Music drifts through the thin walls, faint, but I can hear it. Electric. Moody. Restless.
It could be from anyone but I know it'shim.
Ben's taste. Ben's playlist we used to blast while mindlessly driving at 3 a.m. through neon lights and crisp air with windows open.
I picture him half-naked, hair dripping from the shower, dragging furniture across the floor.
Shutters wide open. No care. No shame.
I tell myself it's nothing.
I tell myself I'm safe.
I tell myself lies.
3
the fallout
Three days before New Year's, Ben and I walked our usual path along the Marina.
The water had that silver winter sheen and we hid inside our hoodies, strings pulled tight.
It was our place, where we used to go running, or sit cross-legged and sketch our ten-year plans, thinking the universe had already stamped them with approval.
We'd been best friends for a little over a year by then—a fact sealed with a pinky swear we still laughed about—but we did most of the things couples do. Spent our free days together, booked last-minute trips whenever we needed an escape, spilled our friends' secrets even though we swore we wouldn't, and knew each other in ways no one else was allowed to. And that's where it ended.
Until that day.
We stopped and sank into the grass, side to side.
Ben leaned closer, his gaze delving deep into mine to the point I felt tunneled and said, "You've got dangerous eyes, you know that? I love how your iris shifts. And your stroma—how the yellow fades into mossy green."
Iris. Stroma. Moss.It was so technical and poetic at the same time that I snorted, unsure whether he was flirting or not.
I opened my mouth to maybe tell him his eyes were dark galaxies compared to mine, if I finally got the courage, but he startled me when his finger grazed above my lip—just a second, but enough to make my breath hitch.
"And your lips," he said, licking his own like he'd been imagining something he shouldn't, "they're cute as hell. That philtrum."
My laugh came out nervous, too high. "Philtrum? What is that? You making up words now?"
"That little dip," he explained, all casual, eyes lingering there. "It's the cutest thing I've seen."
What? Not my beautiful wavy hair. Not my legs I worked hard for. Not my smile that people said was contagious. This?
I gave him a stunned face. "Wow. Thank you. Never thought the moneymaker would be my philtrum, doc."
He smiled before his expression went somewhat serious and he said, "No. Your moneymaker is your butt. Should come with a warning label for distracting my sanity."
I blinked and shoved his shoulder. "Stop that. Right now."
"What?" He scowled, but I could tell he was having a great time. "You wanted me impotent. Now also blind?"
It wasn't the first time he made a comment like that.
There were moments when the tension swelled, when he'd say something flirty, or comment on what I wore, but it was so casual and offhand that I never thought there was any weight behind it.
I rolled my eyes, and then dragged them over him, hungry for somewhere else to put the heat. "You know, you kind of remind me of the David statue."
