're rom-com levels of cute, nowadays.
Hannah and Benji’s routines haven't changed much, with the exception of Hannah seeing a girl she met through a coworker for the last few weeks and Benji now having actual friends to send pictures of funny shaped clouds and dumb cat videos to.
Needless to say, everyone is on board. They pick a cute little vacation house to rent for a week and a half over a group call, something tucked away with a small balcony, a reasonably priced fee about a mile from the beach after bickering over parking space for twenty minutes.
Tristan packs up, kisses their dorm room goodbye for the week, and meets Ivy at the entrance where she’s picking them up. Even though it’s only been a week since Tristan saw Ivy specifically, She races into their hug so fast that Tristan almost topples over.
They all make it there in one piece, miraculously, and most of the first day is spent holed up on the property, playing card games on the balcony and getting their fill of each other after being away. Zaid makes dinner and offers to pack some food up at the end of the trip for Tristan, Benji, and Hannah when the three wolf down their first home-cooked meal in ages.
It’s exactly the kind of thing they’ve missed.
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸
The next morning, Ivy enlists Tristan to help her drag everyone out of bed.
“We have to go when the beach is still empty, Tris,” she reasons, and they try not to laugh at the way she’s buttoning Zaid’s shirt for him, the man in question asleep where he stands with his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.
“No, I get it- Makes sense,” they hum, their gaze flitting to where Hannah is perched on the counter, a bowl of cereal balanced upon her pajama-clad lap and a mug of coffee sitting next to her. “Is Benji not up yet?”
“I don’t think so,” Ivy answers, reaching up to smooth Zaid’s hair away from his eyes. “I haven’t gotten to him yet.” Hannah shouts from the kitchen, “She means he hasn’t felt the wrath of her ripping the covers from his body yet.” She sounds like she is speaking from experience, and Tristan shrugs at her with a smile.
They pad bare-footed down the hallway, nudging Benji’s already cracked door open with their shoulder. They creep inside quietly, not wanting to wake him too suddenly as they take a gentle seat on the edge of the bed. Benji’s sleeping on his stomach, his laptop opened on the mattress to the side of his pillow. His hair is mused and the worn fabric of his shirt is wrinkled with slumber. He’s hugging the pillow under his head, clutching onto it boyishly.
“Hey,” they whisper, leaning over him as they splay their hand on the small of his back, thumb rubbing back and forth gently. “Good morning, Big guy.”
He wakes easily—he’s been a light sleeper since their time together on the game. His eyes open blearily, then squeeze shut again right away when the sun streaming in through the window hits his face. He whines, turns his face into his pillow as he comes to consciousness. A muffled ‘Hey, Tris’ is warbled into the pillow, and they laugh a little at the way he groans before he pulls his face from the cotton. He looks soft like this, sleep-rumpled and lit up in the golden light. Their crush on him hasn’t died down much of anything since camp, and they revel in the sight he is in this moment.
“We’re rounding up everyone to get out to the beach early,” they explain, lifting their hand away as Benji rolls over to lay on his stomach, stretching out like a cat. His spine cracks with the movement and he lets out a little noise of content. “Do you wanna come?”
Benji yawns into his palm, nodding lazily into the movement. Tristan smiles down at him. “Nice. Take your time, I’ll let Ivy know you’re up.”
Benji’s out of his room and ready in a little under ten minutes, though is tugged into Hannah’s when she insists she has to take a brush to his hair. They all wake gradually, aided by cups of coffee and empty cans of watermelon Red Bull. Zaid insists on taking another twenty minutes to pack some sandwiches, then has to take another ten making two more when Ivy and Tristan steal one each as a, comparatively, late breakfast.
By the time they get to the beach, it’s a little after ten. It’s not packed, but Ivy complains about how it would’ve been emptier if they’d left earlier. Zaid tells her ‘Well, we’re here now,’ with a fond exasperation. They set up in a comfortable haze, laying down beach blankets and one large, tilted umbrella for them to hide under when the sun grows harsher.
This hiding is exactly what is happening a few hours later, Tristan sitting crisscross under the shade as they dry off after shell-diving with Hannah for a while near the bank. They’re uncapping their water bottle, fumbling with the stubborn screw top when something catches their eye.
