Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.

It’s her third night staying in Ben’s guest room and Devi still can’t fall asleep.

The previous two nights were tough, but she eventually drifted off. Tonight, however, she can’t seem to silence her brain. It seems insistent on replaying her fight with her friends, on replaying Paxton’s continuous shunning of her, on replaying the horrible thing she said to her mom.

Devi throws off the covers with a huff and stares at the ceiling. Maybe a glass of water from downstairs will soothe her frayed nerves.

She stands up and makes her way towards the door, losing herself in her thoughts.

She misses Eleanor and Fabiola, viscerally, deeply, intensely. She misses them the way one misses a limb, like the appendage is gone, but the pain is still there. Phantom pain, she remembers it’s called, her friends are no longer there, they won’t even speak to her, yet she aches for them all the same.

All the people she’s pushed away, everyone who’s abandoned her, have become her phantom pain.

She tiptoes down the stairs, careful not to make any loud noises as the thought bounces—almost violently—around in her head: she’s completely alone.

Her dad, her mom, her friends, Paxton, they’ve all abandoned her. She’s completely alone, no one wants her or loves her. She has no one le—

She spots Ben sitting on the couch, features illuminated by the glow of his laptop, which is balanced slightly precariously on his knees.

Well, maybe, maybe she doesn’t have no one left.

The thought startles her. It’s uncanny that Ben Gross, who for the past ten years she’s so easily put in a box and labelled as her nemesis, has somehow become a person she can lean on and talk to. A person who no matter what she does, no matter how much she fucks up, will still stand at her side.

She’s always been acutely aware that he understands her, that he is her equal, but she’d never understood quite how much. She’s come to realize Ben understands her the way one understands their favourite novel, spotting all the nuances and little details that most people would ignore or discard as irrelevant.

She reaches the bottom of the stairs. “Ben,” she calls out timidly.

Ben responds almost instantly, turning away from his laptop screen to face her. A beaming grin spreads across his face. “Devi.”

His smile reminds her of a flashlight in the night, a candle illuminating the darkness. It’s bright, and clear, and blissfully joyful, and because of her. Just because she called his name. His smile lights up his entire face, like a bright, bright, luminous star shining in the night sky. She knows all humans have stardust in their veins, but with a smile like that, a smile that lights up the darkness around him, Devi thinks Ben must be a bit more celestial than everyone else.

Oh fuck, nearly three nights without proper rest are starting to weigh on her, she must be even more sleep deprived than she thought.

And perhaps only sleep deprivation can explain what she does next, instead of fetching a glass of water and making her way back upstairs, she sits down next to Ben on the couch.

He moves his laptop off his knees and places it on the coffee table.

Even in the darkness, she can see his blue, blue eyes are filled with concern. “Why are you up so late?”

Devi lets out a long weary sigh. “Couldn’t sleep.” She turns her head to face him more fully. “You?”

“Me neither,” he admits.

A few moments of uneasy silence stretch between them.

“Can I ask you something?” Ben finally says

Devi takes a deep breath and nods.

“Why didn’t you ask Eleanor or Fabiola if you could live with them?”

This, Devi thinks, this is the question she’s been dreading Ben asking her.

She swallows roughly. “We’re not really on speaking terms, right now.” She clasps her hands in her lap.

She can hear the stupid smirk in his voice. “Guess your friends finally got tired of you, huh?”

Of fucking course.

Devi kicks the ground with her foot and turns her eyes towards the floor. “You’re such a dick, Ben.”

His tone suddenly shifts. “Sorry,” he breathes, scrubbing a hand down his face. His next words take her by surprise. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Devi flicks her eyes back up to him. In his expression she expects to find mockery, sarcasm, ridicule, but his eyes contain none of that. His expression is completely earnest and open. Genuine.

And Devi must be really, really sleep deprived, because she decides to take Ben up on his offer.

She looks down at her lap, contemplating how exactly to phrase this. She doesn’t want to spill all her friends' problems to him—she knows that’s crossing a line—so instead, she focuses on the one person she can tell him about—her.  

She takes a deep breath. “I love El and Fab so much. They've always been there for me.” She looks up at him suddenly. “Do you know El swore she wouldn’t walk until I could last year? Or that Fab brought me cupcakes every day for a month after my dad died? They’ve always been way better friends than I deserved.” She lets out another long, weary sigh, turning her eyes back to her hands that remain clasped and shaking in her lap. “I guess it was only a matter of time before I lost them too.”

Ben shakes his head. “You haven’t lost them.”

Devi snaps her head back up at him. “You were there. It was at your party. I’ve never seen Fab that mad before.”

“You guys have been friends for ten years,” Ben reassures her. “You can’t throw away ten years of friendship that easily.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand, Ben!” Devi snaps. She watches him flinch, watches the blood drain from his face, and oh no, oh no, oh no, she can’t lose him too. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s just… I really, really fucked up with them.”

“It can’t have been that bad.”

Devi laughs bitterly. “Come on, Ben. If anyone is familiar with my temper, it’s you, right?” She twists her hands nervously in her lap. “I’ve lost everyone. My mom, my dad, my best friends.” She blinks back tears. “I’m completely alone.”

