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It’s a lot harder than Matt thought it would be, and he’s having a difficult time of pretending it’s not. They can’t finish the script, no matter how many nights they spend without sleep, sitting on their bedroom floor with their legs nearly touching, passing ideas back and forth much like the cigarettes they share. It seems writer’s block is contagious, afterall, and Matt feels pretty terrible about it. Ben says it’s no big deal, they’ll get over this dry-spell soon.
So now it’s endless auditions for the both of them, any role they can find to try and cover rent and utilities and groceries. Matt spends a lot of time sitting around dingy waiting rooms with thirty other twenty-something-year-old blond guys, memorizing scripts he knows he could write in his sleep , if only he could write a damn word at all. He tries not to let it hurt when he leaves without so much as a callback. Tells himself it’s just this funk he’s fallen into. It’s not really him.
It only gets hotter, somehow, even as autumn turns to winter, and they spend most of December with the windows wide open, the crappy fan they got from Goodwill on full blast, kicking damp air around the apartment.
Matt wakes up one morning, about a week until Christmas, to Ben standing over him, sucking on a cherry popsicle noisily. He squints up at him.
“We’re going to a party tonight,” is the first thing Ben says, his mouth full of artificial red. “Remember the chick who helped me out last month, got me that lead in the commercial?”
Matt does remember, of course. They play that damn commercial once every hour, it seems, and even on the shitty little black and white T.V. they picked up off the side of the road, Ben’s face is unmistakable, selling the general public of Los Angeles on the quality of Tom’s Wholesale Tires . It’s a joke between the two of them, now, but it did bring in a good bit of cash. Matt can’t believe that he’s jealous over such a role, but then again, his perspective has shifted somewhat the last few months.
He also remember’s the girl who helped Ben land the gig. Allison something-or-other. She worked for a casting agency they’d both begun frequenting, doing reception. She was cute, he supposed, tan and blonde, if a bit on the shorter side, and he remembers feeling somewhat jealous at the time just how much she seemed to favor Ben. But they haven’t seen her since the fated commercial. At least, he hasn’t.
Ben’s finished his popsicle, and is now gnawing on the remaining wooden stick, shifting it around between his teeth, almost anxiously. “Anyways, she invited me—us—to this thing. It’s not a big thing. Just like, a small Christmas thing, I guess. Said there might be more casting people there. So I said we’d go.”
Matt shrugs from his place on the bed and puts on a smile. “Sure. Sounds fun.” He knows he’s a damn good actor, because Ben smiles back at him, all earnest and excited, artificial red staining his teeth, and Matt feels really bad for lying to him. Because this doesn’t really sound fun at all. But if Ben’s going, then of course he’s going, too.
It’s a bigger thing than Ben made it out to be. Allison’s apartment is only a small studio affair down in Long Beach, but the bus trip takes them around the long way, and by the time they get there, it’s obvious the party’s in full swing, cars lining up and down the road, crummy Christmas music audible even from the street. Ben looks over at Matt as they ascend the outside stairs up to the third floor where the noise is emanating from.
“What?” Matt asks, because Ben’s expression is odd. “Do I have a zit or something?”
Ben shakes his head. “No, man. Just . . .” he reaches over and runs his fingers through Matt’s hair, straightening it out from where the wind had blown it out of place. Matt feels his face flush. They’re standing at the front door to the apartment, but they haven’t rung the bell yet. Matt cuts his eyes away from Ben, who’s shifted closer, now, and looks out over the balcony railing, watching the glittering lights of the city stretch across the darkening horizon. It’s still hot, but there’s a bit of a breeze coming in off the ocean, it seems, the taste of salt catching on Matt’s tongue.
“Alright, alright, I think it’s good,” Matt shoves Ben’s hand away, because he’s still fixing Matt’s hair, somehow. Ben holds his arms up in surrender.