“Who’s that?”
Zaid looks up from his spot beside them, His eyes tracking their tilted head to the stranger that’s holding Benji up in conversation over by the shore. “Oh—I’m not sure. I saw him playing volleyball earlier with that big group, I think?” He shrugs.
The stranger says something that makes Benji’s already sun-flushed cheeks burn brighter, and Tristan watches as Benji laughs in a small, sweet way and thumbs at his wrist in a nervous tic that they’ve noticed as recurrent.
It’s not bad nervous, he’s not uncomfortable, clearly. So…
Why is Tristan uncomfortable?
They chew the inside of their cheek, and they’re so occupied with watching the two that they don’t hear Ivy’s return as she snags her towel and sits back down on their blanket, her hair damp and darker with it. She leans over, her chin almost tucked over Tristan’s shoulder. “What are you looking at?” She asks, curious.
They jump, twisting back around to look at her and almost bonking heads with her in the process. “Sorry!” they say, shifting back only a little as a precaution.
Ivy laughs at them and scoots right back into that opened-up space. “You’re fine. What are we looking at?” She repeats, Her gaze going over Tristan’s shoulder, following where they were looking. Her eyes widen a little at whatever she sees, and her smile grows into an almost smirk.
“Ohh, I see. We’re looking at Benji’s gentleman caller and the way he’s cradling that waist like a baby dove.” Her face is cat-like, smug in the knowledge of something Tristan doesn’t know.
They hear the word ‘waist,’ and their head whips around so fast they almost hit Ivy again.
The stranger, sure enough, has a broad arm tucked around the dip of Benji’s waist, casual and loose. Like it belongs there. Tristan watches in abject horror as Benji's smile grows flustered, the boy ducking his head down to hide his expression as the other man leans into his space and whispers something.
“Right, uh,” Tristan blurts distractedly, snagging their sunglasses from their spot on the blanket and standing abruptly. “I’ll be right back.”
They don't quite realize they’re on a sort of warpath over until they’re a few yards away, loose strands of hair slipping from their claw clip and sticking to the back of their neck in the rush. They tuck a bit of their bangs behind their ear as they slink up against Benji’s free side, their hand coming up to curl protectively around the bend of his elbow. “There you are,” they croon, the words only a little forced-sounding in their sudden arrival.
Benji doesn’t so much as jump, and some little lovesick corner of Tristan’s heart purrs at the way he relaxes into their hand, leaning into their side subconsciously. His head turns to meet their words, his smile growing in the way that forces the single dimple he has on the left side of his face out. Tristan wants to kiss it, just a little. Maybe a lot if you ask Ivy or Zaid.
“Tris,” He breathes, like they’re such a relief to see, and they revel in the way the stranger’s arm falls away from his waist. They smile right back at him, syrupy sweet, and allow their gaze to naturally drift to the other man. Their sunglasses mask most of their giveaway, and they plaster something close to indifference across their face. “Who’s this?” they say, impersonal but kind. They want this guy to, respectfully, get lost, but they can't begrudge him his good taste.
The stranger gives a tight smile and nods in courtesy. “Nick,” he says in answer. “Just talking to your friend here about the surf today.” Tristan has to stifle a laugh, because… yeah, totally… Benji looks like a guy who likes talking surf. The guy with the visible Dragon Ball Z logo on his swim shorts. Definitely.
“Nice, Nice,” they nod, turning back to Benji just a bit dismissively. Part of them feels a little bad, they’re being rude as hell, but then they meet Benji’s eyes again, see his sunburnt nose and the way his glasses are sliding down the bridge of them, and decides they actually don’t care that much. There’s gotta be some law out there against being this goddamn cute on a regular basis.
“Well,” they start, “I hate to steal you away, but I think Zaid wanted to go grab some drinks with everyone.”
It’s a lie, of course. Zaid hasn’t said anything of the sort, has been vehemently avoiding the concession stand near the pier’s edge while insisting that he can pack them food ten times better than anything they have for ten dollars more than they should over there. ‘Roller hotdogs,’ he recalls with a shudder. ‘Evil shit.’
