It was 11pm, Alice thought to herself, as she anxiously peered through the kitchen door. Why were there 3 people drinking at this time? Weren’t there classes tomorrow?

The two larger men were very merry, engaged in a topic which was vaguely about chainsaws and their practicality in aiding with childbirth. The blonde was the talkative one. If she recalled from his explosive introduction was named John. Allegedly, he saw in a youtube video somewhere that chainsaws were invented for childbirth when the birthing canal was too small or something.

The other one had black hair, and a tight leather glove on his right hand. She saw him around the house, but was far too terrified to ask him for his name. Struggling to get on to wikipedia while typing with one hand drunk, he tried to argue that there is no way those chainsaws are anything remotely like chainsaws used today.

The smallest of the three was as uncomfortable as a child in their mother’s coworker’s aunt’s third marriage, holding his little cup of either lemonade-vodka or water, and looking down at his feet in an attempt not to be indicted by a stray conversation tangent.

Without making a single sound, seemingly one with the wind, she floats over to the fridge. She holds her breath, takes her bottle of soda out, then floats away, closing the door very lightly as she does.

John stood up with his feet apart and shouted. “Ben!”

He did the same, and stood opposite. “What!”

“Can you do a backflip!?”

“No!”

The two of them sat back down again, with Ben having to use his left hand to lower himself into a sitting position.

As Ben went to add some more mixer into his cup, John decided to lean over into Patrick.

“Ah! John!”

“Heyyyy, Pat. Do you see Ben?”

Patrick looks over to see Ben trying to pour a drink with one hand, spilling half the soda on the table.

“... yeah?”

“I got you man. I’m your wing mate man mate aite mate?”

“What?”

“You don’t have to worry about a thing, alright? I know you and Ben haven’t been talking much, and I know just the way to encourage you two.”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“I have been secretly getting him really drunk, you see? Soon he will have lips like a sieve, and the constitution of a hedgehog.”

“Are you… okay?”

“Nooooo????? Why… why would I be drunk? I have to help you after all!” He says that as he takes a swig of the glass, and spills a bunch of it down his face and into his shirt.

“What are you two talking about?”

John turned his head around, stumbling himself with induced motion sickness for a second. “N-nothing! Chainsaws, actually… and how you are just wrong!”

“Hey, I finally searched up what the chainsaws you mentioned looked like,” he pushes his phone into John’s face. “This looks nothing like a chainsaw!”

“It is a saw, which is run around with a chain! How is it not!”

“If you’ve never seen it before, tell me you wouldn’t call it a chainsaw!”

With a huge sweeping motion, Patrick was pulled up by Ben into his lap, barely holding on to his glass.

“Patrick! What does this look like?”

“I… I… can’t… see… “ Patrick had Ben’s phone similarly placed far too close to see clearly. He could feel Ben’s heavy breaths through his hair directly above. “Too… close…”

“Closer?” Ben moved it even closer, now pressing it into his nose. Patrick could feel his torso folding down over him, and could feel his body being compressed, to his weak heart’s jittering composure.

“Hey, Ben?”

“What?” He let go of his grip, spilling Patrick back out into the kitchen.

“I… I… I… have something… very important to tell you about!”

“What is it! John, just tell me what it is and stop starting every single conversation with a question!”

“Hey! It’s part of the fun!” John took a large swig in anger. “If you had a cool story, it would be a disservice not to give it some juicy tension to make it interesting!”

“Surely just say the interesting thing, and I won’t have to complain!”

“Wow, mister impatient over here can’t enjoy good storytelling. Mate, this is why you are losing him.”

“What?”

“Okay, what is your first instinct when you want to tell someone your feelings?”

“Stop asking questions.”

“See? See? See!?” John flaunts his hands proceeding the clown that is Ben, at Patrick, who had been sitting across the two of them arguing.

“You aren’t going to be a gentleman if you don’t respect the hearts of others. Boys like a bit of mystery, excitement, drama… ambiguity. You only get those feelings with questions, or do they not?”

“I’m fine.”

John could see him sulking with his self-dishonesty, just as expected. Perhaps because he was in a mixed gender sports club, but he had already witnessed a relationship start and end in front of his eyes. Fresh into the market of relationships, we sometimes feel as if this is the only chance we will ever get. We play ourselves up, refuse to expose our weaknesses, believing that if we play the role hard enough then everything will work out.