“Okay, jeez. I’ll let you walk in there looking stupid next time.” But there’s no venom in his words. He’s grinning, and he’s still standing pretty close to Matt, who has now backed up against the railing of the balcony, leaning back on his elbows. He gives a tight-lipped smile in return. The breeze blows stronger, and Matt feels his hair fall down over his forehead once more. He rolls his eyes. Ben’s got one hand on the railing beside Matt’s hip, now, and he slowly raises the other to his forehead again, tentatively tucking the blond strands back behind his ear. Matt bites his lip and looks anywhere but Ben’s face.
“Come on, man,” he says lamely. He doesn’t really know what he’s even complaining about. There’s a tight ball forming in his stomach, not unlike the feeling he gets before walking into an audition he knows he’s not prepared for.
Ben doesn’t say anything. He just looks down at him, and Matt keeps looking up.
Just then the door cracks open, and a woman’s voice—Allison’s—calls out excitedly from within. “You guys made it!” Her head pokes out of the doorway, her blonde hair falling down past her shoulders and stirring in the wind. She’s smiling, looking between the two of them. Ben steps back from Matt, turning to greet her, and Matt takes a moment to find his composure once more, not entirely sure what made him lose it to begin with. The feeling of unease within him doesn’t go away.
He spends most of the party getting drunk, doing his best impression of the wallpaper. It seems to work, because hardly anyone tries to talk to him. There’s a lot of people here, far too many crammed into such a small space. The music is not very good, cheesy Christmas hits of the past decade, and way too loud. The CD must be scratched, too, because every once in a while it skips, creating a strange feeling of time loss for Matt, whose head is already quite foggy. He wanders from wall to wall, shouting to have his small talk heard, giving up on conversations halfway through when it proves pointless.
He’s being a douche. He knows it, but he doesn’t really care. He was never that close with Allison, anyways, so he doesn’t really care what she or her big-shot friends think of him. Maybe he should, given the sorry state of his professional prospects at the moment. But he’s got a headache, and he’s sweating, and the beer tastes stale. And all he can think about is the script, and how he thought they’d be finished with it by now, but they’re hardly even two thirds of the way through. He wants to talk to Ben about it, right now, but Ben’s lost somewhere within the crowd, which is the worst part of it all. He feels lonely, and strange. Not like himself.
People back home had been so adamant about L.A., telling him how the west coast would change him . He’d brushed it off, of course. New Englander’s disdain for any place past Philly was nothing new. But he was beginning to wonder whether there had been some merit to their warnings afterall. He felt different, certainly, though he couldn’t be sure it was L.A.’s fault so much as his own.
“So you’re a fan of James Dean?”
The voice startles him a bit. He hadn’t even heard anyone slide up beside him on the wall. But Allison is standing there, looking at him expectantly, sipping beer through a red and green striped straw. He cocks his head.
“Sorry, what?”
She smiles. “James Dean, you know? The whole Rebel Without a Cause act you’ve got going on?”
He can hardly process what she’s saying, and it takes him a minute for his mind to catch onto her word’s meaning. She barely even seems tipsy, and he feels close to falling asleep where he stands. He shakes his head.
“Oh, no. I’m sorry—I’m being rude,” he shrugs. “I’m just not exactly in the Christmas mood, I guess.”
She nods, as if she actually, truly cares. “This is your first Christmas away from home, right?”
“Well, being away from the east coast, at least.” A half a second goes by. “Wait, how did you know that?”
Allison tilts her chin back behind her. Matt looks over her shoulder and sees Ben standing by the refrigerator, making wild gestures with his hands, telling some sort of anecdote to a whole gaggle of enthralled twenty-somethings. Matt can’t hear a word of what he’s saying, but he’d guess it’s pretty funny, because everyone is laughing. “He told me,” Allison says. “In fact, he told me a lot of stuff about you. You’re, like, his favorite subject.”
Matt laughs. “Yeah, right.”
She takes another sip of beer, her red lipstick staining her straw. “No, I’m serious. It’s actually really sweet.”
He blushes, and bites the inside of his cheek.
“Ben isn’t sweet .”
She studies him silently for a moment, and he feels very much like he’s under a microscope. Her gray eyes are all-knowing.
“So how long have you been dating?”
He was mid-sip of his own beer, and he chokes on it. It takes him a whole minute to clear his throat, his face flushed bright red. Thankfully nobody’s looking over their way.