“Oh,” Benji chirps, adjusting his glasses. “Yeah, okay,” He agrees, turning back to the stranger. “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta-“ The man doesn’t let him finish, waving a hand. “Yeah, you’re fine. Have fun, and-“ he digs around the pocket of his swim trunks, and pulls out a sharpie of all things. Tristan watches him take Benji’s free arm gently (as he should,) scribbling something in the empty space just above his wrist.
“Shoot me a text later if you're looking for a little more of a rager,” He hums, looking back up at Benji through his dark brows. “Or anything else I could help you out with.” He says it in such a way that the double meaning is blatant and understandable to even Benji, too straightforward to fly over his head, and Tristan has to fight to keep their building displeasure in check as Benji’s face goes up in flames all over again.
“I- Right, uhm, I’ll…” He stammers, lost for words. The stranger doesn't give him the time to find them, giving him a smile before he turns and leaves, leaving his number inked on Benji’s arm.
If that number ends up “accidentally” smudged off by the end of the day, washed away by saltwater and frequent friendly touches, it’s no one’s business but Tristan’s and Benji’s obliviousness to the fact that it’s gone at all—like it was never that important to begin with.
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸
It’s another two sunny days later when something similar occurs. It’s late, the sun having set ages ago, and Tristan is shuffling into the kitchen for a late-night snack when they spot Benji.
He’s curled up in the corner of the sofa, his laptop trapped between his hunched chest and propped knees as he taps away at the keys, dark swatches of purple painting the thin skin of his under eyes. They push away from the kitchen island as they eat ice cream from the pint, A second spoon in hand, and take up the empty space next to him on the couch. He blinks over at them, the light from his laptop glaring on his glasses.
“When did you get here?” He asks, his tone soft. Tristan shrugs, digging into the pint for another bite as they pass the extra spoon to Benji. “Eh, a few minutes ago. You were in the zone.” Benji sighs and takes the spoon from them with a solemn nod. “What are you doing up? I thought you’d gone to sleep already.” He asks curiously.
“The heavy curse of insomnia,” Tristan hums plainly. Benji makes a little ‘ahh’ noise of understanding, scraping the top of the pint with his spoon as Tristan holds it out to him. “I- Thank you,” he says as he pulls his spoon away with a mouthful of ice cream slathered atop it. “I was wondering. That makes sense. Makes a lot of sense, actually.” He says, muttering the last part to himself.
“Mhm,” they answer around their own bite. They swallow, shifting on the couch to better face him. They’re clad in black boxers, spiderwebs patterned across the cotton, and a loose hoodie simply read “I Heart Horror”, the cheap vinyl print cracking from one wash too many and fading away from the dark fabric. Their socks are a bright lavender in contrast, stolen from Hannah on accident the last time they had one of these trips.
Benji is bundled up in plain maroon sweats, his socks fuzzy and patterned with little bowls of ramen. His crew neck is a generic school insignia, probably bought from his college’s merchandise store on his first day with the coupon they handed out. “What’s keeping you up, Elle Woods?” Tristan asks, snagging Ivy’s throw blanket from across the couch with a stretch. They loop it around their shoulders, the open windows in the kitchen allowing the ocean breeze to billow in.
Benji giggles, turning back to his laptop and pressing a few keys in rapid succession. “Coursework,” he says, sounding so over it that Tristan frowns.
“During spring break?” they wonder aloud. “Yeahhh,” Benji shrugs, “Sort of? Not really, I guess. This is for next quarter, for the week we get back.”
Tristan’s frown only grows. Ivy swears they have some caretaker gene ingrained within them, with the way they feel the need to reach out to everyone around them and to ensure the well-being of their friends via the extra mile. This ‘gene’ must be what prompts them, the way they set the now empty ice cream pint down on the coffee table and scootch closer to him. “Benji, with all due respect dude, it’s like…” they pause, digging around in their hoodie pocket for their phone. “It’s three in the morning. If it’s not even work for this week, why are you keeping yourself up late over it? You look exhausted, man.”
Benji slinks down further into the couch, groaning. “Ugh. I know, I just- I wanted to get one done and I just, kept going, I guess.”