Devi unclasps her hands—ignoring that they're shaking—and rests them on the couch, only for one of her hands to accidentally brush Ben's. She feels her breath catch in her throat, but before she can pull her hand away, Ben's pinky drags over the back of her hand, and then, suddenly, he's sliding his hand under hers, palms pressing flat against each other as he laces their fingers together. She meets his eyes for a split moment, and even in the dark, they’re a blazing blue fire, like the hottest of stars or the flame of a gas stove.

“I know what it’s like to be alone, Devi,” Ben sighs. “I really, really do. But the one thing I’ve learned is you’re never as alone as you think.”

Devi knows it’s a little callous, a little inconsiderate, but she can’t help her curiosity.

“What do you mean you know what it’s like to be alone?” Devi asks. “You live in this amazing house, you’re stupidly rich, your parents let me stay here without asking many ques—”

Ben cuts her off. “It’s different,” he says, clenching his jaw and suddenly seeming rather tense. “You’re a guest. I’m their son.”

She feels his hand begin to shake in hers and tightens her grip reassuringly.

“What are you talking about?” Devi asks quietly.

Ben scoffs, turning his eyes towards the floor. “Forget it. You wouldn’t care.”

Devi can’t help but feel a bit offended at his insinuation. “I do care,” she grits out. Then, more softly, “come on, Ben, you can talk to me.”

Ben looks back up at her, blue eyes swimming with a heart wrenching, poignant pain. “Look,” he starts, “when I was little, I had to learn something about my parents.”

“What?” Devi breathes.

“Appearances matter more to them than anything else.” He laughs bitterly and waves his hand. “You think they buy all this stuff for me because they care about me, but it’s really because they want it to seem like we’re close without putting in any effort.”

Devi blinks a few times. “Without putting in any effort?”

Ben nods. “My mom’s always been busy with “bettering herself,” my dad with work.” He lets out another brittle laugh. “I don’t know. I’ve gotten used to feeling unwanted or unwelcome with them. I think they were a lot happier when it was just the two of them.”

“What?” Devi asks, mouth agape. Sure, a little while ago, she might have agreed that life would be a hell of a lot easier without Ben, but now she’s learned it's quite the opposite, having him in her life makes it better. She can’t imagine her life without him in it, she wouldn’t want a life like that.

He shakes his head. “I know my parents want to spend more time with each other than with me and that’s fine. That’s just...” he pauses and takes a breath, blinking the loneliness from his eyes. “That’s how it’s always been. But my point is, there’s only one of us here who’s truly alone, and it’s not you.” She feels his grip tighten on her hand. “You are not alone.”

“It feels like I am,” Devi mumbles. “My dad’s gone, my mom’s pushed me away, and Eleanor and Fabiola won’t speak to me. Everyone in my life is just done with me.” She draws her knees up to her chest. “But do you know what the scariest thing is?”

“What’s that?” Ben asks, his thumb tracing a repetitive, hypnotic, soothing pattern on the back of her palm.

“I think they’re right to be done with me. I think I deserve to be alone.”

Ben closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them, Devi can see they’re filled with a sharp, visceral pain. She’s never seen this much vulnerability in his expression before, she wonders if anyone else has ever seen him this open, this unguarded. She doesn’t quite understand how his beautiful eyes can hold so much sorrow.

He opens his mouth as if to say something, then promptly shuts it.

She has never seen this side of Ben: the side of him that struggles with what to say and carries more pain than she could imagine. It’s something similar about them, Devi realizes. There are parts of them they never let the other see. She just hopes that now, that has changed.

Ben slides his hand away from hers and Devi feels her heart twist in her chest, before he slings it around her shoulder, tucking her into his side. “No one deserves to be alone, least of all you.”

Devi nestles in closer, resting her head in the crook of his neck. “You know that includes you too, right? You don’t deserve to be alone either.”

Ben shrugs his shoulders noncommittally. “I’m used to being alone. That—that’s just how it’s always been. It’s really not a big deal.”

Devi hesitates for a second, not knowing what to say, when a thought comes to mind. She bites the inside of her cheek as she contemplates her decision. It’s weird, wrong, and probably crosses all the lines of their relationship. It probably breaks all the self-imposed rules and boundaries but—

She says it anyway. “You’re not alone, Ben.” She shifts her head so she can look him fully in the eyes. “You have me.”

Ben lets out a wry, disbelieving laugh. “I have you, huh? You’re just not taking pity on me like everyone else?”

Devi groans, finding her patience with Ben’s obtuseness wearing thin, and whacks him in the chest with the back of her palm. “Come on! You really think I, of all people, would take pity on you?”

Ben huffs a laugh, this time more genuine. “Using logic, David? I guess there’s a first time for everything.

Devi chuckles back, wrapping her arms around him.

Part of her still doesn’t quite understand how she and Ben have ended up here—how she’s gone from considering him her greatest nemesis, to telling him things she’s never told anyone before, to holding him and letting him hold her—yet another part of her recognizes there’s a certain inevitability to it. Her shifting dynamic with him is like a biochemical cascade, once the first few steps have been set in motion—laughing with him in her kitchen, turning to him when she had no one left—the next can’t help but proceed as a result. 

