by Bolden, Beth
Diego’s gaze softened. “Of course I do. That was a pretty monumental occasion.”
“I . . .” Benji stared at his plate. “I was so dumb. I went up to him, right in the middle of the set, and asked him what he was doing. And he told me something I’ve never forgotten.”
Diego reached out and took Benji’s hand. “Tell me, what did he say?”
“He said he was being free.”
Diego didn’t say anything for a very long moment. He just held Benji’s hand, fingers tightening on his own.
“At the time, I didn’t even know I felt this way, but I think I was actually jealous.” Benji laughed bitterly. “Isn’t that fucked up?”
But Diego’s gaze was still soft. Understanding. Sympathetic. Like he understood perfectly the demons that drove Benji to always be better and stronger and more successful than he’d ever been before. The ones that always reminded him not to stand out, not to make himself too different, because that might compromise everything he’d worked so hard for.
“It’s not fucked up. You were going through a bad divorce. You were questioning everything, and here Leo was, doing whatever he felt like and reveling in it. Anybody would be jealous.”
Except that Benji wasn’t quite so sure Diego was right. A better friend wouldn’t have been thinking of themselves in that moment. A better friend would have been downright thrilled that Leo was finally able to embrace who he truly was, in front of their legions of fans. Leo had taken back their narrative that day, and then made it his own. That was something to be celebrated, not envied.
“Do you remember that one show, a really long time ago?” Benji finally asked. “You know the one I’m talking about.”
It was clear from the surprised expression on Diego’s face that he did remember the one Benji was referring to, and that he’d not expected Benji to ever bring it up.
“We got carried away,” Diego said carefully. And that wasn’t right; didn’t he want to throw it all to the wind, like Leo and Caleb had?
“I don’t know when we’re playing a show next,” Benji said, “but I wouldn’t be averse to getting carried away again.”
Diego shot him a disbelieving look. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. “You want to faux-fuck on stage again? You?”
“Well not exactly, no. Not like that. Not because we were half-drunk and stupid. Not . . .” Benji scrubbed a hand across his face, suddenly not knowing what he wanted. But then that word beckoned again. Free . . .
Maybe the problem was that he didn’t know how to go about fulfilling the promise of it.
“You started dating Sophie the week after we did that,” Diego said, and even though his voice was so neutral, and he’d not let go of Benji’s hand, there was a phantom echo of something. An accusation? What was Benji supposed to say? Sorry, yeah, I dated her because I wanted you too much and I couldn’t take not having it anymore, even though I wouldn’t have known what to do if I got it?
Benji wasn’t proud of it, but he feigned confusion. “Did I?”
Diego’s swift glance made it clear he knew exactly what Benji was doing—still fucking pretending.
“Okay, yeah, I do remember that,” Benji admitted. “You know, I’ve made lots of mistakes. I’ve fucked up us so many times, I’m lucky you’re even willing to give me a chance.”
But just as Benji braced for Diego agreeing with him—horrible, but terribly inevitable—Diego shook his head decisively. “It wasn’t entirely your fault. I mean, we acted out on the stage that night. We were . . . young and really, really stupid. We knew the risk, and maybe you weren’t even wrong to find someone else to date. We would’ve been catastrophic back then, and Leo and Caleb already had the market cornered on that.”
It helped for Diego to admit that it wasn’t entirely Benji’s fault. But he still felt the pulse of guilt.
“We don’t have to be catastrophic, this time around,” Benji pointed out. “But then, I think we could survive just about anything, after Caleb came back.”
Diego smiled cautiously, a little tentatively, but still a smile. “That was something I wasn’t expecting to happen.”
Benji cut into his chicken, which of course, was not only incredibly juicy, it looked and smelled delicious. “Speaking of Caleb, does he know you’re aiming to take his Martha Stewart of the band title away from him?”
Now, Diego laughed, and Benji breathed an inward sigh of relief. He hadn’t ruined the date; it was still perfectly intact.
