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It was New Year’s Eve, 1987, and Matt was determined to have the best New Year’s Eve yet. It was his last one before he graduated, and his last one as a kid altogether. After that, he would be an adult with real adult responsibilities— something he didn’t like to think of too much.
Matt turned seventeen in October, but was frequently inconvenienced by his baby face. The one time he and Ben stood outside a liquor store to try and get someone to buy them beer, the owner threatened to call the cops on them. They obviously looked like a pair of dumb kids to everyone. It was even worse when Casey tagged along and they had to babysit.
This year, Matt and Ben had managed to convince Casey to leave them be for the night. They’d been given a curfew of 12:30, and were told not to get in any trouble. Ben’s mom was less strict than his. If it were his house they were staying at, he’d be forced to sit inside and watch Dick Clark all night.
Matt had gotten a fake ID from some guy in his chemistry class whose cousin had a side business making them. The picture looked good, and Matt had posed with his head at an angle that made his jaw look more defined and made him look older. The only problem was that the fake ID guy was a huge idiot, and had made Matt’s age twenty-six years old.
“Nobody is going to buy this,” Ben said when he saw the ID. “Twenty-two maybe. But no way in hell anyone will believe you’re twenty-six.”
“How do we know if we don’t try?” Matt asked. “If we drive to a liquor store that’s far away, then we don’t ever have to go back there again.”
“I know that it’s not going to work, man.” Ben shook his head. “Trust me.”
Matt frowned. Don’t be a pussy. Besides, you owe me,” He pointed a finger at him.
“For what?!” Ben asked.
“I let you copy my paper on the Civil War for history class.”
Ben made a face. “Yeah, and Mrs. Wilson recognized your assignment from two years ago and gave me an F. So I don’t owe you anything.”
“That’s not my fault!” Matt threw his hands up. “I told you to change the words a little bit.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Ben crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not helping you with this plan. If we get caught, our parents are going to kill us. Not to mention that we could go to jail.”
Matt sighed. He was right. Usually, when they got alcohol, it was when some guys from school got their older siblings to get it for them, and the two of them invited themselves along. This year, nobody was willing to share with them, ever since Ben had dissed Jimmy Davis by bringing up that his mom had fake tits in an argument.
And that’s how they ended up settling for slushies from the gas station instead of booze. Harvard Square was always busy this time of year, with people going out to bars to celebrate. Matt and Ben managed to find the roof access for a building and sat up top, watching the swarms of drunk people walk around.
“This is not so bad, I guess,” Matt said, his feet propped up against the parapet.
“You know you could’ve just hung out with Jimmy and those guys alone if you wanted to drink tonight,” Ben said. “It’s me he has a problem with.”
Matt scrunched his brows. “Why would I do that? It wouldn't be any fun without you. Besides, those guys are douchebags.”
Ben blushed a little, and then sipped at his slushie, ducking his head. “Did you submit your Harvard application yet?”
Matt frowned at the subject change, but let it go. “Yeah. They’re due tomorrow. I sent mine in last week.”
“School is gonna be boring without you,” Ben said, inspecting the sleeve of his hoodie. “Don’t replace me with some pretentious Harvard loser.”
Matt grinned. “How could I ever?” The people in the square were now counting down from 10. Matt had always been a little sentimental, so he felt a little bittersweet about tonight. As much as he had wanted to get wasted tonight, he still had fun with Ben, just as he always did.
Whatever being an adult meant, he could only hope that it didn’t entail giving this up.
He was about to open his mouth to tell Ben that, when Ben leaned over and pecked him on the lips, before immediately pulling away.
Matt froze, dumbfounded. The bell tower rang to signal midnight. The drunk people were now cheering and singing Auld Lang Syne. Matt finally turned to Ben, but he was looking away. His lips were red from the slushie, matching his flushed cheeks.
“Um—“ Matt started, but Ben stood up and cut him off.
“We should probably go home now,” he said, still not looking at him. “My mom might get mad.”
“Okay,” Matt said, stunned. The rest of the night was slightly awkward, but Ben didn’t seem mad, so Matt didn’t try to talk to him about it.
