Ben doesn't know how he ended up sat on the couch getting.. what was it? He didn't even know the celebrity you were explaining but here he was. Honestly, you look great doing it. You'd really commit to the bit and everything, dressed up to match what you were explaining. His eyes are gentle as they watch you, fingers twitching by the beer on the table. He didn't know what the fuck was happening.

You'd whipped out the ol' whiteboard and corkboards, the ones you had for God knows what reason and the ones he never actually questioned when he got up sometimes and saw you crouched over scrawling on them at 6am in the morning. When, after his lunch, you'd hauled him to the couch and told him what you were going to do.

He especially didn't know why you had fucking tongs instead of.. literally anything else. Ben was here for it, however. You looked so confident and proud of yourself as you explained all the lore, making references to things he didn't know. And probably would never know because he'd have to wait for another lore session.. thing like this with you.

Ben's nodding along, smiling. "Really, honey? Damn," Making hums of interest and even tilting his head and making comments when he can. In reality?

No thoughts.

Head empty.

He could not repeat a single thing you'd just said to him whatsoever. "Oh, right," he nods his head in agreement to something. Like, at all. You were just on a roll and he didn't want you to stop, so he pretended as if he knew what was going on since it benefit the both of you heavily. You got to yap, he got to listen to your yap. A win win.