Perhaps said biochemical cascade is the only explanation for what she does next: she blames it partially on sleep deprivation, but she shifts so that her legs are no longer stretched out in front of her but up on the couch. She rests her head on Ben's chest, pressing her ear against his heart so she can hear his pulse, steady and sure.

She feels him shift from under her, as if he plans to leave. “No,” she grumbles, grabbing his wrist.

“W—what?” she hears him stutter.

Devi’s too tired to answer him fully comprehensively so she settles for, “house is freezing, you’re warm.”

The house isn’t freezing at all, though. In fact, it’s perfect. She just can’t bear to have him leave her, not right now.

(Because when Ben holds her, she doesn’t just feel safe physically. She feels like every single part of her is safe. Her mind can rest, and she’s not quite as emotionally wounded as before. He’s a balm to all her systems, soothing in every possible way.)

She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down with her and pressing in closer. She tucks her head under his chin and buries her nose in his chest, inhaling the scent of sandalwood and something else she knows is unmistakably him.

He presses his nose into her head, and she can feel his lips brush her hair as he speaks. “You really only like me for my body, huh?”

“Not even that, Gross. I’d replace you with a space heater in a minute,” Devi mumbles.

She can feel the shake of his body as he laughs, and the sound reverberates in her own chest. Ben wraps his arms around her, pressing his hand between her shoulder blades, and pulls her even closer, tangling their legs together.

She clutches him even tighter, and it’s to the gentle beat of his heart that she’s finally pulled into the tendrils of sleep.

2.

Devi slams her chemistry textbook shut in a huff.

She and Ben are sitting outside working on some homework, and Devi’s currently on her third attempt at trying to balance a particularly challenging redox reaction.

(Not that the subject itself is hard, but balancing redox reactions requires precision, so even one tiny mistake can screw up the entire thing. Devi may be whip-smart, but she also has a tendency to rush into things.)

She’s never exactly been subtle at hiding any of her emotions, especially those that are shifting into anger, and Ben seems to catch on pretty quickly.

“You okay?”

Devi snaps her head up at him. “Fine,” she bites out.

“Hmm,” Ben hums, tapping his chin in what appears to be mock contemplation. “Based on the way you just slammed your textbook shut, I don’t think you are. What are you on, your third attempt to balance that reaction?”

Devi snarls at him. “How did you know this is my third attempt?”

Ben ignores her questions, and slides her paper towards him and lifts it up, scanning it. Devi tries to grab it back, but he’s too fast, pulling his arms just out of reach.

After about a minute, Ben sets down her paper and smirks. “Do you want help from the smarter of the two of us?”

“Yes, Gross,” she drawls. “I would like my page back so I can continue to help myself.”

Ben laughs mockingly. “I was talking about offering my help, David.”

Devi snarls, taking back her page. She and Ben may be friends now, but they are still academic rivals, she can’t do anything that lets him think he has the upper hand.

“Given that I’m your academic superior, I can’t imagine why I’d want your help,” Devi says with a smirk, immediately turning her attention back to her work.

They work in silence for a few moments before Ben breaks it.

She’s not even looking at him, but she can hear the infuriating smirk in his voice. “It’s eighteen, by the way.”

Devi looks up at him in alarm, the smirk she already knew was present having bloomed across his face. “Huh?”

“The coefficient of water,” Ben clarifies. “When you balance that reaction in basic conditions, the coefficient of water is eighteen.” He says the words to her like she’s a small child, his tone as condescending as can be.

Devi scowls and slows down to work through the rest of the problem. To her annoyance, Ben is correct, the coefficient of water is eighteen.

He’s still smirking when she looks back up, seeming to have completely abandoned his work in favour of studying her.

Devi’s all too familiar with Ben’s smirk, the indignant look that crosses his face when he thinks he’s bested her. It makes her blood boil and her heart race in an intoxicating, exhilarating, electrifying way. His smirk amplifies her competitive nature the same way gasoline intensifies a raging fire, pushes her to work harder, to be better, all for the sake of beating him. Today, his smirk triggers a similar reaction in her gut, a familiar competitive fizz, adrenaline roaring through her veins, but it also makes her palms a little clammy, her breathing a little shallow, her stomach swoop and somersault and oh no.

(It’s not just his smirk, she realizes, it’s Ben’s happiness in general. It seems whenever he’s happy, whether at her expense or because of her, she likes it.)

Ben’s voice snaps her out of her trance. “David,” he sing-songs.

Devi blinks a few times, returning herself to reality.

“I was asking if I could borrow an eraser,” Ben finally says.

Devi snorts. “Need one for all the mistakes you’ve definitely made?”

Ben cocks his head and purses his lips, holding out his palm.

Devi unzips her pencil case and passes him one of her many erasers, their hands brushing, and almost instinctively, Ben’s hand curls more tightly around hers.

Devi’s heart begins to drum loudly and confusingly in her chest as her eyes flick between their now joined hands and Ben’s face.

His expression is open, earnest, understanding. It’s eerily similar to the way he looked at her three days ago, when she sat on his couch, telling him how much she missed Eleanor and Fabiola and how cripplingly alone she felt, while he held her hand. It’s like she’s got a fresh wound, an open sore that only Ben can see. He looks at her the same way he did before she tucked herself into his arms as if she’d done it a thousand times before, as if she belonged there.