He and Ben always slept in the same bed. It had been that way since forever. That night, Ben stayed up reading comics at his desk with a flashlight until Matt fell asleep, and he didn’t feel Ben crawl in beside him until late. By the morning, it had been like nothing even happened. Ben didn’t mention it, so Matt didn’t either.
The last week had been full of tension. For a couple days, it seemed like every single idea they came up with sucked. One of them caught writer's block and passed it to the other. Matt wasn’t even sure who had it first.
Ben’s current apartment was substantially crappy. He and Matt had gigs coming up this month, and hopefully, that would allow them to find a new and slightly improved place. Ben was, weirdly enough, spending a lot of time cleaning, as well as hounding Matt about leaving messes in certain places and not doing certain chores. They weren’t doing much writing. They were doing a lot of practicing lines, playing video games, and drinking. After a certain point, Matt had to leave the apartment and spend a day out alone to people-watch and get some inspiration.
It didn’t help that they were so far from home, and that home was what they were writing about. He liked LA, but he couldn’t help but fear that it was preventing him from finding real inspiration.
Ben was on an audition that day for some crap role in a TV show. It would probably be done fast, and he would return back to find the notebooks and Matt gone. Matt spent a couple hours in a coffee shop and tried to force himself to continue, to pick up where he left off, but he was unable to put himself in the shoes of who he was at the exact moment the script was starting to get good. They’d written almost nonstop for a while, and then it had started to taper off.
When he and Ben were kids, they’d write all sorts of stuff. Screenplays and stories about anything. There was one in particular that was just seven straight pages of sex jokes and ended with the main character dying of syphilis. Matt’s mom ended up finding it when she was cleaning his room and hadn’t been too pleased.
He can still remember the look on Ben’s face when they tried sneaking into the school library to look for books on infectious diseases. They had only gotten to the first couple pages of a medical textbook before getting caught by the librarian. Matt had giggled so hard his stomach hurt for hours after that.
He decided to get some lunch, ignore the script for an hour, and come back to it while sitting in his car. After managing to stare at the page for 20 minutes, Matt gave up and headed back to the apartment.
When he opened the door, Ben was sitting on the floor smoking a cigarette and reading the newspaper. He looked up at Matt when he set the notebook down on the table. “Hey,”
“Hi. How was the audition?”
Ben grimaced. “Mediocre.”
“Did you bomb?” Matt asked.
“No,” Ben shook his head. “Well, I don’t know. But I honestly don’t even think I wanted the role in the first place.”
“That and also it would be nice to buy groceries,” Matt added.
“That’s also true,” Ben said, and then sighed. He got up to reach the ashtray. “I never expected that adulthood would be like this, you know.”
“Me neither,” Matt said, sitting down on the couch. “Tried to write again today, and I got nothing.”
“Mmm,” Ben said absentmindedly, sitting back down on the floor. He rested his back against Matt’s legs and sighed.
Matt ruffled Ben’s hair. He’d been letting it grow out ever since he’d broken up with his last girlfriend, and his bangs were long enough to fall over his forehead.
Ben leaned back against his palm. “Remember when we used to build forts?” he asked. “With all the pillows and blankets?”
“Yeah.” Matt smiled. “Why, do you think we should—”
“Work on the script inside the fort? Fuck yes,” Ben said, getting up. “I’ll find some pillows.”
10 minutes later, they were underneath a horde of blankets with a couple of beers. Obviously they couldn't reach the computer from there, so they had to use the notebook and the lamp wired out from under the fort. It was cozy, even though the apartment was never really cold.
“Why haven't we done this in so long?” Ben asked. “It’s fun.”
“Because we’re too tall to fit in a fort, idiot. You especially.” Ben was hunched over. “Can you even write like this?”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Sure I can,” he said, scooting over to rest his head on Matt’s lap. “You can write, and I’ll talk.”
Matt felt a little faint, but laughed anyway. “Alright,” he said, and clicked the pen. “Last place we were was Will and Sean’s first meeting.”
“Alright, let’s see—” Ben says, closing his eyes. He looked deep in thought, a crease between his brows. Matt started looking at Ben’s eyelashes instead of at the script, and momentarily forgot he was supposed to be writing down the things Ben was saying.
“Sorry, what?” Matt asked after a moment.
Ben sighed, and opened his eyes. “Did you hear any of that?” Matt shook his head no. He let his eyes drift away from Ben’s eyes and over to his shoulders.
