Fic: Two Hearts Are Better than One (1/4)
Title: Two Hearts Are Better than One (1/4)
Pairing/characters: Ben/Leslie with a generous helping of Chris
Word Count: 2600
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Post-Jerry's Painting
Summary: Chris decides to interfere in Ben's love life.
A/n: This is my first trope bingo fill for the trope "playing Cyrano." It was originally supposed to be a one-shot, and instead I'm breaking it into parts. Because why fill one trope in one fic when you can fill one trope in four parts instead? Immense thanks to stillscape, who read over this for me and offered some great suggestions, and also to shornt, who convinced me not to give up on this fic. You're both wonderful.
Sitting in a bar on a Friday night, nursing his third beer in a little over an hour, Ben Wyatt is certain of three things:
He still doesn’t know how Chris talked him into going out tonight.
He absolutely shouldn’t have agreed to this.
And Leslie is somehow both keeping him sane and making him crazy at the same time.
That last one might not be so much a point of interest at this present moment as it is a fact about his everyday life.
Chris is in the bathroom (for the fifth time since they got here), giving Ben the chance to surreptitiously check his text messages (for the eighth or ninth time since they got here). He’s turning into one of those people unable to put his phone away for the evening, a fact which would bother him more if he wasn’t completely infatuated with the person he’s been texting all evening.
(Not to mention it’s a lot more fun to text to Leslie than it is to spend the night silently pretending he doesn’t resent Chris.)
I saw your picture on Chris’ facebook update. You look miserable. :(
Okay. So he has the silent part down. Apparently he has to work on the pretending.
Too bad you can’t be at girl’s night out instead. Ann and I are having a great time!!!
See?
The picture message that follows looks as forcibly taken as the one Chris took of them a few minutes ago (and apparently posted on Facebook-good lord). Leslie has her arm wrapped tightly around Ann’s neck, seemingly dragging her into frame, and while she’s grinning hugely, Ann looks bewildered. And still, he can’t deny that it looks like they’re having more fun. Not that it’s surprising. Presumably Ann has no issues with who Leslie does or doesn’t date. Presumably Ann only cares that she’s happy. And following that logic, presumably Leslie isn’t harboring any secret bitterness that her friend is cheating her out of something wonderful.
Ben shakes his head, eyes flitting over the picture of Leslie’s slightly flushed face before he starts to type a reply. There’s a reason he’s been avoiding Chris outside of work for the past couple of months, and it has everything to do with thoughts like that. Unfair as it may be, Chris has become the unintended target of every bit of Ben’s negative frustration about not being with Leslie, and decreasing their time together seems like the best way to avoid an unwarranted confrontation.
(Except now he’s here, harangued into a night out with Chris, who insists they haven’t hung out enough lately.
And as a certain photograph can prove, it’s going about as well as can be expected.)
Ben hesitates for a moment and then deletes his reply. “I wish I was there too” is too maudlin, even for him.
Looks like fun!
Leslie, who obviously isn’t weighing her every response like he is, replies immediately.
What’s wrong anyway? Is Chris making you eat salad?
Or did he make you sign up for a triathlon?
Did he force you to dance?
How do you force someone to dance?
I’ve only seen you dance once, and it looked pretty forced to me. :)
“Ben Wyatt!”
Ben lifts his head, so startled he nearly throws his phone across the bar in an innate attempt to hide the evidence from Chris.
(Not that there is evidence of anything. Like the fact that he’s been texting Leslie all night. Or flirting with her. Or fighting the blatant desire to kiss her for weeks now.)
In his panic, Ben takes a moment to register the look on Chris’ face. The Cheshire cat grin and amused eyes-neither unusual for Chris, but definitely out of the norm when directed at Ben. It makes him feel as though Leslie’s text messages are tattooed across his forehead for everyone to see, and without thinking, he rubs his hand across his face. “Hey Chris,” he says, trying for casual and falling somewhere near anxious mess. “What’s up?”