They haven’t talked about the conversation they had and they definitely haven’t talked about the cuddling.

(They especially haven’t brought up Devi knocking on his door the next two nights, still unable to shut off her brain and only being able to eventually fall asleep when his arms were around her once more.)

It’s as though they’ve mutually decided that what happens between the two of them at night doesn’t need to be spoken of, it’s obscured, concealed, shadowed by the late hour.

She thinks this is the first time she’s held Ben’s hand in the broad daylight and what scares her most is she’s not sure she wants to stop.

(Her hand fits in his the way a key fits into a lock. They belong together and open up sides of one another that are hidden away from the rest of the world. Devi does not have a master key to unlock her secrets. In fact, it takes time, time for people to get her to open up and talk about her problems. But somehow, Ben unlocks everything within her, he is a specially crafted key that makes her feel safe enough to open up.)

She shouldn’t feel comfortable opening up to him, she shouldn’t be letting him hold her hand, she should push herself away, tear her hand away from him as if he’s burned her, get the hell out of here as fast as she can. It should be weird, it should be strange, and uncertain, and bizarre. And yet— 

Ben is none of those things. He is certain, and steady, and stable and has become someone she trusts on a deep, primal level. She’s never been able to trust someone this quickly, never felt so easily able to open up.

He is a startling dichotomy to her: someone to whom she shouldn't feel anything aside from fierce competitiveness, and yet, over and over again, she finds herself feeling so much more.

She shouldn’t find him reliable. She shouldn’t have been so comforted when he wrapped her in his arms. 

(But, oh, she did, she did, she did.)

And oh god, she has feelings for him, doesn’t she?

3.

The way Ben kisses her is nothing like she imagined.

(Not that she ever imagined she’d be kissing Ben Gross specifically, but that’s beside the point.)

It’s nothing like every novel she’s read or every film she’s watched. It’s nothing like she’s ever expected. It’s better. It’s endlessly, inexplicably better.

He kisses her like she’s the only source of oxygen in a vacuum, like he needs her to breathe more than he needs the air itself. He kisses her like she is hydrogen and he is the sun that requires her for nuclear fusion. He kisses her like she is oxygen and he is fire, and she would think he is consuming her if not for the bruising force with which she is kissing him back. He kisses her like she is something wholly essential and necessary and vital, as if he was put on this planet solely to kiss her breathless.

Her lungs burn, burn for air, but she’s already become addicted to the feeling of Ben’s mouth on hers, addicted to the softness of his lips, addicted to the way his hand weaves through her hair, tugging her closer, closer, closer.

Eventually, she has to pull away, but he doesn’t let her go far, touching his forehead to her as they share a few moments of unsteady breath. She can’t even open her eyes, and her hand trembles against his cheek because holy shit, she just made out with Ben.

For something she never imagined doing, it had felt so, so right. Like a piece of her soul that had always been stranded had finally tucked itself into the proper place. Like she’s been off-balance, off-center for as long as she can remember, and kissing him had finally put her back on her axis.

She wants to, no, she needs to kiss him again, and so she does, tugging him close by the collar of his shirt and crashing her lips to his. His lips are so, so soft, and she’s pretty sure hers are already chapped, but if Ben doesn’t care, then she doesn’t care either. There’s less urgency in the way they kiss this time, less desperation. The way he kisses her warms her from the inside out, like honey left out in the sun, like he’s stoking a gentle fire burning within her.

Ben kisses her slowly, lazily, languidly, as if time is unspooling and slowing down before them. When he kisses her, Devi’s reminded of relativity—of time dilation—that time is stretched out and moves more slowly the closer you are to a black hole. Kissing Ben is just like that: orbiting a black hole. She doesn’t ever want time to speed up, to return to normal again, for that will mean he has stopped kissing her. That will mean he has pulled away.

He has to draw back though, time has to return to normal, but she doesn’t let him go far, resting one hand on his cheek and using the other to thread their fingers together. Taking Ben’s hand is a simultaneous fluid motion, it feels like something she’s done a thousand times and will continue to do for the rest of time, like waves crashing against the shore before returning to the ocean. His hand in hers is something cyclical, something predictable, something comforting.

His smile is timid, shy, like this shared moment between them is a secret only they can know about. His smile is almost impossible to describe, but what she can describe is how his smile makes her feel.  The gentle upturn of his lips sends something fluttering through her, like a kaleidoscope of butterflies taking flight. Like she’s tumbling through freefall, but Ben is falling with her, holding her hand. It’s like she’s on a rollercoaster, plunging from the highest peak, but the dive is exhilarating rather than terrifying.

(His smile is indescribably soft, but she now knows it’s just as soft as his lips.)

Just as she’s leaning in for another kiss, she hears a knock on the window. Devi swats at Ben to get him to pull his hands off her, and cranes her neck to spot Kamala standing outside the car.

Ben rolls down the window. “Hi Kamala!” he exclaims, slightly too loud and clearly flustered. Devi would be laughing at him if she didn’t feel just as embarrassed herself.

