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“I’m so glad I finally got you to come to a party with me,” Bellamy says.
Murphy shrugs, tugging at the sleeve of his sweatshirt. They’re outside on the patio, the sounds of the party pulsing behind them. “Came to see what all the hype was about.”
“It’s fun! Free booze, lots of friends, dancing…”
Murphy snorts. “I don’t dance.”
“Why not?”
“Two left feet,” Mbege supplies. He’s standing next to Murphy, hands in his pockets, and he almost looks like a body guard.
Murphy shoves him. “Fuck off. It’s just not fun.”
Bellamy nudges Murphy and smirks. “You’ve never danced with me.”
At this point Bellamy knows what to say to make Murphy blush, but it never stops making his heart race to see the splash of color rise onto pale cheeks. Murphy recovers quickly and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? That confident in your dancing skills?”
“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Bellamy grins.
“All right, I guess I’ll give you a chance.” Murphy holds up a finger. “One chance.”
“That’s all I need.”
Murphy laughs. “Whatever, loser. We need to get drunk first.”
Bellamy locates a cooler and passes a can of beer to Murphy. He offers one to Mbege too, but he considers it carefully and shakes his head. “I’m good,” he says.
“Mbege, you can’t convince me to come to a party and then spend the whole night sober,” Murphy complains.
“Fine. Make me an Apocalypse?”
Murphy makes a face. “Here? What if they don’t have all the stuff?”
“I’ve been here before. The kitchen’s loaded.”
Murphy takes another swig of beer. “One Apocalypse, coming right up. Hold my beer,” Murphy says, thrusting it into Bellamy’s hands and disappearing into the house.
“What’s an apocalypse?” Bellamy asks. He feels a bit awkward now. He’s never been alone with Mbege—their only connection is Murphy.
“Drink he invented when we were sixteen. It’s killer. I don’t even know what’s in it, he won’t tell me.”
“Ah,” Bellamy says. “I’ll have to get him to make me one sometime.”
“Maybe,” Mbege says, glancing off into the distance. “So,” he says, his head snapping back to Bellamy. He sounds like he’s trying to sound casual but isn’t quite succeeding. “How’s it going with Murphy?”
Bellamy glances at the two beers in his hand, trying to remember which one is his. He thinks his might be the one in his left hand. “Um. Well?”
Mbege nods, eyes narrow. Bellamy thinks the conversation might be over when Mbege says somewhat abruptly, “What are your plans with him?”
“…Plans?” Bellamy is starting to feel uncomfortable. He sips his beer. “I don’t have any plans. I mean. We’re gonna go to Denny’s on Friday.”
Mbege glares at him. “Do you like him?”
“What? Yeah, I like him.”
It doesn’t seem to be enough for Mbege, who folds his arms across his chest and frowns. “Well, he never shuts up about you. You’re all he talks about. He likes you a lot. Like. A whole fucking lot.”
“Okay,” Bellamy says. “That’s good, I guess.”
This is the wrong thing to say. “You guess?” Mbege bristles, stepping closer, suddenly menacing. “What do you want with him?”
“Hey, man, what’s your problem?”
“Look,” Mbege says, and Bellamy’s never really spent any one-on-one time with the guy, but he’s bigger than he looks when he’s standing so close. “I’ve known Murphy a really long time, all right?”
“Yeah, I know.” Bellamy feels shaky.
“Let me talk for a minute. He’s not—he doesn’t usually date people.”
“He told me—”
“Whatever he told you, he probably lied. He just wants to impress you. Here’s the truth: Murphy’s a fucking mess.”
“He’s—”
“—he’s a mess, Bellamy, just trust me. He’s a mess, and he’s really fucking into you, so if you’re not into him you need to back the fuck off.”
“Dude, what are you talking about?”
“Bellamy, he’s fucking—he’s fucking fragile, okay? He might not act like it, but he is, and I’m not going to let this go any further if you’re going to hurt him.”
Bellamy frowns. “Murphy can handle himself, he doesn’t—he doesn’t need your protection, you know. He’s an adult, he knows what he’s doing.”
Mbege laughs at that. “I love the guy, but he doesn’t know his head from his ass. He needs someone, and if that someone is going to be you, I just have to warn you. He’s my best friend, and if anything happened to him—” Mbege flares his nostrils and lowers his voice. “If you hurt him, Bellamy, I swear to god: I will ruin you.” His eyes are like fire, and Bellamy doesn’t doubt him for a second. Everything feels too real too fast.
But even faced with this furious boy who’s promising to fuck him up if he hurts Murphy, somehow Bellamy doesn’t feel the slightest bit dissuaded. He swallows, holding Mbege’s gaze. “I’m not going to hurt him,” Bellamy says, determined, and as he says it he realizes how much he means it. “I want to be there for him too, like you are. And I… I want to be with him.”
Murphy reappears with Mbege’s drink in a glass tumbler with a lemon wedge stuck on the rim. Mbege steps away from Bellamy casually, turning his attention to Murphy.
“They only had fucking cotton candy vodka,” Murphy says as he hands off the concoction, “so good luck with that, Mbege.”
Mbege squeezes the lemon in and downs the whole thing in three gulps, screwing his face up and wiping his mouth with a grimace. He gives a full-body shudder. “Who buys cotton candy vodka? What asshole thought that was a good idea?”
“Does the trick, though, doesn’t it?” Murphy grins.
Mbege coughs, eyes wide. “Definitely does the trick.”
Murphy glances at Bellamy, who must still look slightly in shock, because he asks, “You all right?”
Mbege gives Bellamy a look out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah. I’m… great, Murph.”
“Good,” Murphy says. “You still owe me a dance.”
Bellamy follows Murphy into the house, the music flooding into his ears. He grabs Murphy’s hand before they go any further. “Murphy,” he says. “I really like you. I think we should, um. I think we should be official.”
“What?” Murphy yells. “I can’t hear you.”
“I REALLY LIKE YOU!” Bellamy says, louder, and this time he feels the blush on his cheeks. “I THINK WE SHOULD DATE!”
Murphy beams at that. “Good. Me too.” He squeezes Bellamy’s hand, and together, amidst the lights and the bass and the buzz of the party, they cross the threshold.