“You tell me.”
“Uh…”
They stare at each other, caught in an absurd standoff that leaves Ben wondering whether he needs a gun or a white flag. Chris is still smiling like he’s discovered a secret, and considering the only secret Ben has is one that would make Chris decidedly less happy, he’s not sure what to make of it.
“You didn’t think you could hide it from me, did you? I can see it all over your face.”
“You can?”
Chris nods fervently. “Ben Wyatt, you’ve got a crush on someone.”
It’s a ridiculous feeling: the absurd urge to laugh at the innocuous middle school wording combined with the surge of anxiety that makes him want to instantly deny the accusation. The result is a stilted half-laugh, half-cough as he says, “What?”
Chris giggles-actually giggles-delightedly. “I’ve seen that look on your face before,” he crows. (He has a look? And if that’s true, how is Chris only seeing it now? Maybe he’s better at pretending than he thought.) “You’re totally over the moon for someone! This is wonderful!”
“It is?”
“Of course! How long have you been seeing her?”
“I’m not-It’s not like that Chris. We’re just friends.”
“Just friends, hmm?” Chris nods sagely, not remotely aware of the minefield into which he’s tread. It would almost be funny if it weren’t so completely depressing. “We can fix that.”
Oh god. “We?”
“Absolutely! Ben, you must let me help you.”
“Must I?”
The sarcasm is lost on Chris, who merely throws an arm around Ben’s shoulders and leans in like they’re sharing a secret. “You know this really isn’t necessary.”
“Ben.” Chris turns to face him again, putting both of his hands on Ben’s shoulders and squeezing just past the point of comfort. “Your happiness is absolutely a necessity. And if you’ve found someone worthy of your affection, we must do everything in our power to successfully woo her.”
It’s the type of intrusive, well-intentioned gesture that could only be acceptable in Chris’ mind, and still be so far from anything he could actually do to help. Which pretty much sums up every time Chris has ever interfered in his love life.
Besides, Ben is pretty sure Leslie is already wooed. He wouldn’t bet his life on it or anything, but he’s fairly confident the reason they’re not together has nothing to do with how she feels about him. Not that he can mention this to Chris. “I think I’m doing okay on my own.”
“Nonsense. Two hearts are always better than one.”
Two hearts?
“Now first you have to tell me all about her.”
“Oh. Um...”
“Don’t worry, Ben. Together we’ll transform your commonplace observations into true poetry. Now let’s start with something easy: What is her most beautiful feature?”
Ben frowns. Commonplace observations? What does that even mean? And more importantly, why does he suddenly feel self-conscious about it?
He has an abrupt vision of himself as a bumbling fool alongside Chris’ eloquent knight, perhaps not so much an accurate picture as it is relevant. After all, it’s not like anything has progressed in the past few months other than his absolute frustration. What if Chris has a point? What if one romantic gesture could change the trajectory of their relationship?
Chris Traeger may be more of a failure at relationships than Ben is, but he has initiating them down to a science.
“Come on, buddy,” Chris insists. “What do you have to lose?”
My job. Her job. Any credibility I have possibly gained in the past decade. The wild hope I’ve been holding onto that somehow she’ll say yes despite all the risks.
Or, Chris’ voice pops into his mind with its usual obnoxious enthusiasm, the only thing you’ll lose is this frightful frustration that’s been bogging you down for the past few months.
Chris sounds surprisingly rational in Ben’s mind. Almost as rational as he’s starting to sound in reality. Ben wonders if that’s a sign that he’s losing it. “What exactly do you have in mind?” he ventures.
Chris’ eyes brighten, and it’s only then that Ben realizes he had braced himself for rejection. “Do you know how many great love stories are based on one heartfelt message?” asks Chris, selling the triteness of his own words as only he can. “With me guiding you, your text messages will be the gateway to the greatest love story anyone has ever told.”
“Right.”