“We’re not dating,” he finally stammers out. Allison narrows her eyes.
“Right. You’re just . . .”
“I’m just . . .?” He asks.
“Well, you’re wearing his jacket.” He looks down. Huh . He guesses he grabbed Bens off the coat rack at home by mistake. It’s a jean jacket, and it is way too big on him, now that he thinks about it. The sleeves go down nearly over his hands, the waist hanging down past his hips. He doesn’t know how he hadn’t noticed earlier. “And out on the balcony, I thought I interrupted you guys—”
“ No ,” Matt cuts in. “No, you didn’t. I mean, we weren’t . . . doing anything you could have interrupted.”
Allison regards him warily.
“You’re all he talks about.”
Matt just shrugs. He doesn’t know what to make of that fact.
“It’s okay, if you are. I mean, we’re all cool here.” She nods back towards the crowd. “John’s gay, too. And Lisa is totally into girls. She tried to kiss me once, during our last Christmas party.” She smiles while she says this, as if recounting a fond memory.
“Okay,” Matt says, unsure of how to respond to that. “That’s cool. I—I’m glad that you’re cool with it. But I’m not gay. We’re not gay.”
Allison hums playfully, as if to say if you say so .
“How are you liking L.A., then? Any new roles?”
Matt shrugs. He’s been thrown completely off kilter by the last few minutes. His heart beats wildly in his chest, and his palms are clammy against his beer bottle.
“It’s nice, I guess. Crowded as hell, though.”
She nods. “Everyone wants their own piece of success.”
They fall into a semi-comfortable silence for a bit, both of them leaning back against the wall, watching the people dance and talk and laugh. “You know, I see a lot of young talent working at the agency,” she tells him. “Lots of smart, good looking guys who come out here thinking they’re guaranteed fame and fortune just because daddy’s sent them to NYU or Julliard.” Matt laughs at this. He’s met quite a few of those guys in his short time here already. “But you’re sort of different,” Allison goes on. “I mean, from what Ben’s told me, you guys aren’t exactly the sort I’m used to. Not that you’re not smart, and good looking. From a general standpoint you are. But you’re . . . well, I don’t know what you are, exactly. Wilder, I suppose. You’re like . . . a sunflower, or something, growing up through a crack in the sidewalk. Both of you. I could tell, when you walked into the waiting room. I told myself, Allison, those boys are trouble. The very best kind of trouble. You’ve got to help them out. ”
Matt’s gone still. He’s never been spoken to by a near-stranger like this before. He feels pretty bad for being so rude all night.
“I don’t know what it is, but you’ve got it, Matt. That aura that people strive their whole lives for. And I don’t know you all that well, but from all Ben’s told me, which is quite a bit, you don’t think you’re anything special.”
He opens his mouth, knowing he should say something. He doesn’t have the chance.
“But he thinks so,” Allison’s getting louder, gesturing back towards Ben. “He adores you. My god, I don’t think there’s a conversation we’ve had where your name isn’t brought up at least twice. It’s Matt’s writing this script, or Matt’s going for this role , or Matt said the funniest thing yesterday . And I just cannot stand the thought of someone wasting all that faith—all that love, by not believing in themselves. So you don’t have to listen to me if you don’t want to, I mean, what do I know, I just help make people famous for a living. But listen to him . Jesus, I wish we all had someone like him to listen to.”
She looks down into her bottle, starts moving the straw around in lazy circles. Matt has no clue what to say to any of that. He sort of feels like he could start crying, but he doesn’t. He works his jaw back and forth, gnawing on his lower lip, staring down at his shoes. “Thank you, I guess.” His stomach is back to being in knots. Maybe it’s all the beer he’s drunk. Maybe it’s the way his whole life was just psychoanalyzed by a woman he hardly knows, and the fact that he doesn’t think she’s so far off. But it doesn’t make sense— they don’t make sense. Him and Ben. They never have. He didn’t think they had to, really. When they were kids, it was just one of those things. A sigh from their parents, an acknowledgment of Oh, that’s just Matt and Ben. That’s just how they are. He’d never considered how the world might see them. He doesn’t know if he wants to. But Allison’s forced them into the wide open—and now he can’t stop considering everything.