“I’m not gunning for it, but maybe you should keep the details of this meal to yourself. Caleb doesn’t need to deal with another thing he missed when he was gone. Especially if it’s me learning to cook.”
“Why did you?” Benji asked. The chicken tasted just as good as it looked. He tried not to moan around the bite in his mouth.
“I was going to be a father. It seemed like a good skill to have, when Ana arrived.” Diego shrugged, but looked more self-conscious than Benji would have thought.
It occurred to Benji that maybe that was what Diego had been doing, at least partially. He’d been preparing to be a dad, and then being a dad. Fatherhood had never been something Benji had any particular interest in, but on Diego it looked real good.
“By the way, this is amazing,” Benji enthused.
“It’s just chicken,” Diego said, but there was an impudent edge to his voice now and a sly, very cute look in his eyes. “Of course, it might happen to be the Barefoot Contessa’s famous Engagement Chicken recipe.”
Benji raised an eyebrow. “Engagement Chicken? The chicken is getting married?”
Laughing, Diego shifted in his chair. Nervous, Benji realized, he was nervous, too. “No, the name comes from people always getting engaged after they serve it to their significant others.”
A better man might have let this go and not teased Diego mercilessly. But Benji wasn’t really a better man, and he wasn’t sure that Diego even wanted him to be.
“You angling for a ring already? I thought you wanted to take things slow,” Benji teased.
Diego flushed. “I am not. I just thought the recipe must be really fucking amazing if it was called that.”
“Well, it is, but then you already knew that.”
“Thank you,” Diego said, and he looked very pleased with himself. “I was hoping to impress you.”
Benji was beginning to realize he wasn’t lying. He’d been just as apprehensive as Benji about tonight, he’d just dealt with it in a very different way. Different, but complementary.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t spent the last ten years being faced with evidence that he and Diego were basically perfect for each other, but this was an especially forceful reminder.
“I’m really happy we did this,” he told Diego as they continued to eat. Even the rice and green beans were perfect. Diego had gone all out on this meal, for him, and it filled Benji with a joy he hadn’t ever been sure he’d get to experience.
For a very long time, he’d assumed that slightly terrifying butterfly swarm in the pit of his stomach was something he’d never have. But he hadn’t missed out on this chance after all.
Diego looked smug. “It was about damn time.”
And didn’t that really beg the question, why hadn’t Diego suggested it? But Benji didn’t ask, because he wasn’t going to ruin something that had the capacity to be so fucking great. Still, the question swirled around inside his brain, until he forced it away.
“I had a meeting with Jay this week,” Benji said. “I wanted to take some of the solo songs I’d been working on and play them for the other guys in the studio next week, but he didn’t think the label would like that.”
A look of hesitant apprehension crossed Diego’s face, and Benji wasn’t sure what it meant, but before he could ask, it was gone.
“How would they even know?” Diego offered, gesturing with his fork. “They’re your songs, it shouldn’t matter whether you wrote them with just yourself in mind or Star Shadow.”
Be
nji had considered the same thing, and he nodded. “You bringing any material in?” He knew Diego worked a lot on piano arrangements, and even wrote songs, but was always hesitant to share his private work. Five years ago, he wouldn’t have even asked, because Benji knew the answer would be no, but a lot of time had passed, and he knew Diego’s music was good.
But Diego just shrugged. “I’ve thought about it, I guess. But you and Leo usually write our songs.”
“Five years ago, yeah, but that doesn’t have to be the way things always are. I’ve even thought we should experiment with a slightly different sound. More mature, a little more pop, a little less punk.”
“We were never really very punk,” Diego said wryly.
“Don’t tell Leo that, he’d be heartbroken,” Benji murmured conspiratorially. “He always thought we were so badass.”
“We were about as punk as One Direction,” Diego scoffed, referring to the other boy band they were often compared to.
“You’re not wrong,” Benji conceded with a smile.
