It was the typical friday night for Ben. His parents weren’t home yet, and his sister was out, no doubt at some rager her friends had invited her too. He never got invited to those kinds of parties.

He didn’t mind though. He was at home, his best friend waiting up in his room as he excused himself to get them some drinks from the fridge. They were well on their way to a horror movie marathon, something he wasn’t too excited about - he would get scared too easily - but he loved spending time with her.

Ben’s room was the same as always, with it’s dark blue walls and posters of his favourite bands stuck up around it, his dvd collection sitting beneath his tv set. The only thing that stood out was a small, spiral notebook laying on his bedside table, beside his lamp and headphones. Curiously, she crossed his room toward it, wondering what it’d be. Deciding there was no harm in taking a quick peek, she cracked the book open.

She wished she hadn’t. The pages inside were covered in messily scrawled words, overly descriptive dirty sentences, things she didn’t know he was capable of even picturing. He didn’t shy away from specifics, mentioning every single action in painstaking detail, every brush of hot, sweat-soaked skin against sweat-soaked skin, every messy kiss, every sound spilling from the characters lips.

The thing that stuck out to her most, however, was that he hadn’t just written it about anyone. No, these stories were about him, and most importantly, about her.

Ben opened the door to his bedroom, soda cans in his hands. “I got us the drinks, did you pick a movie yet -?” the words died on his tongue as his gaze dropped to the still open notebook in her hands, and his face fell instantly, fear and shame filling his expression.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, swallowing as his face heated up. “I’m so - I didn’t want you to see that - I’m so sorry - fuck, don’t be mad, I didn’t mean for it to be -“