“Hi, Ben,” she says politely. She turns her attention to Devi. “Devi, are you ready to go?”

Devi’s eyes flick between her cousin and Ben. “Uh—” she stammers.

She feels Ben squeeze her hand. “Go on, Devi. We’ll catch up later.”

Every cell in her body is screaming for her to kiss him again, but Devi suffocates her desire, and gives his hand another squeeze before she steps out of his car.

The entire ride home, she can’t stop brushing her fingers against her lips.

She’s always had a soft spot for Ben’s smile, but now she likes it even more, especially when it’s pressed against her own.

4.

Devi shows up at Ben’s house two days after Malibu with a plan.

Because after those earnest, breathless kisses that conspired in the front seat of his dad’s Porsche, she’d gotten a voicemail.

And while it’d taken her a couple of days and a few conversations with Eleanor and Fabiola to figure out what—or who she wanted—now the choice was obvious.

If Paxton—unobtainable, god-like, abs of Adonis, perfectly chiselled jawline Paxton—is expressing interest, if she hadn’t blown it with him like she feared she had, then who was she to turn him down? Especially in favour of just Ben?

(She knows he could never really be just Ben. Not with all of their history, built up like strata of stalagmites, like layers of fossils buried beneath the Earth’s crust. Not with everything he’d done for her, with a smile that shone bright like a flashlight in one of her darkest of moments.)

But Paxton is who she’s wanted forever, just seeing him goofing off with his friends had made her walk again, for christ's sake. He’s without a doubt the hottest boy in So-Cal, on the planet even, and he wants her. Devi can’t waste the opportunity.

(Who is she trying to convince?)

So she has a plan: she’s going to pick up her stuff, apologize to Ben for kissing him multiple times, and once she’s done that, she can chase after what she really wants.

Devi rings the doorbell and twists her hands together, bouncing on her heels with nervous anticipation. The few seconds between ringing the bell and the door swinging open seem to stretch on for an unbearable eternity, Devi’s nerves only growing by the second. She’s pretty sure she’s begun to chew her lip raw and red just standing here waiting.

She lets out a deep breath of relief when Patty swings open the door and smiles kindly at her. “Hello, sweet girl!”

Devi smiles back and unclasps her hands, tucking them in the back pockets of her shorts instead. “Hi, Patty. I’m here to pick up my stuff from the guest bedroom?”

Patty’s smile grows wider and brighter and Devi really understands why Ben has such a soft spot for her. She’s caring and sweet and just good. “Of course, sweet girl.” She claps her hands together and gestures towards the stairs. “Come in. Ben is upstairs in his room as well.” She offers a wink that Devi isn’t too eager to decipher, so she ignores it.

Devi steps into Ben’s house trying to suppress the nervous energy steadily filling her, but what she can’t suppress is a pang of disappointment. She’d wanted Ben to open the door, to find his blue, blue eyes staring into hers.

(Why does she wish he opened the door? Isn’t she here to let him down?)

Devi makes her way upstairs to the Doobie Brother’s themed guest room—getting a little lost along the way because, fuck even after living here for a week, Ben’s house is still huge.

She didn’t have time to pack a ton of stuff when she ran away from home, but she still takes her time loading up her duffle bag, folding her clothing into perfect squares rather than tossing stuff in haphazardly. Devi doesn’t want to multiply her chores by adding a bunch of ironing to the list when she gets home. 

She’s so engrossed in her task that she doesn’t even notice Ben leaning against the door, arms crossed over his chest. He gets her attention by clearing his throat and she glances up at him, catching his steely gaze and locking eyes with him for a split second. She feels her breath hitch in her throat, like she’s some goddamn heroine in a bodice ripper, fighting the urge to trace the lines of his shoulders with her eyes. Fuck, he’s unfairly hot. He’s studying her with purpose, intent, like she’s a specimen under a microscope, and Devi wonders just how long he’s been standing there. The idea that he’s been watching her, observing her, makes her feel a weird combination of uncomfortable and giddy.

Devi tilts her head, studying Ben just as attentively, crossing her arms over her chest and mirroring his position. “What are you doing here, Gross?” Her tone comes out a bit more venomous than intended and she can’t help but wince.

Ben smirks. “This is my house, David. Have you forgotten?”

Devi scowls in response. “I have enough brain cells to know that Gross, my question is more specifically what are you doing here?”

Ben takes a few steps towards her, still smirking. She loses a little more air. “I had to make sure you hadn’t trashed the guest room.”

Devi raises an eyebrow. “Trashed?”

If possible, his smirk blooms even wider and Devi hates that she’s never felt so conflicted as to how to deal with it.

(To slap it off or kiss it off? Devi fears she’ll no longer ever know.) 

“Trashed,” Ben repeats. “I just had to make sure. Especially with your track record.”

“My track record?” Devi asks dubiously.

“Yup,” Ben confirms. He taps his chin in mock contemplation. “What is it people say about you?” He clicks his tongue. “Ah right, you’re a firecracker.”

Devi steps dangerously close to him. “I’m a firecracker, huh?”