He wants to leave, suddenly. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He pushes off from the wall, squeezing his way between moving bodies. He sets his bottle down on a coffee table, and turns, only to find Ben standing right behind him.
“Where are you going?” He asks, his hands coming up to Matt’s shoulders, holding him loosely at arms length. Matt swallows down the lump in his throat.
“I–I wanna go. Can we go?”
Ben looks at him in confusion. “We haven’t even been here that long—we can’t just—”
“Ben, please,” Matt begs. There must be some traces of his inner turmoil showing through, because Ben just looks down at him for a moment, his face going serious, and his hands rub up and down Matt’s arms gently.
“Sure. Sure, okay. Let me just say goodbye to Allison.”
Matt nods. “I’ll meet you outside.” He slips out of Ben’s grasp and heads for the door, knowing Ben will follow.
They walk to the bus stop in silence. Matt’s got his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, and halfway there he shrugs it off suddenly, holding it out across the empty space towards Ben.
“I wore it by accident.”
Ben looks at him like he’s crazy.
“I don’t need it back right now. Just keep it. It looks good on you, anyways.”
Matt grimaces. He keeps holding the jacket out, emphasizing that Ben should take it.
“Don’t say shit like that.”
“Shit like what?” Ben asks. He’s stopped walking, standing on the sidewalk, his hair shining in the glow of the streetlamp overhead. They can hear the sounds of insects buzzing around the fluorescent bulb. A steady stream of late-night traffic goes by on the road.
“Saying I look good—saying I’m sexy. You sound so gay when you say that shit.”
Ben frowns. “Okay. Fuck me for caring, I guess.”
Matt groans. This is going to be so difficult.
“No— fuck —” He curses, balling his empty hand into a fist by his side. He takes a long, deep breath, fighting off a sudden wave of nausea. The jacket hangs limp in his other hand, touching the ground. “I just mean, like. . . we’ve gotta cool it. Around other people, at least.”
“Cool it how?”
Matt looks skyward, searching for the right words. He can’t see any stars, the light pollution out here is way too strong.
“Like . . . maybe you shouldn’t touch me so much in public. Maybe I shouldn't wear your jacket to parties.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “Are you being serious? Look, we dealt with all this shit back home, didn’t we? I mean, everyone called us fags behind our backs in school, right?”
Matt shrugs. A few called them fags to their faces, but not enough to really matter.
“So it doesn’t matter, Matt,” Ben says. “What those idiots think doesn’t matter.”
“Allison isn’t an idiot,” Matt says quietly. Ben takes a step closer, his brows drawn.
“She said something? To you?” His voice is hard—angry. Matt shakes his head.
“Not like that—she’s cool with it . Her words.”
Ben doesn’t say anything for a moment. He seems to be deep in thought, staring out at the cars passing by, his hands tucked into his jean pockets. He sighs, turning his head to Matt. “So, what, she asked you if we’re fucking?”
Matt gives a small nod. “Not in those terms, exactly. But yeah.”
Ben chews his lip, deep in thought again. “And what did you say?”
Matt laughs. “No, obviously! I told her no—we-we’re not. Because we’re not .”
It’s a long pause before Ben says anything else. He takes a cigarette out of his pocket and then a lighter, and spends a good minute just smoking, the cherry glowing bright in the gray inky night. He holds it out towards Matt, who takes it and puffs a few times, passing it back. Ben clears his throat. “We’re gonna miss the bus. Come on,” he says.
Matt watches him start to walk away. He can’t believe they’re not going to keep talking about it. He can’t believe they talked about it at all. When Ben gets a whole half a block ahead of him, with no signs of slowing, he slips the jean jacket back over his shoulders and jogs to keep up with him.
The bus is nearly empty. They sit in the far back, right next to the emergency exit, a whole foot of space between their shoulders. The only other passenger is an old woman wearing one of those big old fur coats, a kerchief wrapped around her head. Matt has no clue what she’s doing on the bus at a quarter to midnight, but he doesn’t spend too long pondering. He’s got enough to think about, already. Such as Ben, and the way they aren’t touching.