“Trust me, Ben. By the end of the night, she’ll know exactly how you feel. Now, what did you first notice about her? Her eyes? Her smile? Her hair?”
“The tiny furrow in her brow when she yells.”
Chris blinks, obviously not sure whether to take Ben at face value, and Ben chooses to save him the bother of figuring it out. “Her eyes, I guess,” he amends, and he realizes he’s not even sure if it’s true. The first thing he remembers noticing about Leslie is her passion, and physically that’s a culmination of all of her, an intensity that is as visible in her eyes as it is in the way she moves her hands. Even in the beginning, when that energy was directed at yelling at him, there was something attractive about it, an admiration that someone could care about anything that much, let alone feel everything so hugely.
“Excellent,” says Chris, drawing Ben back from what he’s privately begun to think of as his Leslie-spiral. He shakes his head, disoriented, and takes another swig of his beer. “What color are they?”
“Huh? Oh. Blue-uh-Green.” He frowns. He can’t afford to be too on-the-nose here; even Chris isn’t that obtuse. “They’re, um, kind of blue-green.”
“They sound lovely.”
“That’s what you want me to say? You have lovely eyes?” Actually, that doesn’t sound half-bad.
“No, no, no, no. Say, ‘Every time I see you, I drown in the depth of your eyes.”
“Drown? Really?”
“Absolutely.”
Reluctantly, Ben lifts his phone and unlocks the screen, illuminating the texts he and Leslie sent earlier. It doesn’t take him long to type the message, but it looks even more absurd in writing than it sounded coming out of Chris’ mouth. “Are you sure about this?”
“I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life.”
As if that means much coming from Chris. Seeming to sense his hesitation, Chris moves to look at the phone-or possibly hit send himself-and Ben panics, deleting the message and dropping the phone back to his side before Chris can see. Chris looks crestfallen. “Are you so afraid of expressing your feelings, Ben? You’ll never find love if you can’t open up to someone else.”
Ben sighs. This was a terrible idea. Setting aside that Chris’ words sound too cliché for even a greeting card, the entire premise is cloaked in too many lies. Maybe this would be easier if every key detail of his love life wasn’t taboo. Then he could just tell Chris that the woman in question in Leslie and maybe find a real way to tell her how he feels. Preferably without invoking images of drowning.
“It’s just...Well it’s a little…” The word cheesy rests on the tip of his tongue, but saying that to Chris would be more hurtful than productive, and this is already awkward enough. “I think it’s a bit abrupt,” he compromises. “For a text message.”
“Oh.” Chris sits back on his seat, head cocked thoughtfully. “I suppose I could see that.”
Thank god. “Yeah. But, you know, it’s fine. Really. I’ll just work out something on my own and-“
“Oh no, no, no. We’re not giving up. Not when you’re finally making progress.”
“Progress?”
“Of course. Look at how far you’ve come in the past year. New job. New friends. New home. And now you’ve finally found someone. Honestly, Ben, this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”
“Honestly?” His finger traces the neck of his beer bottle, smearing the condensation in a crooked line. When he looks back at Chris, it’s without the omnipresent annoyance he’s felt all evening. “This is the happiest I’ve been in longer than I can remember.”
Chris tears up at the words. With a firm slap on the back, he leans in again, more emotional than before. “See? So we’re not giving up. We’ll find a way to make this work. Oh!” He sits up, grinning, and Ben winces in anticipation. If the word serenade comes out of Chris’ mouth, he’ll find an excuse to leave. “I got it. Love letter.”
Ben laughs before he can stop himself, a chuckle that fades away as he notices the somewhat frightening determination in his friend’s eyes. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“We’ll write her an email,” Chris explains. “Expressing everything you haven’t been able to in person. It’s perfect!”