Ben nods, the air between them building with intense, anticipatory energy. It reminds her the moment before lightning strikes a tree, because perhaps that’s what she and Ben are: a collision of opposing elements. She traces the hollow of his throat with her eyes, watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows, traces the line of his lip as he runs his tongue across it. She likes that she has this much power over Ben.

(Though in truth, she thinks he knows he possesses the exact same power over her.)

“Do you know what you are, Ben?” she breathes. Her hands ache to touch him.

She steps in even closer and Ben steps back, colliding with the bookshelf. “What?” 

Suddenly, Devi remembers why she’s here and it’s so sobering that she clears her throat and steps away from him. “A pretentious dick.”

(The space between them is both crushing and freeing, all at the same time.) 

Ben clutches his chest mockingly. “You wound me, David.” He cocks his head. “Besides, can’t you come up with a more creative insult?”

Devi counts out her points on her fingers. “Would you rather I say pompous? Arrogant? Brash?” She narrows her eyes. “Kitschy?”

Ben snorts. “Real creative.”

Devi uses one hand to toss her hair over her shoulder. “I think you mean amazingly creative.”

“No,” Ben says, shaking his head. “You only know that word because we had to read The Unbearable Lightness of Being for English class.”

“That book was terrible,” Devi groans. “It was horrifically sexist and misogynistic.”

Ben chuckles. “Tell me about it.”

Devi grunts. “I know they tried to convince us that Tomas needs Tereza because she plays into the sexist weak female stereotype, but that’s just offensive. And it’s not just her, not a single woman in that novel has any agency.”

“Not to mention,” Ben adds. “Where’s the justification for the women only being described using their bodies, while the men’s bodies were barely mentioned?”

Devi frowns at him. “I know you’re trying, Ben, but you really can’t understand the misogyny.” She pats his arm condescendingly. “Nice try though.”

Ben nods. “Point taken. It was boring as fuck though.”

Devi smiles widely. “Now that I can agree with. Did Kundera like, not get the novel edited?”

“It sure seems like he didn’t!”

Devi laughs before recalling the reason why she’s actually here. She’s here to talk about Malibu, to apologize for Malibu more accurately, without breaking his heart. She sits down on the bed and clasps her hands together, twisting them nervously in her lap. “Hey, can I—uh—talk to you about something?” She casts her gaze towards the floor, unable to look at Ben.

She feels the mattress dip as Ben sits down next to her. “Sure,” he says. “What’s up?”

She finally wills herself to look back up at him just as his lips turn up in the softest smile. It’s not radiant or luminescent, it doesn’t light up his entire face the way his grin does, but it’s still beautiful. His smile reminds her of the sun peeking out from behind the clouds, of flowers blooming when winter turns into spring. It's the difference between an eruption and the flowing of magma between volcanic plates, it's not shocking or wide or even all that eye-catching, but soft and steady and warm. It’s even a bit fleeting, like a butterfly, like if she blinks or turns away for even a moment too long, she’ll miss it. Devi never wants to miss one of Ben’s smiles again.

Whatever reason she came here, whatever she needed to talk to him about, it’s all irrelevant and insignificant when Ben smiles at her like that. 

Before she even registers what she’s doing, Devi is leaning forward and kissing him. And, oh , she likes his smile even more when it’s pressed against her own.

He kisses her back almost instantly, and she lets out a sigh against his mouth when Ben’s hands find their way into her hair. The way he cradles her reminds her so, so much of Malibu. She feels her heart pounding against her ribs, beating out his name, and presses a hand to his chest to feel it thumping in equal time. She slides one of her hands into his hair and finds it’s soft, soft, impossibly soft against her fingertips.

They kiss over and over again, barely separating to breathe, but Devi finds that oxygen is a secondary desire, a secondary need to Ben’s mouth pressing against hers. His kisses are soft and sweet, but then his mouth presses against hers harder, hungrier, and she wishes she was fashioned for a vacuum, wishes she was an anaerobic microbe, so she could sit here, spending an eternity kissing him.

Eventually though, Devi has to pull back to breathe, but she can’t pull herself too far away, so she stays trapped in his orbit, touching her forehead to this. Ben doesn’t seem to want to pull away either, his hands remaining in her hair, one cupping her jaw. His voice comes out low and rough and little breathless. “So that’s what you wanted to talk about?” he murmurs, his breath ghosting her lips, and it takes everything in Devi not to pull him into another kiss. Not to have him once more kiss the breath from her lungs.

Her resistance doesn’t last long though, and she can’t help the stupid goofy grin that spreads across her face. “No,” she admits, smoothing her thumb over his cheekbone. “I decided on something better than talking.”

Ben’s bright blue eyes flash with recognition and he pulls her in for another kiss.

Her plan may have failed—astronomically, catastrophically failed—but when she’s kissing Ben, Devi finds she doesn’t even care.

5.

“So, how would you solve the trolley problem?”

Devi turns her attention away from the episode of The Good Place that they’re watching together. “Huh?”

“You heard my question, David.”

Devi frowns at him and arches an eyebrow. “You want to talk about that right now?”

It’s not a surprise to her, she’s been dating Ben for four months now, and rather than actually watching tv or movies together, they tend to end up bickering about motifs and themes instead. No longer do they find themselves eventually conceding to the other’s point of view, but instead they recognize and understand the other’s perspective. Talking to Ben is like looking through a stained glass window: she still sees the whole picture all the same, but with a new tint to it that he provides.