“I mean, Maroon 5 did it,” Diego said. “Went more pop. They’re practically a techno band these days. Do those other guys even play instruments anymore?”
“Doubtful, and I don’t think they even give a shit,” Benji said.
“With that much money, who would?” Diego said, and then frowned. “But I don’t want to be like that,” he added. “You already knew that though.”
“You know you never need to fight me on musical integrity,” Benji said dryly.
“I have been playing though, trying to keep my hand in, sort of, and experimenting with some stuff.” Diego hesitated. “Maybe I could play for you after dinner, something I’ve been working on.”
“I’d love that,” Benji said, and meant every ounce of warmth he poured into his words. Diego was private, and didn’t always like to share, even when prompted. He rarely ever offered, and Benji was going to take full advantage of that.
“Well.” Diego dragged the word out. “I’m almost done, if you’re done?”
“Yeah,” Benji said and pushed his plate back. “Should we do the dishes?”
Diego flushed. “I just thought I’d deal with them tomorrow. Let’s just bring them into the kitchen.”
Five minutes later, plates set in the sink, and the leftovers wrapped up, they went into the living room, where Diego’s shiny black piano sat.
Benji took his regular spot on the couch and watched as Diego hesitantly sat down.
“This is just rough, and not really done,” Diego warned. “So don’t freak out.”
Clearly he was beginning to regret offering, but there was no way Benji was going to let him back out. “It’s fine, you know I don’t care.”
It only took a handful of notes for Benji to realize what Diego was playing—and no matter what he’d said before, he nearly stopped him.
This wasn’t a new composition, this was Benji’s song, “Violet.” Altered a little, the melody lines cleaned up, simplified a little, all in ways that held up the integrity of the original. There were even a few changes that Benji wished he’d thought of for the earlier version.
As he finished, Diego glanced over, more than a little apprehensively, toward Benji.
“I don’t . . . I’m not even sure what to say,” Benji said, because he was flattered, but he was also confused. Why was Diego spending time on this? Yes, he’d said it was his favorite song off Benji’s solo album, but the single and the album had both been certified flops.
This was all basically a huge fucking waste of time.
They needed to be looking forward, to the next Star Shadow album, not behind, to the unsuccessful past.
A hurt look crossed Diego’s face. “I thought you’d like it.” He gestured out to the terrace, where the floral arrangement still sat on the empty table. Red roses and violets intertwined together, like they belonged, and suddenly Benji wished he’d only brought the roses. Long-stemmed and romantic.
“I do . . .” Benji hesitated. “I want to focus on music that we can make with Star Shadow.”
“That’s the thing,” Diego said, “I think we should record ‘Violet’ as a band.”
Benji had never really had a violent reaction—a negatively violent reaction—to something that Diego said. He didn’t think he’d even felt this way when Diego had told him Vicky was pregnant, and they were getting married. Probably because he’d known, deep down, that it would never last, because Diego was his.
But this was different. This was Diego being tainted with his own failure, and that was unacceptable. He shook his head quickly and decisively. “I love that you did this, it’s . . . very sweet. But we can’t do that. That song flopped, Diego.”
“I know you’re afraid of falling short, but this song is good. I wanted you to see that.” Diego was one of the most laid-back people Benji knew, but once in awhile, an awfully stubborn streak cropped up and it seemed like tonight was one of those times.
Benji clenched his fists together. He wasn’t even worried now about ruining their date; he was only worried about dragging down Diego and the rest of Star Shadow.
“It means something, I know you love it, and I wish other people heard what you do, but it’s just not happening.”
Diego frowned. “Why don’t we let the others decide?”
Oh God, that was even worse. The others would feel bad, sympathetic surely, and that was even worse. Benji didn’t need to be thrown a bone. He could find success on his own, without anyone else’s help, thank you very much.
“I really don’t . . . I don’t want to.” He hesitated, taking in Diego’s mulish and frustrated expression. The hurt in his eyes. He’d probably thought this was a romantic gesture—hell, before tonight, Benji might have agreed, considering he’d gone out of his way to bring Diego violets—but Benji was shitting all over it. “We couldn’t record it anyway. Different label.”