That night five years ago, the kiss— Matt never forgot that it happened. Every new year, every time Matt kissed someone, whenever he and Ben would stay up late in the dark talking— Matt thought about it. The lingering memory of the kiss; sudden and over before it started, was the catalyst to his brain being unable to look at Ben without a small part of him feeling funny.
And now, in a fucking blanket fort with his best friend in the whole world, and a script that was the second most important thing to him right now, Matt thought about kissing him.
Ben’s lips were not terra incognita, Matt told himself, leaning down.
It was nothing like the bumbling awkwardness of teenagers. Matt kissed him, waited a terrifying second to gauge Ben’s reaction, and kissed him again when Ben didn't pull away. It was longer than last time, leisurely and almost casual, like a kiss between two people who kissed every day.
Matt pulled away, and this time Ben was the stunned one. He stared at Matt like he had no idea why he would want to kiss him.
Matt didn’t bother to explain himself. He picked the script back up, resisting the urge to brush Ben’s hair back from his face, and cleared his throat. “Repeat what you said?” he asked Ben, a little breathlessly.
Ben nodded, and sat back up, hunched over again. He looked directly at the script and not at Matt. “Sure,” Ben said, a little hoarse. And if Ben was a little flustered for the rest of the night, then Matt didn’t point it out.
It was a quarter past 1 am, and Matt’s hands trembled from exhilaration as he unbuttoned his blazer. There had been champagne at the premiere, and at first he wasn't planning on having any, but his nerves had taken over pretty quickly, and he’d had about 3 flutes of the stuff. Matt took a long, deep breath and sat on the edge of the hotel bed.
The idea of fame was simultaneously daunting and electrifying. For the first couple of months while production for Hunting was wrapping up, Matt had gone through a phase where seeing his name and face on the poster had been so fucking crazy that he’d been legitimately in denial for months every time he saw it.
The small roles he could do, he was accustomed to that. Hanging around on set as an extra? Great. Awesome. But being a screenwriter? Having his fucking name on something like this?
The first draft had been absolutely insane. One problem that Matt always had was that his crazy ideas always became crazier when Ben was added to the equation. Will working for the NSA had suddenly turned into Will and his friends attempting to thwart a government conspiracy. The studio had been honest with them; either make a movie about Will Hunting, or about the conspiracy shit.
They chose Will, of course. It had always been about him.
Now, in an LA hotel room with sheets so sterile they looked new, he couldn’t decide what to feel about everything. The money they’d gotten for the script would soon be but a fraction of what they were gonna make. It was an alien thought.
The door opened, and Ben walked in with a bottle of water he’d procured from the vending machine. Matt didn’t like the sparkling shit the hotel provided. Ben tossed it at him, and he caught it without even looking. They were always in sync.
“Listen,” Ben said. He was eating a Twix. “Apparently we have some meeting tomorrow at two.”
“For what?” Matt asked.
Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is that we have to be downstairs tomorrow afternoon, looking, and I quote; presentable and substantially sober.”
“She said that?” Matt asked, taking a sip. The studio had assigned them a temporary agent for both premieres. She was bossy in a maternal way. Matt liked her.
“Yeah.” Ben sat down on the chair opposite the bed and licked chocolate off his fingers. He was oddly quiet. Matt had been expecting Ben to drag him somewhere to party.
Matt stood up from the bed and winced at his crumpled slacks. He’d have to get them ironed. He set the water down and walked into the bathroom. After ogling at how big it was, he washed his face without bothering to roll up his sleeves.
That feeling of denial had made its way into his habitus. Everything he did, said, every person he interacted with; was laden with it. Any thoughts of the future, even a week ahead, had some sort of unpredictable quality. What do big movie stars do with their life? It was so much more than the acting and rolling in a pool of cash— despite what Matt had previously thought.
Matt walked out of the bathroom in his boxers. Ben was sitting on the bed, reading one of the magazines the hotel provided. His suit jacket was discarded haphazardly on the bed and his hair was ruffled and sticking up in all sorts of directions. He looked just like he always did and always had— Just Ben.