Ben shrugs his shoulders. “It’s an interesting ethical quandary.” 

“You know you can’t exactly solve the trolley problem—”

“You know what I mean, Devi—”

“—It’s a complex ethical dilemma.”

 “—It’s a term of phrase,” Ben mutters. “But tell me, how would you solve it?”

“You’re asking if I’d switch tracks?” Devi asks, turning to face him more fully.

Ben tilts his head. “That is generally the ethical dilemma, yes.”

“Cause you know there’s also the organ problem, right?”

Ben sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “For now, I mean the general trolley problem.”

Devi reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers. “Look, you may not be as smart as I am, but you are smart, so you have to know that though I tend to err on the side of utilitarianism, it’s completely dependent on the specifics of the problem.”

Ben narrows his eyes. “Explain.”

“I mean, if the person on the other track was someone I cared about like El or Fab or my mom or... you, I obviously wouldn’t switch.”

“Aww, David,” Ben coos. “You wouldn’t switch tracks for me?” His eyes are twinkling with a combination of affection and mischief.

Devi snorts. “Obviously not, you’re my boyfriend.” She leans in a bit closer. “Besides, if I switched tracks, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” She tilts her head up to brush her lips against his. She cups his jaw, deepening the kiss for a split second before she pulls back.

Ben smiles softly at her, toying with their joined hands. “You make a good point.”

“What about you,” Devi asks, quirking an eyebrow. “Would you switch tracks?”

Ben pulls her closer. “I think my opinion is the same as yours, David. I obviously wouldn’t switch tracks if you were on the other track.” He brings their joined hands up to press a swift kiss to her knuckles. “I’m a bit too attached to you to do that.”

Devi scowls. “A bit?”

“Fine,” Ben concedes, “I’m much too attached to you, happy?”

Devi grins. “Extremely.”

“I do tend to be more staunchly utilitarian though,” Ben says. “If you can sacrifice one life to save five, usually, it’s much more economical to save the five. Though I still probably wouldn’t want to sacrifice an innocent life, I’d be much more likely to do what Michael did.”

Devi frowns at him. “You’d sacrifice yourself?”

“Yeah, well, it’s only fair, isn’t it? It’s still the utilitarian option, but I wouldn’t be harming someone innocent.”

Devi smacks him in the side of the head. “You self sacrificing douchebag!”

“I mean, come on, Devi, wouldn’t you do the same thing?”

Devi tosses her head back and forth and then lets out a sigh. Ben is kind of right and she hates it, begrudgingly hates how well he knows her, the same way he does his favourite book.  “Fine,” she grumbles. “I would.”

Ben grins, bright and clear at her admission and it makes all of Devi’s annoyance at him drift away like with tufts of cotton candy. It’s not fair how much sway his stupid smile holds over her, and she wonders if it’ll ever stop affecting her the way it does.

(Though, if she’s being honest, she never wants him to stop affecting her. Ben is like the moon and Devi the tides, his gravity forever affecting her.) 

“The Good Place is just such a genius show,” Ben says, turning back to the screen, eyes suddenly alight. Devi always loves when he gets like this, passionate, intelligent, excited, it makes something akin to desire stir in her gut. “Centering the entire plot on character development and growth, tackling interesting moral philosophy quandaries in almost every episode, but making them accessible to the average person, having a fast-moving, always engaging plot. Not to mention, Chidi and Eleanor’s romance was the perfect way to turn the concept of soulmates on its head making it about choice rather than destiny. Even the final moral of the show is because life is finite, because of death, life has meaning, just like the show has meaning, and will remain iconic because it has an en—”

Devi cuts off his words, winding an arm around his neck and tugging him down for a kiss. He responds instantly, and she lets out a whimper when his hands weave through her hair so he can pull her closer and kiss her back.

Devi moves one of her hands to cup his jaw, thumb pressing against his pulse point, so she can feel the rapid-fire beat of his heart. When he slants his lips against hers harder, kissing her at a rougher, deeper angle, she holds back a moan. How, after so many kisses, can kissing Ben feel so, so good every time?

It’s like a rollercoaster, no matter how many times you reach the top, the plummet to the bottom is just as exhilarating, causing the same adrenaline rush. The human body never quite adapts to free fall, just as Devi will never acclimate to the feeling of Ben’s mouth on hers, will never grow tired of kissing him. Kissing him is a type of swan dive, an enticing gravitational pull, all on its own.

Eventually, Devi has to break the kiss, oxygen becoming a pathetic necessity.

Ben doesn’t even ask her why she kissed him, Devi’s told him a couple of times he’s most attractive to her when he’s smart and, well, listening to him dissect the motifs and genius qualities of one of their favourite shows had been, unsurprisingly, just as attractive.

Instead, he just smiles, bright, and wide and clear, like a curve of the moon. His grin stretches from ear to ear and makes his eyes gleam like sapphires. Despite being on the receiving end of a countless number of Ben’s smiles, Devi will never grow tired of them. His smile is like the sunrise, something cyclical, something reliable, something periodic, yet special all the same. The gentle upturn of his lips, the shine of his teeth, the brightness of his eyes, is ever-present, but always, always distinctive and unique.