“Welllll,” Tristan says, “Why don’t you go ahead and go to bed then? I’m sure you got plenty done.” Benji frowns at the suggestion, his eyes squinting at the Google Doc tab he’s got open. “I’m just.. kinda in it now. I can get more done.” He says nonchalantly.
Benji has these periods where he gets in a good headspace to get work done—this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, seeing as work does get done, but this headspace usually creeps in near the end of the night or lasts hours, keeps him from eating or being able to step away easily. There are times he’s been caught by Tristan alone or by one of the others while on call, the slight slur of his words too noticeable or the quiet, continuous typing on his keyboard going on for too long. They’ll ask him when he started working, and he’ll be forced to admit that he doesn’t remember how long it’s been.
Tonight, it seems, is one of those times. They hum, nodding slowly as they shift closer. “How about I help you focus since neither of us can sleep anyway?” They murmur. Benji furrows his brows at something on the screen, then looks back to Tristan, gazing up at them through brown lashes. “Whaddya mean?” He asks, just as Tristan reaches up to brush the hair away from his face, painted nails dragging against his scalp gently. Tristan giggles at the near full-body shiver Benji gives, his eyes fluttering shut as Tristan brushes through the small tangles that have accumulated during the day.
“I could play with your hair—help you relax, keep your mind on finishing up.” They suggest. It’s only a half lie, as they know the work will be the furthest thing away once they get Benji where they want him. A teeny lie for the greater good; Benji’s beauty sleep.
His eyes blink open, and he gives Tristan this sleepy, unrestrained look like they’re some miracle. They smile at him as he agrees, helping him to sit on the floor in front of the couch. They perch him on one of the throw pillows, letting one leg act as a barrier to the space while the other sits folded comfortably on the couch. Benji goes back to typing, and Tristan begins combing through the sides. He’s skipped a haircut or two, and the extra length curls at his ears and the nape of his neck.
They part the hair at the left side of his head into three sections and begin folding them over one another. They can hear the ocean outside, waves coming home to the shore quietly. They watch as Benji’s pace slows, becoming more sluggish by the minute. He leans back further into their hands and hums some sweet, content noise.
“What’re you doing tomorrow?” They ask, voice hushed. They don’t have any plans as a group, leaving one day for individual exploration or outings. Tristan hasn’t decided what they’ll be doing yet, honestly. They did spot a fashion museum downtown—that could be fun.
“I have a…” he trails off, blinking his heavy eyes open again once more. “…A, uh, a date,” he murmurs, reaching up to shove his glasses onto the top of his head and rub at his eyes. He says it nonchalantly, his voice sleepy.
Their hands freeze in his hair. They swallow, dark eyes tracking across the winding path they’ve created in the braid woven down the side of Benji’s head. They’re getting pretty good at this.
“Yeah?” They croak, picking up another section to tuck into the piece they’re holding. They clear their throat in a hush, sitting up a little straighter. Benji’s too tired to notice the change in their voice, thankfully.
“Mhm,” Benji answers, his head tipping to the side to rest on Tristan’s thigh. The soft touch of his cheek presses warmth into the cold skin just beyond their knee, and It takes more than they would like to admit to keep from slinking down onto the floor with him.
“Are they… Where did you, uh, meet them?” They whisper.
“Do you remember that giant gift shop Hannah found the other day?”
“Oh, yeah- the one with the giant plastic turtle hanging from the ceiling. That place was pretty sick, actually.”
Benji smiles drowsily. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It was cool. Anyway, He came up to me and said he recognized me from high school. He’s here for spring break too, I guess.”
Tristan thumbs down the back of his neck, pressing the loose curl there flat to the warm skin. He’s got a freckle there, just above the notch in his spine. They pet over it once, watching goosebumps break out along his nape. “He nice?” They ask, letting their other leg come down, boxing Benji’s shoulders in at the sides.
“I think so,” Benji sighs. “He didn’t really talk to me in high school, so I’m not sure. Seemed it though.”
They frown a little bit at that, shimmying a hair tie from their wrist to tie off the little braid. They tuck a gentle hand under his chin, tipping his head back to look at them. “Let me know how it goes, kay?”
Benji smiles, sweet in a sleepy haze, and says “Of course.”
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸
The date sucks, from what Tristan hears.