Paradoxically, the fear of losing it all, will be its inevitable demise. Any relationship platonic or sexual is a partnership of trust, and without communication, that trust shall wither.

When he first saw Ben and Pat together, he could see the exhaustion between them. A pile of lukewarm ashes from a once mighty fire.

His usual advice would be to accept and move on… but… but…

He watched Ben snapping reflexively away every time he noticed himself staring at Pat.

They are just too cute together! The ship must stay afloat!

Patrick, leaning against the common room door, still catching his breath from earlier, saw a very passionate John scooting towards Ben once again.

“Ben?”

“What!?”

“Honesty.”

“Honesty?”

“2 out of 10.”

“What?”

“Doesn’t being honest suck?”

“What are you trying to say to me?”

“Bro, if we could all just be honest with each other, the world would be so much easier to live in right?”

“If only it would be that easy…” Ben looked away, irritated by his personal space being intruded.

“Doesn’t it suck having a problem you can’t talk about?”

Ben’s eyes opened abruptly, then not. He grips his right hand slightly.

“Can’t you just wish you can forget about the past, and just… talk about it without consequences?”

“...” Ben couldn’t avert his face any further.

“Bro…” Suddenly, John began drunk crying. “I’m tired too…”

Without noticing, Ben found himself crying too. John started singing a sea shanty, and Ben joined in to harmonise in salty tears. Patrick was sitting, trying to digest the situation, but found himself tearing up slightly just from the raw emotion in the air.

“John, let me go. My glass is empty.”

“Mate, just stay here for a second.”

“No… I’m getting a drink.”

“What if I showed you something? Some … forbidden knowledge?”

Too exhausted to ignore his teasing any further, “What is it?”

He whispers. “Old primary school pictures of Pat.”

Patrick was admiring the melancholic atmosphere. He wasn’t too good with many people, or… a huge amount of a single person… but at least after the two of them calmed down, everything seemed good again.

It took a little time to fully adjust to what was going on, especially with the info dump day 1. Death, dimensions, and a secret society. All of those things were somehow related to Ben, and somehow someway, he had his life in his hands.

For the first few hours, there was confusion and uncertainty, but in the end, he seems like a good person. Seeing John and Ben having fun together, scrolling through his phone and laughing together at something really really stupid, he looked like anyone else. He almost giggled to himself at what he first thought a son of Death would look like, and compared it to the person blushing every 5 seconds and saying cute at John’s phone.

Then, from behind, the door Patrick was leaning on was pushed open, knocking him to the floor. A tall girl in a tank top with a strand of pink hair walked in.

“Chelsea!” John tried standing up twice before succeeding. “Do you want to join?”

She took out her phone and checked the time. “At 1am before classes?”

“Yes.”

“You know what? Usually, I’d say yes. But, I’m annoyed today.”

She walked over to the fridge.

"Did you get Guy to throw out his disgusting ground beef from the fridge or not?"

“Oh, it was his? I think I forgot and threw it out myself.”

“What… the fuck…”

“Wait, why is that bad?”

“If we are to do it for him, he is never going to do anything!”

“It’s rotten meat, Chelsea. I’m not leaving it in the fridge!”

The two of them began to yell, taking their conversation outside, leaving Ben and John alone in the kitchen.

“Pat… Do you have old pictures of yourself?”

“Old pictures? Why?”

“Nothing… Do you have your phone with you?”

“Sorry, but I don’t have a phone.”

“Don’t have a… phone? Did you lose it?”

“No… never got one.”

“Ah.”

The two of them sat in silence as John and Chelsea were shouting outside.

Feeling tiredness encroaching on him, Ben tried pulling himself upwards with his left hand. “Hold up Pat, I’m going to get a drink.”

The soda from earlier had reached the edge of the desk, and he slipped.

Before realising it, he found himself collapsed on the floor… or… something softer than the floor.

“Oh, hello there Patrick.”

The full weight of Ben on his chest squeezed the blood and air right out of it, cleanly winding him dry. Seemingly unaware of their current position, Ben brushed the hair on Pat’s forehead apart, and whispered.

“You are the most beautiful soul I have ever met.”

Without enough breath to scream, he passes out.