Maybe it's the influence of three beers, but Ben can see the merit of this in the periphery, outweighing any awkwardness or guilt about lying. The easy out it will give him when Chris asks if he got a response; a simplistic way to remove any of the on-the-spot lying he’s so terrible at. He can pretend to send the email, tell Chris that she let him down easy and that will be the end. No follow-up questions, no awkward invitations to double dates that Ben will constantly have to find excuses to get out of. Not to mention it gives him the perfect excuse to back out of any future setups from Chris. At least in the foreseeable future.
And he can work out his own way to tell Leslie how he feels without ever invoking the image of drowning in her eyes.
It’s perfect.
“Okay,” he agrees. “Yeah. Let’s write an email.”
“Wonderful!”
*****
Everything hurts.
Ben can’t pinpoint the pain. His head is thick and foggy, dully throbbing as a reminder that he drank too much the night before; his back is wrenched, a sharp pain that seems to extend out to the rest of his body; even his arm, fallen asleep after being twisted awkwardly for too long, wants him to acknowledge the ache. But the most he can manage to do is open his eyes, squinting blearily at his unfamiliar surroundings.
This is not his home. He spent the night on someone else’s couch.
It’s the most he can register before he has to shut his eyes again.
“Good morning.”
Correction, he thinks. This is Leslie’s home. I spent the night on Leslie’s couch.
Fuck.
His mind sluggishly trails back over the evening, not really wanting to make the effort of thinking, and manages to come up with a few scattered bits and pieces. Chris. A bar. At some point he dimly remembers Ann.
Something about texting Leslie?
“I have water and aspirin,” she says. He hears shuffling, papers being moved, and he forces himself to open his eyes again. Leslie has set the water on her coffee table, bottle of aspirin alongside it, but at this point the effort is still too much. He tries to meet her eyes, but can’t move his head; he has to settle for staring at her knees.
As knees go, hers seem particularly nice.
“We should probably talk about what happened last night. Maybe once you’re feeling a little better?”
Ben groans, which apparently Leslie takes as assent rather than a sign that he’s dying. She pats him lightly on the shoulder and then walks away, offering him no further inkling as to what she’s referring.
Okay. So they need to talk. That only sounds somewhat foreboding.
Oh god.
What the hell happened last night?
Part Two
Pairing/characters: Ben/Leslie with a generous helping of Chris
Word Count: 2600
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Post-Jerry's Painting
Summary: Chris decides to interfere in Ben's love life.
A/n: This is my first trope bingo fill for the trope "playing Cyrano." It was originally supposed to be a one-shot, and instead I'm breaking it into parts. Because why fill one trope in one fic when you can fill one trope in four parts instead? Immense thanks to stillscape, who read over this for me and offered some great suggestions, and also to shornt, who convinced me not to give up on this fic. You're both wonderful.
Sitting in a bar on a Friday night, nursing his third beer in a little over an hour, Ben Wyatt is certain of three things:
He still doesn’t know how Chris talked him into going out tonight.
He absolutely shouldn’t have agreed to this.
And Leslie is somehow both keeping him sane and making him crazy at the same time.
That last one might not be so much a point of interest at this present moment as it is a fact about his everyday life.
Chris is in the bathroom (for the fifth time since they got here), giving Ben the chance to surreptitiously check his text messages (for the eighth or ninth time since they got here). He’s turning into one of those people unable to put his phone away for the evening, a fact which would bother him more if he wasn’t completely infatuated with the person he’s been texting all evening.
(Not to mention it’s a lot more fun to text to Leslie than it is to spend the night silently pretending he doesn’t resent Chris.)
I saw your picture on Chris’ facebook update. You look miserable. :(
Okay. So he has the silent part down. Apparently he has to work on the pretending.
Too bad you can’t be at girl’s night out instead. Ann and I are having a great time!!!
See?
The picture message that follows looks as forcibly taken as the one Chris took of them a few minutes ago (and apparently posted on Facebook-good lord). Leslie has her arm wrapped tightly around Ann’s neck, seemingly dragging her into frame, and while she’s grinning hugely, Ann looks bewildered. And still, he can’t deny that it looks like they’re having more fun. Not that it’s surprising. Presumably Ann has no issues with who Leslie does or doesn’t date. Presumably Ann only cares that she’s happy. And following that logic, presumably Leslie isn’t harboring any secret bitterness that her friend is cheating her out of something wonderful.