They're over the moon about it in some selfish, self-preserving way.
>imessage
ace attorney 🤓
—————————————
date was a dud
૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა
oh no :( i’m sorry man
what happened?
debrief when i’m home ?
*elvira_cheering_and_shouting_yeah.gif*
—————————————
The guy was a dick, is what happened.
Benji gets home late, and when Tristan spots the wetness drying under his eyes, they feel kinda awful for praying on the downfall of it all.
They both take blankets out on the balcony of the rental and sit under ocean night skies as Benji tells them about the disaster the date had become. He’d told Benji how much of a “glow-up” he’d had since then, which only serves to make Tristan’s jaw clench—Benji’s beautiful now, physically and otherwise, and they’re sure he was beautiful then too. The ‘maybe you just didn’t take the time to get to know him,’ sits heavy in the back of their throat, words saved for a jerk who will never hear them.
They remember hushed whispers at camp and meetups after, Benji quiet in their close quarters as he admits he’s never really fit in anywhere until now. He says he’s not sure he’s doing it right, that he’s been trying to talk less so he stops saying the wrong thing or annoying the people around him. He’s trying so hard, he says, but he’s not sure why he is the way he is.
Tristan had told him they were happy he was there with them- That yeah, maybe they can practice the accidental innuendos to prevent people from getting uncomfortable, but aside from that, he’s got nothing to change. That point still stands.
When the guy had realized Benji hadn't changed as much as he had originally thought, he’d been blatant and uncaring in telling him as much.
Benji deserves better—Tristan just wishes he would realize that they could offer some version of that better.
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸
It all comes to a head during the third-to-last day of their trip. Zaid has picked up on the growing tension, and as a result, Ivy is aware as well. Package pair and all.
They’ve been trying to subtly nudge them together, sending them off on errands alone together or suggesting Benji help Tristan with their sunscreen (He does this happily, and Tristan nearly glares a hole into the side of Ivy’s head while trying to sit casually through Benji’s hands rubbing sun-lotion into their shoulders.)
“I don't get why you can't just… tell him,” Zaid protests, scribbling a coastal recipe he'd learned down in the little notebook he'd brought. “I say this with love, but Benji isn't the most aware person in the world. We all know this—he’s not gonna clock that you’re into him unless you smack him in the face with it.”
Tristan flicks a fallen petal from the vase in the middle of the kitchen island at him and grins at the way he squawks and swats at it. “I’m fine with keeping it that way, dude. He’s… what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. He’s not into me.” They shrug.
Zaid looks up at them, the most ‘are you fucking serious’ expression Tristan has ever seen plastered over his features. “He joked about kissing you like eight times when we got drinks the other night. Maybe nine.” He says pointedly.
“Exactly,” they argue, “when he was tipsy, and in the safety of the house with his friends that he knows he can make those jokes with. Not serious shit, man. He’s drank like, six times his entire life.” Zaid blinks at them, then takes a deep, wrenched breath as he shakes his head and turns his back to them. He stirs the pot he’s got boiling on the stove, adds a dash of some reddish-spice. “You guys were made for each other, I’m so serious,” he says with a laugh.
He’s cut off by the front door opening, the grind of sandy flip-flops against the welcome mat familiar by now. Ivy, Hannah, and Benji pour in with a flurry of produce and sunburns. Ivy gives Zaid a knowing look as he peers over his shoulder at her, biting his lip to stifle a smile as he turns back to dinner. Her gaze suddenly flicks over to Tristan, sitting on one of the barstools and sipping at a Capri-sun. They suddenly feel a little in danger.
“Benji is just having a week, isn’t he, Tris?” she says with a snicker. They raise a brow, chewing on their straw. “What do you mean?” they ask. Benji groans and sets the grocery bags he’s carrying down on the island. “Oh my god, Ivy,” He whines, sounding embarrassed.
“This girl at the grocery store was telling him how much she loves a nerdy guy, how geeks are totally her type, and giving him all these restaurant recommendations since ‘you’re obviously not from around here, sweetheart,’ and Benji’s just, like, nodding. He swears to god she was not flirting, but he’s a dumbass, so what’s new,” she sighs, her smile growing as Tristan nearly bites a third hole in the plastic of their straw with their canine.
