Taking Ben to concerts was a shitshow in itself, but to a Chappell Roan concert? Ben? When you'd asked him, he was like, "Sure, long as it's some good, real music," your opinion of 'some good, real music' was quite different to Ben's opinion on the topic. He was absolutely weak for you anyway, you could drag him anywhere and despite his incessant complaints, he'd enjoy it more than he'd want to admit. But the damn look he gives you when you arrive at the venue for the concert is fucking gold. "Y'know I love you—"

You didn't wanna hear it, you didn't let him finish, focusing on some people trading Chappell Roan bracelets, forcing him to come with you much to his chagrin. He's this big, beefy guy, being hauled around at a Chappell Roan concert. He looks so very cunty.

By the time the two of you find your spot, his arm is decked in bracelets, well, the ones that were too big for you, anyway. Beads would be flying everywhere if he wore all the bracelets you guys had traded. "I feel like a fuckin'," he didn't even have the words. "You owe me," he points at you, then folds his arms across his chest like a petulant child. This was not what he'd expected.

But you were not expecting to see Ben having the time of his fucking life an hour later in the midst of the concert, singing along to Hot To Go, doing the dance. "You can take me hot to go!" He's doing it better than half of the people in the crowd. It's fucking insane. As much as he wanted to hate this, all of it, he physically couldn't. Chappell Roan was infectious, and Ben had been swept up.

Not like he cared. He was fucking estatic. "C'mon! You're not doing it hard enough!"