There wasn’t a single shred of denial when it came to him. Never. For a second there, Matt felt like fucking Annie Lennox, floating in the air— no one on earth could feel like this… I’m thrown and overblown with bliss… Matt stood there for a couple minutes staring at him, and then grinned like a big idiot.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ben asked from behind his magazine.
Matt stretched his arms behind his head and sighed. “Many things,” he said, scanning the room for his cellphone. He walked towards his suitcase and checked the front pocket. Gotcha. Two missed calls from his mom and one from Casey.
“Okay,” Ben said, after a moment of delay.
Matt looked up from the phone and frowned at him. “What’s wrong?”
Ben didn’t reply, and kept thumbing through the magazine. Matt would call his mother back tomorrow morning. She probably wasn’t expecting a reply at this hour, with the expectation that he would’ve been too wasted by now.
He wasn’t. He felt completely clear-headed, almost to a startling degree. Matt leaned down to peer at the cover of Ben’s magazine. Princess Diana was on the cover, along with the other ‘25 most intriguing people of the year.’ Matt glared at Leo in the corner of the page. He was what was standing between them and a Golden Globe— that was, provided the movie did well.
Was it wrong that a little part of him— the one tangled up with all the denial, didn't want that? What if nothing happened at all, nothing changed, nobody got hugely rich and famous, and things were just… normal. As they already were; except without all the denial.
He grabbed Ben’s wrist and pulled the magazine down a couple inches. “Ben?”
Ben finally looked at him. “What?’
“I asked you what the matter was,” Matt stared at him. His hair felt itchy from product. He ran a hand through it.
Ben looked away. “And I didn’t answer because there’s no matter.”
“Alright, fine,” Matt pulled away. “Be like that.”
Out of all of the times for Ben to get in a mood, now made the least sense. Maybe he would call his mom back. He picked his phone up, and Ben put his hand on Matt’s arm.
“Put that away,” he said, a little quiet.
Matt frowned, but did as he said. “Ben.” He said seriously. “What’s wrong?”
Ben finally put the damn magazine down. He slumped back against the pillows and rubbed at his eyes. “I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. “
Matt sighed, and shuffled closer to him on the bed. He pushed the magazine off Ben’s lap, wrapped an arm around his middle, and hooked his chin over Ben’s shoulder.
Ben relaxed against him, but was still a little tense. Maybe he was just as freaked out as Matt was.
“Look, we just need to live day by day, and see where we go. I know I’m anxious about the future, but I’m always fucking anxious.” Matt smoothed down the back of Ben’s shirt. “You’re supposed to be the confident one.”
Ben was quiet for a moment, and then asked; “Are you still going to hold me like this when we’re rich and famous?”
Matt pulled back. “What?”
“You heard me.” He looked at Matt blankly, nothing like how he looked at the Mann Bruin earlier tonight, gleeful with genuine excitement and also a little prosecco.
Matt’s chest felt heavy again. “I don’t— What?” He said again.
Ben took a long breath. “Earlier tonight, while you were talking to Minnie, this guy comes up to me, and he’s like: “Is it really true that Matt slept on your floor while you were writing the script?” and “Did you offer him a blanket?””
He sat up on the bed. “And then it just fucking hit me— is this how we’re forming the beginning of our careers? Changing the details about the people we are? I obviously can’t tell this random dude who composed the soundtrack that, “No, Matt didn't sleep on my floor, because he’s slept in my bed since we were like four feet tall.””
“Did you call Danny Elfman a random dude?” Matt asked.
Ben scrunched his brows. “Who?”
“He composed all the Batman music.”
“Fuck Batman.” Ben said, and continued on his tangent. “It’s— it's just baffling to me how our normal, what’s normal for us, is suddenly abnormal enough that you have to embellish the truth.”
Matt sat there with his hands clasped. He inhaled slowly. “I don’t know what you want me to say to that.”
Ben scoffed, but didn’t say anything else.
“You know exactly why I leave out certain details, Ben,” Matt said. And besides, why did some random people need to know that they share a bed? They shared everything at some point— clothes, a bank account, everything. It was like breathing for him.
“Yeah, I know,” Ben said quietly, and laid back on the bed facing away from Matt. “Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.”
“What do you mean?” Matt tried to get Ben to meet his eye, but he wouldn’t budge. “Ben,” he pleaded.
After a moment, Ben sighed, and shifted slightly on the sheets. “Come here,” he whispered.