“That’s nice,” they say, the words strained, twisted in their throat. Benji looks at them then, getting this look in his eyes that Tristan has never seen before. It makes their breath catch in their throat—does he know? But then, the look is gone before Tristan can decipher it, and He’s giving them a half-shrug as he turns back to the groceries.
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸
Their mood had soured after hearing about the girl at the grocery store. Dinner helps, good company and good food lifting their spirits a bit, even if they only finish about half of their plate. They don't quite understand why they're so upset over something that, objectively, does not affect them in the slightest. If Benji finds someone he likes… What business of theirs is that?
Everyone else is out for the night, trying out the mini-amusement park on the pier. Usually, they'd be with them, but tonight, they just feel… sick. They're in the pool in the backyard of the vacation house, sitting by the stairs with the water up to their ribs. They hadn't felt like fiddling with their swim binder just to swim alone, so they're in a thick t-shirt with some old band on the front and their swim shorts. They’ve got their head tipped back, and they’re not sure how long they’ve just been staring up at the sky when they feel the surface of the water ripple and hear the accompanying splash.
“Benji? I thought you were at the pier,” they murmur, sitting up a little straighter. Benji’s sitting at the edge of the pool, clad in sweatshorts and the same crew neck from the other night. He’s got his feet in, the water lapping at the curve of his calves as it settles.
Benji sighs into the moment of quiet, glancing over at them with an unreadable expression. "I didn’t feel like going," he mutters, almost apologetically. He shifts a little, dipping his feet deeper into the pool. "I think I’m just kind of… out of it."They nod quietly, searching his face. Did something happen?
“That happens to everyone sometimes,” they assure him. “Sometimes a weird headspace just.. shows up uninvited.”
Benji hums in agreement, fidgeting with the drawstrings on his shorts. He opens his mouth to speak, then seems to think better of it and closes it again. It takes a minute or two before it parts on actual words. "Do you ever get the feeling like you’re supposed to be doing something? Like, you know what you want but just… can’t get there?"
Tristan looks at him, trying to decipher the shift in his tone. "Like… what?" they ask cautiously.
glances at them, his eyes flicking away almost instantly. "I don’t know. Just… I’ve been thinking a lot lately." His voice trails off, and he hesitates before speaking again. "About, uh… dating. Or, like, trying to."
Tristan’s breath catches in their throat, their pulse quickening in a way they wish it wouldn’t. “What do you mean?” they manage to ask, voice low.
“I mean…” He pauses, groaning and tucking his head into the space between his knees. “I think I need to try. I want to be with someone, I want to know someone in that way, but I guess I’m just… I’m not putting in any effort. I need to try to be better, to be the kind of person people would want to date. I don’t… I don’t want to be alone, Tris.” His voice gets tight at the end, and he wipes at his eyes hurriedly. “I don’t want to be this way forever.”
“What?” Tristan asks, sounding punched-out and breathless. “You- What the fuck are you talking about? You don't need to change anything about yourself, Benji. That's bullshit. Who told you that?” Something protective flares up at the tips of their fingers and they reach out, pulling Benji’s arm away from his face.
“I- No one told me that, Tris. I just—That date the other night, it just solidified some things I don’t think I wanted to admit I knew were true-“
“Because they’re not,” Tristan interrupts firmly, ducking their head down to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to- You shouldn’t have to put effort into being someone you’re not for people to treat you good. That’s not love, Benji, that’s so not okay. You know that I know what I’m talking about with this. That’s not a life.”
Benji looks like he wants to argue—like Tristan will understand eventually, some far-off day, and see whatever his parents see in him rather than what they see now. That won’t do.
They gnaw at their lip, eyes darting down to look for any phone-shaped lumps in his pockets. When their search reveals none, they take a risk.
They drag Benji into the pool with them, clothes and all, and he goes in a flurry of flailing limbs and surprised shrieks. They take a single step back, watching as he comes back up.
“Tris!” Benji laughs, sputtering as he comes up to the surface, dripping wet and blinking at them in surprise. “What the hell?” He looks like a wet dog, the way his soaked crewneck swallows him up, and Tristan laughs at him, backing up further into the water to avoid retaliation.
