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Side stories may reveal events, characters, or developments that appear later in the story. Viewing content this way can present information out of the intended reading order and may affect the original narrative experience.
Recommended Context
Recommended to be read after reaching this point of the main story:
Part 3 Chapter 17: Sorrow and Loss
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Connections
The Best Man
Ben had experienced some brutal hangovers in his time, but this was biblical.
The kitchen was too bright. The smell of coffee was somehow both tempting and deeply offensive. And Matt, standing at the stove like this was any other morning, was far too smug for someone who had witnessed the absolute train wreck that was Ben last night.
“I think I’m dying.”
“You’re not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Pupils are responsive, speech is coherent. You’ll live.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
Ben glared at him, or tried to. Hard to tell how effective it was with one eye still half-shut. He slumped into a chair. Two mugs of coffee and a plate of toast already on the table. Matt slid a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him.
“Are you feeding me out of concern or out of spite?”
“Yes.”
He took a slow sip of coffee first, willing himself back into existence. Last night kept coming back in flashes. The bar. The couch. The whiskey. The words he had finally forced out. The gentlest rejection he could’ve asked for.
“So. Last night.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re… good?”
“I’m good.”
That was it. Matt was just Matt, like Ben hadn’t drunkenly upended his entire friendship the night before.
“This isn’t going to be weird?”
“Not unless you make it weird.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“Would you rather I say something dramatic? Maybe ‘Ben, I can never look at you the same way again’?”
Ben let out a noise of suffering.
“Or, ‘Ben, how could you do this to me?’”
He shoved a piece of toast in his mouth just so he wouldn’t have to respond.
“See? Totally fine.”
“You really are a bastard.”
“And you, apparently, have excellent taste.”
He froze mid-bite.
“I mean, confessing your undying love for me? That’s actually kind of flattering.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“This is why I never tell you things.”
“Maybe, but I’m still the one making you breakfast.”
Ben grumbled something unintelligible and picked his fork back up.
The fact that things still felt normal was almost unnerving. It was just… Matt. Making eggs. Drinking coffee. Making fun of him, like always.
Ben reached into his pocket, pulling out the spare key. The one he had carried for years, back when Matt’s place had just been his, long before Lucy was even in the picture.
He set it on the table between them. The sound was quieter than it should have been.
“You don’t have to do that.”
Ben traced the edge of the key before letting go. “Yeah, I do.”
Matt studied him, then nodded.
“So. We’re good?”
“We’re good.”
“You know I have to tell Lucy, right?”
“Yeah. I know.”
Ben was still a mess. Hangover and raw, no idea what came next.
But at least one thing was clear.
Matt wasn’t going anywhere.
“I hate everything.”
“Eat your eggs.”
Ben flipped him off. But he ate.
Lucy was double-checking the math like she was tallying grades.
“So, let me get this straight,” she said, tilting her head. “Ben got completely wasted.”
“Disastrously,” Matt said.
“And at some point in the night, he decided this was the moment to tell you he’s gay.”
“Yup.”
“And then immediately followed that up with ‘by the way, I’ve been in love with you.’”
“Pretty much.”
“Huh.”
“That’s it?”
“I mean… what else am I supposed to say? It explains a lot. No wonder he shut down every matchmaking attempt.”
“Yeah, turns out you were barking up the wrong tree.”
“And you just—what? Let him down gently, put him to bed, and made him breakfast like nothing happened?”
“Would you rather I’d kicked him out and told him to rethink his life choices?”
“No, obviously not. I just—and he’s okay?”
“As okay as he can be after a night like that.”
“And you? You’re really fine?”
“Luce, what else would I be?”
“I don’t know. Weirded out? Uncomfortable? You’re not exactly used to being confessed to by your best friend.”
“He didn’t confess to me expecting anything back. He just needed to say it.”
She almost felt bad for Ben. Almost.
“Well, can’t blame him. He does have good taste.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Mm. Lucky me, then.”
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