Matt’s chest thudded. He crawled closer and Ben pulled him in by the back of the neck to press their foreheads together. He opened his eyes to look at Matt, and they were sort of watery. “Don’t leave me behind, Matt,” Ben whispered. “Please.”
Matt shook his head against Ben’s. “I won’t.” he breathed out. “You know that.”
Ben clutched him harder. “I don’t.” he scrunched his eyes closed again. “Sometimes—“ he started, voice beginning to break, and then ducked his head to bury his face into Matt’s throat.
Pressed up against Ben’s skin, Matt felt a familiar feeling in his gut. After a decade of second-guessing himself, he couldn’t do it anymore. He wanted to be a person who Ben was certain wouldn’t ever leave him. He didn’t want this to be the third time, or the moment they finally talked about it. He wanted to stop counting the times altogether. He wanted to be less afraid.
Matt kissed the top of Ben’s head, softly. and when Ben lifted it— kissed his mouth. And then he did it again, and again. This would not end at number three. He would make sure of it.
Ben surged up and kissed back a little harder, gripping Matt’s jaw with his hand. He tasted like chocolate. Matt let himself briefly sink into the kiss, and then pulled back an inch to talk.
“It’s not that I'm trying to make us different people. I just wasn’t sure what people you wanted us to be.”
“I kissed you first,” Ben said, blinking.
“You did,” Matt said. “And you were also fifteen. How was I supposed to know what you were thinking?”
“You just know,” Ben persisted, hands fisted in Matt’s undershirt. “You can read my mind sometimes. Why was this so hard to understand?”
Matt took a long breath. “I don't know,” he bowed his head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Ben didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he sat up and pushed Matt down against the bed to kiss him again. This was already longer than all the previous times. He kissed Matt until their lips were sore and both of them were trembling. It was more desperate than the last two times, like they’d been denied too long.
Matt pulled Ben down flush against him, started unbuttoning his shirt— and this was already exceeding a decade-long set of boundaries. Ben divested himself of his pants, and then Matt’s undershirt.
After they were less clothed, Matt pressed himself against the heat of Ben’s skin. Ben gasped and arched against him, and Matt could feel them making contact. He bucked his hips slightly and Ben buried a noise in Matt’s neck. Oh God.
Matt did it again, and this time grasped Ben’s hips with both hands. Ben shuddered against him and clutched at Matt’s arms, his shoulders. Matt buried his hand in Ben’s hair and mouthed at his jaw, his pulse where he smelled like him. A familiar scent that he almost felt was mingled with his own.
“Matt— Matt, I need—“ Ben gasped, and Matt, in a fit of desire, grabbed his ass and pushed their hips harder together. That was enough for Ben—who was now making desperate little sounds— and he shook against Matt’s body, with tremors that lasted for almost a minute.
Matt pressed his mouth to the patch of skin above Ben’s collar, and came undone in turn with a long, aching pulse. He shivered against Ben’s neck, and then leaned up for a kiss.
“I think I bruised you,” Ben said woefully, warm mouth pressed to Matt’s cheek.
Matt smiled, blissful. “You definitely did. And I was weirdly into it.”
Ben laughed then, and Matt felt a wave of relief come over him. “Is this how it’s gonna be from now on?” He murmured, looking simultaneously joyful and ashamed. “I cry like a chick and then dry-hump you for three minutes?”
“It was at least four,” Matt argued.
“Fuck off,” Ben pinched his bare thigh, then leaned down to kiss it. He rested his head there for a moment. “That first time, when we were kids—“ Ben hesitated. “Were you just humouring me?”
Matt thought about it for a moment, even though he didn’t need to. “No,” Matt said. “Of course not.”
Ben nodded, cheeks flushed just like they were at fifteen, and he pressed his heated face against Matt’s leg. Matt stroked his hair. The future remained characterized by fear and uncertainty and that goddamn denial again. However, one thing was certain to him;
“I don’t know exactly how it's going to be, but all I can do is hope that it’ll have something to do with you,” Matt said.
Ben sat up and kissed him again. He pulled the covers over both of them, and wrapped an arm around Matt’s waist. “I hope it’ll be good.”
“Yeah,” Matt curled against Ben’s body. “Me too.”