They’re shaking their head, trying to ignore the flush of embarrassment spreading across their cheeks. “You needed a distraction,” they mutter, the rush of adrenaline making their heart beat faster. “And I definitely needed to do something before I went crazy just sitting here listening to you bad mouth my best friend.”
He’s staring at them incredulously, a shocked smile on his face. “You’re the worst,” he laughs, wiping uselessly at his glasses with his wet sleeve. “Ah, yes,” they croon. “Evil, dastardly me. Woe is you.”
They swim back over, watching as Benji fishes a wet wad of paper from his pocket and tosses it onto the titled rim of the pool.
When they’re at his side, they speak up again. “I hope you know that I was being serious though,” they tell him. His smile falls only slightly.
Benji looks at them, his expression shifting from amusement to something more vulnerable. "I know you were," he says softly. "I just… I don’t know, Tris. I’m just not sure about anything lately. Bout’ school, about myself. I don’t know, and I… I feel like I should know by now, right?”
“Dude, I don’t think anybody ever really knows. Everyone is figuring shit out as they go in some way or another. You just need to give yourself a little more grace in the process.”
They press closer to his side, their hair dripping down their back. “You shouldn’t feel put on a schedule by love or the possibility of it, and you shouldn’t be settling for people who won’t love you as is.” The advice, coming from them, is ironic.
“You’re amazing, man. You’re smart, even if you don’t see that. I mean, struggling or not, you got into Law school. That shit is hard. You’re the funniest person I’ve ever met, don’t look at me like that, I’m dead serious. You’re sweet and you’re well-intentioned and you’re real,” They insist, a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“And you don’t deserve to be loved in a way that feels like an exception or something to be taken away when you slip out of the mold you’ve set up for yourself.”
Benji is quiet, staring at them for a long beat. He doesn't pull away, but there’s a softness in his eyes that makes Tristan's heart ache in a way they can't put into words.
“I just don’t want to be alone,” Benji says again, voice quieter this time. “I feel like I’m missing something everyone else seems to know sometimes.”
Tristan sighs, running a hand through their wet hair as they gather their thoughts. It’s a moment of calm, but there’s a heaviness to the air now, a tension that feels like it’s been building since they first started talking. They can’t shake the weight of what’s been growing inside them with every wandering hand a stranger lays on Benji, with every phone number scribbled on his skin. It’s like all the words they’ve never said are suddenly rushing to the surface, desperate to be heard. They need Benji to understand.
Benji’s admittances about wanting to be loved, about wanting something real and the fact that it’s not something he thinks he can have when being himself, rip something open in their throat. They feels a flicker of something—something more intimate than friendship, something they’ve always been afraid to name. They stare at the water, watching the ripples stretch out, unable to look Benji in the eye.
"Benji," they begin, their voice a little shaky, their chest tight. "I think... I think I’m in love with you."
The words tumble out before they can stop them, rushing like a flood. Tristan feels their throat tighten, and their heart skips a beat as they glance up at him, waiting for a reaction, for anything. It’s sudden, maybe too much so. He’s opening up to them, he’s vulnerable, and they’re making it about them-
Benji’s face freezes, the water splashing gently around him as he turns to look at them. His expression is a mixture of shock, confusion, and something else—something unreadable, and it makes Tristan’s stomach flip. They wish they could take it back, but it's too late.
“I—what?” Benji stammers, blinking as though he hasn’t quite processed what they just said. “What did you say?” He sounds almost hopeful, something glimmering in his eyes, and there’s no turning back now.
“I'm in love with you.”
It comes out of them in a slew, and once they start, they can't stop.
“I had a crush on you at camp, since that stupid crow’s nest, maybe, I don't know,” they hurry.
Benji’s staring at them, looking starstruck, and he says something just quiet enough that Tristan can’t make it out. “What?” they croak, their heart thundering against their ribcage.
“Can I kiss you?” Benji whispers. The floodgates open.
“Please,” Tristan begs, tugging him closer.
His hair is wet, sticking to his forehead at funny angles—there are water droplets spattered across his glasses, and his crewneck looks heavy all soaking wet. It’s ridiculous—
—and he's the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.