“That’s a bullshit excuse,” Diego said. “You could get Jay to do anything you wanted. Everyone is fucking terrified of that guy.”
“Yeah. Which is why we’re not going to. Because Jay wants to forget the solo album, just the same as I do.”
“And ‘Violet’ too, I guess,” Diego said bitterly.
“Is it because I wrote it about you?” Benji asked, before he could stop himself. “It’s not about that. I wish it had been a success, because I wanted that so much, not just for me but because it meant something to me, this song. It just . . . sometimes things don’t work out.”
Diego’s lips clamped down into a tight, white line. “If that’s what you think, then you’re an idiot.”
He probably was, Benji conceded. But that didn’t fix the sudden issue that had cropped up, and on top of that, he didn’t know how to walk this back and find their earlier harmony.
Maybe transitioning their friendship to a relationship wasn’t so fucking easy, after all. Benji’s heart broke a little at the thought.
He got up and slid next to Diego on the piano bench and told himself it wasn’t personal as Diego stiffened at his sudden nearness. “I am a fucking idiot,” Benji said softly. “You’re going to have to get used to that. I’m sorry, but I’m probably not going to be able to change completely, even if I wanted to.”
“I know that. I know you,” Diego murmured. “I’ve known you forever.”
“Then you know I do stupid shit sometimes, and we’re going to have to figure out how to go on, after.” Benji held his breath. “That’s if . . . that’s if you want to.”
Diego’s hard expression relaxed. “I do. And it’s not just you. I assumed a lot here. I know you don’t even like talking about your solo album.”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine why,” Benji muttered.
Diego reached out and put a hand on his knee, giving it a brief, reassuring squeeze. “You’re one of the most determined, most talented musicians I know. I just want you to know that.”
“It’s a work in progress,” Benji said ruefully.
Also a wo
rk in progress was their derailed date. Benji had just sort of assumed that after dinner, they’d resume where they’d left off last night in the car. But Diego had made no move in that direction, and now, while he didn’t seem mad, he also didn’t seem particularly happy either.
“What would you like to do?” Benji asked awkwardly. “We could watch a movie.” Dinner and a movie, he thought wretchedly, you couldn’t get more cliché than that, but at least he was trying.
Diego smiled, and the vise around Benji’s heart loosened a smidge. “I’d like that. Avengers?”
“Fucking Avengers,” Benji muttered, but nodded. He didn’t know who’d really been in the wrong, but he was willing to take the blame and watch Diego’s favorite Marvel movie as pseudo-punishment.
But maybe, Benji thought, as Diego flipped the movie on, that was like most real and important relationships—sometimes you couldn’t point your finger at the party to blame, because it wasn’t that obvious. It was about two different people coming together and figuring out how to live harmoniously without killing each other.
He’d been sort of hoping, as Tony Stark doled out funny quip after funny quip, that things would turn physical again. They’d both seen this movie probably a hundred times, but even though Diego nestled up right against him, and relaxed as Benji slung an arm across his shoulders, he didn’t seem eager to do anything else.
He actually seemed to want to watch the movie, which might be what normal people did on a date, but they weren’t normal. They’d been waiting ten years to do something besides just watch the movie, and Benji felt a trace of disappointment as the credits rolled, over two hours later.
“I’m glad you came over,” Diego said, reaching for the remote to flip the TV off. Benji tried not to feel awkward, but it was inevitable. Should he go? Should he offer to stay? Should he just lean over and kiss Diego?
This seemed to be one of those moments when transitioning from just friends to lovers felt so hard it almost explained why they’d waited so damn long.
But then Diego yawned, and Benji realized that this was what he’d meant when he said he wanted to take things slow. The physical side of their relationship—if he was using last night in the car as any indication, would be easier to figure out. This was the part they needed to work on: just dating.