Ben shakes his head, eyes flitting over the picture of Leslie’s slightly flushed face before he starts to type a reply. There’s a reason he’s been avoiding Chris outside of work for the past couple of months, and it has everything to do with thoughts like that. Unfair as it may be, Chris has become the unintended target of every bit of Ben’s negative frustration about not being with Leslie, and decreasing their time together seems like the best way to avoid an unwarranted confrontation.
(Except now he’s here, harangued into a night out with Chris, who insists they haven’t hung out enough lately.
And as a certain photograph can prove, it’s going about as well as can be expected.)
Ben hesitates for a moment and then deletes his reply. “I wish I was there too” is too maudlin, even for him.
Looks like fun!
Leslie, who obviously isn’t weighing her every response like he is, replies immediately.
What’s wrong anyway? Is Chris making you eat salad?
Or did he make you sign up for a triathlon?
Did he force you to dance?
How do you force someone to dance?
I’ve only seen you dance once, and it looked pretty forced to me. :)
“Ben Wyatt!”
Ben lifts his head, so startled he nearly throws his phone across the bar in an innate attempt to hide the evidence from Chris.
(Not that there is evidence of anything. Like the fact that he’s been texting Leslie all night. Or flirting with her. Or fighting the blatant desire to kiss her for weeks now.)
In his panic, Ben takes a moment to register the look on Chris’ face. The Cheshire cat grin and amused eyes-neither unusual for Chris, but definitely out of the norm when directed at Ben. It makes him feel as though Leslie’s text messages are tattooed across his forehead for everyone to see, and without thinking, he rubs his hand across his face. “Hey Chris,” he says, trying for casual and falling somewhere near anxious mess. “What’s up?”
“You tell me.”
“Uh…”
They stare at each other, caught in an absurd standoff that leaves Ben wondering whether he needs a gun or a white flag. Chris is still smiling like he’s discovered a secret, and considering the only secret Ben has is one that would make Chris decidedly less happy, he’s not sure what to make of it.
“You didn’t think you could hide it from me, did you? I can see it all over your face.”
“You can?”
Chris nods fervently. “Ben Wyatt, you’ve got a crush on someone.”
It’s a ridiculous feeling: the absurd urge to laugh at the innocuous middle school wording combined with the surge of anxiety that makes him want to instantly deny the accusation. The result is a stilted half-laugh, half-cough as he says, “What?”
Chris giggles-actually giggles-delightedly. “I’ve seen that look on your face before,” he crows. (He has a look? And if that’s true, how is Chris only seeing it now? Maybe he’s better at pretending than he thought.) “You’re totally over the moon for someone! This is wonderful!”
“It is?”
“Of course! How long have you been seeing her?”
“I’m not-It’s not like that Chris. We’re just friends.”
“Just friends, hmm?” Chris nods sagely, not remotely aware of the minefield into which he’s tread. It would almost be funny if it weren’t so completely depressing. “We can fix that.”
Oh god. “We?”
“Absolutely! Ben, you must let me help you.”
“Must I?”
The sarcasm is lost on Chris, who merely throws an arm around Ben’s shoulders and leans in like they’re sharing a secret. “You know this really isn’t necessary.”
“Ben.” Chris turns to face him again, putting both of his hands on Ben’s shoulders and squeezing just past the point of comfort. “Your happiness is absolutely a necessity. And if you’ve found someone worthy of your affection, we must do everything in our power to successfully woo her.”
It’s the type of intrusive, well-intentioned gesture that could only be acceptable in Chris’ mind, and still be so far from anything he could actually do to help. Which pretty much sums up every time Chris has ever interfered in his love life.
