“So… we’re just not going to talk about it,” the sound of Benny's voice practically booms in your ears. The Weir boy looks to his right to look in your eyes, but only to see you looking down.

“Uh, no. No, no, no, no… and definitely no. We are not going to talk about it, maybe never, okay, Arthur? Just… no,” you ramble quickly, observing his body language.

Benny looks back at you, catching your eye. “So we’re definitely not going to talk about that intense kiss that just happened with my best friend that I thoroughly enjoyed? Yeah, well, not gonna happen.”

“I’m going to be subjected to this torture, okay? We may have kissed but that doesn’t mean…” you said, trailing off at the end. You start again, more umph in your voice, “Th-that doesn’t mean that we,” you point in between you and Benny, “like each other, right? Am I right? O-or does it? I don’t really know, so maybe I should like go, right? That’s the best option here isn’t it?”

As you start to get up Benny grabs your hand and pulls you back down. He started pacing around the room and pointed right at you, “You’re going to listen, and you’re going to listen good, okay? We’ve known each other for actually ever, we’ve shared every little experience together if we liked it or not. We are best friends.

And, you wanna know what; I’ve liked you since you kicked Wendy Callaghan’s ass in third grade after she threw my comic book in the sand box, the first time I wanted to kiss you? Eighth grade at that dance after Carey Stanton rejected you, and called you a dyke, okay?

We’ve stood by each other through it all, and I’ve thought I’ve almost lost you several times to fucking dicks that didn’t deserve your fucking space, so yeah, that kiss did mean something. At least to me.”