“I didn’t mean you had to avoid me like the plague, man,” Matt snaps, breaking the awkward silence that’s fallen over them like a veil. Ben doesn’t look away from where he’s staring out the window.
“I’m just doing what you asked. Cooling it. ”
The bus hits a pothole, and Matt is jostled up against Ben’s side. He huffs, righting himself, putting even more space between them.
“You know what I meant. Now you’re just being a dick.”
“No, I don’t know what you meant, Matt. I usually do—in fact, that’s about the only thing I can count on, these days. Knowing exactly what you mean, without ever having to ask. But, Jesus, man,” Ben finally turns his head, meeting Matt’s eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you. These past few weeks—hell, the past few months—ever since you came out here. You’ve been different. You’re off . I can tell.”
Matt looks down at his lap. He’s squeezing his legs, tight, and he makes himself loosen his grip.
“Don’t pretend like you’re not. You don’t pretend around me.” Ben says this like it’s a fact. It is. Or, it used to be. Matt shrugs.
“So, it’s just a little writer’s block, it’s not—”
“—no, I’m not talking about the fucking script, Matty. I’m not talking about who’s writing what, or who’s landing more roles. I’m talking about us.” He puts his hand on Matt’s leg. It’s only been, like, twenty minutes since they last touched, but it feels like a lifetime to Matt. He lets out a shaky breath, his knee going hot where Ben’s fingers squeeze it.
He manages to glance up again, and he finds Ben looking at him with this plain, earnest expression on his face, a face that’s so achingly familiar. He looks like the kid Matt spent his childhood playing pretend with. He looks like the teenager Matt spent his high-school years falling asleep next to on fold out couches, both of them too tired to stay up but with too much to say to ever really stop talking, passing ideas and hopes and dreams across the space between their pillows into the early morning hours. He looks like the man that Matt thinks he might be in love with. It’s a sobering realization. And he feels pretty dumb, because he didn’t even come to this conclusion on his own. It took a mistake on Allison’s part to finally rip open the nearly twenty-year facade that Matt’s been steadily building up in his mind all along. Oh, Jesus , he’s been so dumb.
“Us?” Matt asks softly, once he’s finally found his voice. It sounds different to his own ears. Everything feels different, suddenly. Ben hums.
“Just tell me what’s wrong. I’m gonna help you. That’s what I do, yeah? I’m gonna help you, but you gotta tell me what’s wrong.” His hand squeezes Matt’s knee again, and then he lets it go. Matt gets the urge to grab it. He doesn’t. He stares at it, and he thinks about how much he wants to grab it—and he starts tearing up. The tight ball that’s been in his stomach all night moves up to his chest, and then it seems to pour out of his mouth. He feels like he’s exploding. He feels torn open. Like he's only half a person—like that's all he's ever been, his whole life. Only half a person, watching his other half from afar. Always looking, always knowing he's right there, but never able to really have him. He’s crying for real, now.
“What if . . .aw, hell, Ben, what if she wasn’t wrong?” He asks between sobs. Ben looks momentarily shocked, his mouth dropping open. But then he’s reaching for Matt, tugging him in by his shoulders, gripping his own jacket where it hangs loose off Matt’s skinnier frame. He hugs him. He wraps his arms all the way around his shoulders, and puts his chin on top of Matt’s head.
Matt can’t stop crying. He closes his eyes, pressing his face into Ben’s chest. It feels cathartic, in a way. Who else could he lose himself like this with? He guesses that’s the whole point.
“It’s okay. It’s alright, Matty. It’s okay,” Ben is saying, the words more of a deep rumble from where Matt hears them vibrating through Ben’s chest. He shrinks himself as small as he can, folding his knees up and tucking his arms against his own body. Ben just holds him tighter. “Is that what it is? That’s what’s been making you so on edge?” Ben asks softly, just above his ear. Matt takes a shaky breath.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” he says.