Besides, Ben is pretty sure Leslie is already wooed. He wouldn’t bet his life on it or anything, but he’s fairly confident the reason they’re not together has nothing to do with how she feels about him. Not that he can mention this to Chris. “I think I’m doing okay on my own.”
“Nonsense. Two hearts are always better than one.”
Two hearts?
“Now first you have to tell me all about her.”
“Oh. Um...”
“Don’t worry, Ben. Together we’ll transform your commonplace observations into true poetry. Now let’s start with something easy: What is her most beautiful feature?”
Ben frowns. Commonplace observations? What does that even mean? And more importantly, why does he suddenly feel self-conscious about it?
He has an abrupt vision of himself as a bumbling fool alongside Chris’ eloquent knight, perhaps not so much an accurate picture as it is relevant. After all, it’s not like anything has progressed in the past few months other than his absolute frustration. What if Chris has a point? What if one romantic gesture could change the trajectory of their relationship?
Chris Traeger may be more of a failure at relationships than Ben is, but he has initiating them down to a science.
“Come on, buddy,” Chris insists. “What do you have to lose?”
My job. Her job. Any credibility I have possibly gained in the past decade. The wild hope I’ve been holding onto that somehow she’ll say yes despite all the risks.
Or, Chris’ voice pops into his mind with its usual obnoxious enthusiasm, the only thing you’ll lose is this frightful frustration that’s been bogging you down for the past few months.
Chris sounds surprisingly rational in Ben’s mind. Almost as rational as he’s starting to sound in reality. Ben wonders if that’s a sign that he’s losing it. “What exactly do you have in mind?” he ventures.
Chris’ eyes brighten, and it’s only then that Ben realizes he had braced himself for rejection. “Do you know how many great love stories are based on one heartfelt message?” asks Chris, selling the triteness of his own words as only he can. “With me guiding you, your text messages will be the gateway to the greatest love story anyone has ever told.”
“Right.”
“Trust me, Ben. By the end of the night, she’ll know exactly how you feel. Now, what did you first notice about her? Her eyes? Her smile? Her hair?”
“The tiny furrow in her brow when she yells.”
Chris blinks, obviously not sure whether to take Ben at face value, and Ben chooses to save him the bother of figuring it out. “Her eyes, I guess,” he amends, and he realizes he’s not even sure if it’s true. The first thing he remembers noticing about Leslie is her passion, and physically that’s a culmination of all of her, an intensity that is as visible in her eyes as it is in the way she moves her hands. Even in the beginning, when that energy was directed at yelling at him, there was something attractive about it, an admiration that someone could care about anything that much, let alone feel everything so hugely.
“Excellent,” says Chris, drawing Ben back from what he’s privately begun to think of as his Leslie-spiral. He shakes his head, disoriented, and takes another swig of his beer. “What color are they?”
“Huh? Oh. Blue-uh-Green.” He frowns. He can’t afford to be too on-the-nose here; even Chris isn’t that obtuse. “They’re, um, kind of blue-green.”
“They sound lovely.”
“That’s what you want me to say? You have lovely eyes?” Actually, that doesn’t sound half-bad.
“No, no, no, no. Say, ‘Every time I see you, I drown in the depth of your eyes.”
“Drown? Really?”
“Absolutely.”
Reluctantly, Ben lifts his phone and unlocks the screen, illuminating the texts he and Leslie sent earlier. It doesn’t take him long to type the message, but it looks even more absurd in writing than it sounded coming out of Chris’ mouth. “Are you sure about this?”
“I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life.”
As if that means much coming from Chris. Seeming to sense his hesitation, Chris moves to look at the phone-or possibly hit send himself-and Ben panics, deleting the message and dropping the phone back to his side before Chris can see. Chris looks crestfallen. “Are you so afraid of expressing your feelings, Ben? You’ll never find love if you can’t open up to someone else.”