His smile does have one downside though, it consistently makes her act impulsively, and before Devi can question it, the words are tumbling out.

“Hey, I love you.”

Ben’s million-watt grin shifts into a smirk. “Took you long enough to admit it.”

She kicks him. “You’re being a dick, Ben.”

“I’m just saying, you’re a little obvious.”

“You know what, forget it, I take it back,” Devi grumbles. “That’s the first and last time you’ll ever hear that.”

Ben’s expression softens again. “Hey, no, Devi.” He fixes his gaze on her intensely, eyes filled to the brim with affection, adoration, fondness. “I love you too.”

(Something in her heart cracks open, and warmth pours out of her, like water rushing over a waterfall. He loves her, and she loves him.)

Devi tucks herself into his side, sighing in contentment when Ben drapes an arm around her shoulder, pulling her even closer. She leans up to press featherlight kisses to his jaw, his cheek, his lips. “So,” she says, “since I told you loved you, are you going to admit I’m right about the trolley problem?”

“Yeah,” Ben murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

Devi tilts her head and looks up at him smirking, eyes glinting with mirth.

“Fuck.”

“You admitted I was right,” Devi sing-songs.

“Don’t get used to it, David,” Ben grumbles.

Devi reaches for his hand and begins to trace the lines of his palm with her index finger. “Nah,” she says. “I think I’d like to get used to you.”

+1

Ben has a plan. 

It’s a good plan—a solid, carefully crafted, meticulously constructed plan—for asking Devi to prom.

He rigs her locker with confetti hearts, he pays the school orchestra a hefty sum to serenade her in first period calculus, he adorns a sign in glitter with a corny pun featuring her name. Everything is perfectly, immaculately planned and things should work out without a hitch.

It’s too bad, then, that the plan goes to shit.

He can’t entirely be blamed for what happens, despite all of his planning, Ben is pretty nervous. Not that he thinks Devi is going to say no, he just knows she isn’t the biggest fan of a grand gesture, but he can’t help it, he wanted to go all out.

He just doesn’t expect a kiss on the cheek to be his undoing.

He doesn’t notice Devi when she walks into the school that morning, a bit too lost in his own thoughts until she’s pressing her lips to his cheek. “Good morning,” she says once she pulls away, the spot on his cheek still tingling.

They’re not really the type for PDA, so perhaps that’s why he cracks so easily.

“Prom!” he yelps out, without warning or fanfare.

Devi turns to him with slightly wide eyes. “Huh?”

Well, there’s no taking it back now. Ben nervously scratches at the back of his neck. “You know,” he says, voice a little strangled and shaky. “Promenade. Prom night. You know. Prom.”

She smirks at him, placing a hand on her hip. “What about it?”

Ben runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat. “You know. We should—we should go together.”

Devi’s eyes sparkle with something mischievous. “Are you asking me or are you telling me, Gross?”

Ben nervously swallows. “I’m asking you, ob—obviously.”

Devi tilts her head and purses her lips. “Hmm,” she hums. “I’m not exactly hearing a question.”

Ben takes a deep breath and reaches for her hands, taking them in his own. He clears his throat once more. “Will you go to prom with me?”

Devi smiles for a split second before her expression shifts back into smugness. “As opposed to? Did you have plans on asking other girls, Gross?”

Recovering his confidence, Ben mirrors her smirk. “Obviously not. But you know I have a line out the door of people who want to dance with me.” He leans in closer, to whisper the next few words in her ear. “You better stake your claim now.”

His words seem to have no effect on Devi. “I’ve seen you dance. I guarantee you.” She pats his shoulder condescendingly. “There’s no line.”

Ben’s mouth drops agape, but then she smacks him in the shoulder. “The answer’s yes, you dummy.”

“I think I need to hear you say it.”

Devi groans, but by this point, Ben knows her well enough to know it’s a pretense. “Yes, Ben, I’ll go to prom with you.”

Ben can’t suppress a grin and while he and Devi are usually adamantly against PDA, he can’t stop himself from pulling her in for a kiss.

It’s light and brief, and Ben breaks it when he feels Devi grinning against his mouth.

He pulls back and her smile is still there, splitting her face wide. The crookedness of her grin, the shine of her teeth, the crinkle of her eyes, is a beam of sunlight peeking through a patch of clouds; concentrated, fierce, intense, at first, but the longer it falls, the more it softens. It becomes less sharp, less painful, but remains all the more beautiful and it is so, so warm.

“I actually had a whole plan,” Ben grumbles. “To ask you to prom.”

Devi cocks her head. “Your plan failed pretty epically then didn’t it?”

Usually, such a blunt, honest, slightly callous remark from Devi would make Ben a little annoyed, but today it doesn’t. “Yeah,” he murmurs, taking one of her hands so he can press his mouth to her knuckles. “Yeah, it did.”

Devi’s smile curls into something more akin to a smirk, but Ben doesn’t care.

Whether she’s smiling at his expense or because of him, he’s happy.

He wants to see her smile for the rest of his life.