His hand comes up to their jaw, cradling and nervous, and Tristan surges forward. It’s uncoordinated, their hair tangled around his wet hands and his glasses pressing uncomfortably into the bridge of their nose. But god, he’s so soft. His mouth, his face, his everything. He tastes like mint toothpaste and happy things to come.
When they pull back, just an inch or two, they spend a moment breathing in each other’s air. The string lights on the balcony are glittering in Benji’s eyes, wide, darkest of blues threatening to swallow Tristan whole. “I love you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to the corner of Tristan’s mouth. “Love you, love you so much, Tris.”
They feel a little lightheaded, their hand coming up to cup the back of Benji’s head carefully as he presses kisses to their damp face. “I- God, you have no idea, Benji, all those people this week,” they murmur, gently pushing Benji’s face back a bit as they move to look him in the eye. They lift his glasses, leaving them to rest on the top of his head, and lean forward to kiss him again. This time, it’s careful, chaste and tender.
“I don’t want you to be with anyone else,” they mumble against his mouth. “It’s selfish—I know it is, but I want to be the only person who gets you like this. I want to be allowed to kiss you, I want—God, I should’ve practiced what I was gonna say if this ever happened,” They say with a groan, pulling back and letting their forehead thunk against Benji’s shoulder. He laughs at that and tucks some of Tristan’s hair behind their ear. “I’m listening,” he says softly. “I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.”
“Okay,” they breathe. “Thank you.” They look up at him again, thumbing across the tanned skin under his eyes. He’s got deepened dark circles, like he hasn’t been getting enough sleep lately. They’ll take care of that.
“Let’s get inside and talk,” they whisper, their eyes flitting down to his wet clothes. “You can’t be comfortable in those.” They wince, running a hand down the soaked fabric. “I don’t know why I did that. I mean, it worked, but you’re gonna be a mess to get inside.”
Benji laughs at that. “It was a person-specific response. Worked for me,” he shrugs.
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸
Tristan comes stumbling out of their bedroom, hair forced back into a loose knot bun at the back of their head as they fumble with a bobby pin to keep their bangs out of their eyes. It’s later than they usually get up, and they’re surprised no one has come knocking yet.
That surprise fades rapidly when the hallway opens up into the main room, and every head in the room turns to them. Ivy is sitting on the counter as Zaid flips a pancake, and Tristan watches in amusement as he quickly fumbles to turn down the heat.
“Uh, Hi,” they laugh, raising a brow. Hannah smirks at them and cradles her chin in her palms as she leans forward on the kitchen island. “Well hello, Tris. Mind explaining the clothes laid out to dry on the patio?”
Oh. Right.
“Um, I—Benji fell in the pool. He came inside and got changed and then we laid them out to try afterward,” they sputter.
“Right,” Hannah says, looking around exaggeratedly. “So where is he, anyway?”
In their bed, is where Benji is. Nothing happened (aside from a few more kisses,) but they’d talked until they couldn’t keep their eyes open, knees knocking under the covers and giggles shared into pillows. The two had woken up back-to-chest, and as Tristan had fumbled out of bed for breakfast, Benji had fallen right back asleep curled cozily on their pillow.
“Uhm.” They tug at their sleeve nervously, their eyes darting from Hannah to the couple in the kitchen. Ivy gives Zaid this look, and he beams back at her.
“He-“
“He’s in your room, isn’t he?”
“What?! No, That’s- Why would he be— whatttt…” they stammer, turning on their heel to retreat. “I actually have somewhere to be, I just remembered—“
“Tristan Vik, you get back here!” Ivy calls after them. Zaid laughs, watches as his girlfriend hops down from the counter and follows. Hannah raises a brow as if to ask ‘Are you going to go with them?’
He shrugs, shaking his head. “I'll hear about it from one of them. Best to let Benji get scared awake by Ivy’s big-sister threats and listen to Tristan go ‘noooo, no Ivy noooo,’ in that voice they do when they're embarrassed.”
Hannah snickers, stabbing into her pancake. “They’re gonna be cute together,” she hums, and right on cue, the two hear Tristan’s voice coming from down the hall.
“Ivy, nooo!!”