Ben sighs. This was a terrible idea. Setting aside that Chris’ words sound too cliché for even a greeting card, the entire premise is cloaked in too many lies. Maybe this would be easier if every key detail of his love life wasn’t taboo. Then he could just tell Chris that the woman in question in Leslie and maybe find a real way to tell her how he feels. Preferably without invoking images of drowning.
“It’s just...Well it’s a little…” The word cheesy rests on the tip of his tongue, but saying that to Chris would be more hurtful than productive, and this is already awkward enough. “I think it’s a bit abrupt,” he compromises. “For a text message.”
“Oh.” Chris sits back on his seat, head cocked thoughtfully. “I suppose I could see that.”
Thank god. “Yeah. But, you know, it’s fine. Really. I’ll just work out something on my own and-“
“Oh no, no, no. We’re not giving up. Not when you’re finally making progress.”
“Progress?”
“Of course. Look at how far you’ve come in the past year. New job. New friends. New home. And now you’ve finally found someone. Honestly, Ben, this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”
“Honestly?” His finger traces the neck of his beer bottle, smearing the condensation in a crooked line. When he looks back at Chris, it’s without the omnipresent annoyance he’s felt all evening. “This is the happiest I’ve been in longer than I can remember.”
Chris tears up at the words. With a firm slap on the back, he leans in again, more emotional than before. “See? So we’re not giving up. We’ll find a way to make this work. Oh!” He sits up, grinning, and Ben winces in anticipation. If the word serenade comes out of Chris’ mouth, he’ll find an excuse to leave. “I got it. Love letter.”
Ben laughs before he can stop himself, a chuckle that fades away as he notices the somewhat frightening determination in his friend’s eyes. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“We’ll write her an email,” Chris explains. “Expressing everything you haven’t been able to in person. It’s perfect!”
Maybe it's the influence of three beers, but Ben can see the merit of this in the periphery, outweighing any awkwardness or guilt about lying. The easy out it will give him when Chris asks if he got a response; a simplistic way to remove any of the on-the-spot lying he’s so terrible at. He can pretend to send the email, tell Chris that she let him down easy and that will be the end. No follow-up questions, no awkward invitations to double dates that Ben will constantly have to find excuses to get out of. Not to mention it gives him the perfect excuse to back out of any future setups from Chris. At least in the foreseeable future.
And he can work out his own way to tell Leslie how he feels without ever invoking the image of drowning in her eyes.
It’s perfect.
“Okay,” he agrees. “Yeah. Let’s write an email.”
“Wonderful!”
*****
Everything hurts.
Ben can’t pinpoint the pain. His head is thick and foggy, dully throbbing as a reminder that he drank too much the night before; his back is wrenched, a sharp pain that seems to extend out to the rest of his body; even his arm, fallen asleep after being twisted awkwardly for too long, wants him to acknowledge the ache. But the most he can manage to do is open his eyes, squinting blearily at his unfamiliar surroundings.
This is not his home. He spent the night on someone else’s couch.
It’s the most he can register before he has to shut his eyes again.
“Good morning.”
Correction, he thinks. This is Leslie’s home. I spent the night on Leslie’s couch.
Fuck.
His mind sluggishly trails back over the evening, not really wanting to make the effort of thinking, and manages to come up with a few scattered bits and pieces. Chris. A bar. At some point he dimly remembers Ann.
Something about texting Leslie?
“I have water and aspirin,” she says. He hears shuffling, papers being moved, and he forces himself to open his eyes again. Leslie has set the water on her coffee table, bottle of aspirin alongside it, but at this point the effort is still too much. He tries to meet her eyes, but can’t move his head; he has to settle for staring at her knees.
As knees go, hers seem particularly nice.
“We should probably talk about what happened last night. Maybe once you’re feeling a little better?”
Ben groans, which apparently Leslie takes as assent rather than a sign that he’s dying. She pats him lightly on the shoulder and then walks away, offering him no further inkling as to what she’s referring.
Okay. So they need to talk. That only sounds somewhat foreboding.
Oh god.
What the hell happened last night?
Part Two