Ben sighs. “You should have just told me. You didn’t have to torture yourself.”
Matt sniffles. His nose is dripping with snot. He feels so worn out. So tired. “How? What would I have said?”
Ben shakes his head. “I dunno. You’re the one who’s better with words.” He leans back, but keeps his arms around Matt, so he’s looking down at him and cradling his body. Matt takes another deep, shuddering breath. He’s not crying anymore, but his face is still wet. Ben reaches down and lifts the edge of the jean jacket, using it to wipe Matt’s cheeks. It’s texture is rough—but it smells like Ben. He closes his eyes and lets it rub over his skin. It falls away, and Matt’s left staring up at him, again. Just like always. “How about Hey, Ben, I think I love you? ” Ben offers, his voice quiet, and hopeful. Matt smiles, his lips wobbling.
“Hey Ben, I think I love you.”
They fall together, giggling, and Matt uncurls himself, letting his legs drop down to rest beside Ben’s. Their faces are close, nearly forehead to forehead. They’re looking at each other almost in disbelief. As if neither can fully believe the other is serious—but no, they’d never joke about something like this. Everything zeros in. All that matters is the miniscule space between them. Matt sees Ben glance down at his lips. His stomach clenches—in a good way, in a million butterflies, like the first time he kissed a girl at recess in middle school, only a thousand times more intense, because this is Ben he’s about to kiss.
The bus screeches to a halt. They both nearly go flying against the seats in front of them. Matt looks down the aisle after righting himself, and sees that the old lady is gone. It’s just them, and the driver, who’s waiting with the door open, turning back around in his seat to stare at them, unimpressed.
“Last stop, boys. Don’t care where you go but you gotta get off.”
Ben coughs, and stands, and Matt does the same. Halfway down the aisle, Ben reaches for Matt’s hand, tugging him along. They don’t let go, even after they step onto the sidewalk, and the bus’s door hisses shut, and it pulls back into traffic. They stand there for a second, hands held between them, and then they both start to laugh. Matt has tears in his eyes, again, for an entirely different reason. As they’re doubling over, falling against each other with peals of laughter, Matt leans back, looking up to say something about how they were cock-blocked by a bus driver. But before he can get the words out Ben catches his lips with his own, kissing him gently.
Matt startles, but doesn’t pull away. He stands up higher, on his tip-toes, and winds an arm around Ben’s neck. It’s not a deep kiss—Ben’s tongue just barely pokes out to lick along Matt’s lips—but the way it sends sparks through Matt’s body, they might as well be frenching. Ben’s got one arm around Matt’s middle, the other hand on the back of his head, tilting his face at just the right angle. Matt could collapse right now and he wouldn't budge an inch. He’s safe. He’s never felt so comforted in his life.
When they break apart, they stay close. Their breathes fan across each other’s faces, tasting like the beer they’d been drinking, but neither one cares. Ben brings his hand around and gathers Matt’s face in his palm, stroking his thumb over his cheek.
“In case there’s any doubt left in your head, Matty, I feel the same. I think I’m like, totally fucking gay for you.”
“Really?” Matt jokes. “I couldn't have guessed.”
They’re smiling at each other like lovesick fools. Ben leans down and kisses Matt again, briefer this time, but it still makes Matt’s head spin. Then he pulls back and puts a bit more space between them. He sighs, looking up and down the empty sidewalk.
“You know what?” He says, and Matt’s hanging on the edge of his words. “I think we’re fuckin’ lost, man.”
Matt’s smile falls. He looks around them. He definitely doesn’t recognize anything. They’ve taken the bus too far.
“No fucking way,” he groans, and lets his head drop against Ben’s chest. Ben laughs, rubbing up and down Matt’s back softly, and then he ruffles his hair and shoves him off. He takes off down the sidewalk.
“Come on! There’s gotta be a taxi nearby!”
“We don’t have the money for a taxi!” Matt calls out with a laugh, walking to catch up with him. Ben turns around but doesn’t stop moving, just keeps walking backwards.
“Then you’d better start walking, baby, ‘cause it’s a long way home!” Ben shouts back, his grin wild.