a classroom

Seven-year-old Nicholas Sykes walks into the classroom on his first day of Year 3 with Miss Darby and is told to sit next to one Benjamin Scafidi because both they happen to be born to families who have an S at the beginning of their surnames.

See, if the poor naive newly-qualified teacher had opted to go for a boy/girl seating arrangement; if Jennifer Smith hadn't been off sick with chicken pox; if Ben had been placed into Mrs Olliver's Year 3 class next door, they would never have ended up sitting there that day and might've never ended up sitting in any of the places that they've sat in the years since. Funny old mixed up world.

Nicholas sits down, his hand-me-down uniform perfectly straight and his hair not quite as neat as it had been when his mother smoothed it before he left her side that morning but still presentable nonetheless. Benjamin sits next to him, every item of clothing a brand new article but worn haphazardly, and he immediately leans back on his chair so that the front legs are hovering above ground.

Having finished with her seating plan, Miss Darby stands at the front of the class with an overeager smile. She claps her hands together slowly and loudly and despite none of the kids in the room knowing of the existence of the word 'patronised' they all feel it anyway. "Well. Now that that's sorted, boys and girls, let's talk about what to expect from Year 3, shall we? We'll be carrying on with the English and Maths skills you were learning in Year 2 but obviously more advanced for your bigger brains! We've got some exciting lessons about the Romans and the Greeks in History, plus, in Science we're going to start with learning about space."

"Like Star Wars." Benjamin whispers at the boy next to him, eyes wide with excitement.

Nicholas scrunches up his nose into a frowned response, his attention easily pulled away from the teacher. "What's Star Wars?"

The chair legs thud to the floor. Benjamin's eyes aren't wide with excitement anymore, rather abject horror. "What do you mean what's Star Wars? How can you never have heard of Star Wars?"

Nicholas shrugs. For a moment he wonders whether he has heard of Star Wars and has just elected to not remember it - but it sounds like the sort of thing he would quite like to remember. It wouldn't make sense that he would have just cast it away.

"You have to see Star Wars. Luke Skywalker and the Force and he has to go and save the Empire from Darth Vader who is actually his dad but you don't find that out until the second one. Prob'ly shouldn't have told you that already. Anyway, there's princesses and Han Solo and Chewbacca - oh, man, you really haven't seen it? You have to come round and see it."

It's at this point that Miss Darby realises who's talking and she puts an abrupt end to the conversation with her best attempt at a stern glare. The two boys take the hint for the first and only time that year. Benjamin goes back to swinging on his chair. Nicholas lifts a hand to subconsciously displace his hair.

Break time rolls around and as soon as they're dismissed, Nicholas turns back, a grin settling on his face. "I'm Nicholas."

Benjamin shakes his head. "I'm Ben. You don't seem like a Nicholas. You need a nickname."

Funny old mixed up world.






a bus

"Emma. Emma!"

A paper ball flies through the air, narrowly missing the side of a head and a brown haired girl named Emma spins around in search of the source, confusion on her face. She finds Benjamin Scafidi kneeling on his seat, two rows back and across the aisle of the bus. She raises her eyebrows expectantly.

"Which one of us is cuter, me or Nic?"

It isn't the question she's expecting, that's for sure, but the surprise only registers for a moment. She rolls her eyes, seeming to deliberate carefully over her response before she settles on it. "Nic."

The offence on Ben's face is obvious; he recoils slightly. "What? Why?"

"Nic isn't annoying."

"I'm not annoying!"

Emma sighs, but unconvincingly. "Nic didn't throw a paper ball at my head to ask me whether I thought he was cuter than you."

"One of us was going to."

The girl doesn't look like she believes this, and maybe if Nic was paying attention he'd be quite glad about that. He hadn't been intending on throwing anything at anybody's head. "Well, maybe if you'd left it to Nic I would've picked you."

The boy's sigh is exaggerated. "Fuck."

Emma's eyes widen at the swear word, but a smile tugs at her lips as she turns back to talk to her friend, giggling. None of the other kids in the class swear, because they're all eleven years old and still afraid of the wrath of adults, but clearly she's impressed by this interpreted act of devilishness.

Ben drops back down, turning his attention back to his best friend who has only been half-watching this exchange. Nic is scribbling on his hand, going over and over the string of numbers that make up his home phone number, a reminder to give it to his teacher when he arrives at the York youth hostel. Strict instructions that it's for emergency use only.

"One of us is going to marry her."

Nicholas looks up, first at Ben and then craning his neck to follow the boy's gaze. The back of Emma's head is the sight that greets him. "Yeah, right."

"I'm telling you, Nic. Everyone in our town marries people they've known forever. And Emma is the prettiest girl in our year, and we're probably tied for first in the man category."

"You're so weird."

Ben doesn't look fazed by this insult. A shrug drifts over his shoulders as he glances out of the window at the traffic on the A1. "You'll see."

It takes a few seconds of silence for Nic to vocalise the thoughts that are buzzing around in his head, and he looks from Ben to Emma and back to Ben as he does so, as though the answer is going to be hanging between them. "Are you really planning on staying around Chilwell?"

"Yeah, probably. Mum and Dad are there. I can just come back for dinner every night. Aren't you?"

Nicholas shrugs, thinking about what it might be like to come back for dinner at his parents every night. The systematic rundown of the successes of the day, each sibling taking their turn to detail something they've done well. Once, a few weeks ago, he happened to mention that his guitar teacher started to teach him the hook to Smoke on the Water and said he could go far as a musician and his father had whisked his half-finished plate of food out from under him. All that slacking at guitar practice must mean you have homework to finish, John Sykes said. Get to it, son.

Ben notices the sudden quiet and briefly twists his mouth to one side in thought. Then he flicks his best friend on the shoulder. "You can come to ours every night too. Hey. Which of us do you think Emma thinks is funniest?"





a field

The years that mark the start of their teenage careers are spent in turbulence. The difficulties of being an army family hits the Scafidis at full force when Ben and Nico are thirteen, and life doesn't get better for a while after that.

Nico tries to help where he can - for weeks on end he spends every night at the home next door, helping around the house, doing what he can to raise smiles, forging through the guilt that settled over his shoulders as soon as he heard the news that Markus Scafidi had been killed in action.

Ben discovers drugs and spends most of his nights getting at least the tiniest bit high to take the edge off the constant state of mourning that he feels he should be in.

Most of the time the two boys continue to work in harmony. Nico doesn't mind the drugs (even tries some on occasion, but is never as taken with it as his best friend) and Ben doesn't mind the company (anyone can see that Nicholas Sykes is slowly becoming an adopted member of the family, never quite filling the hole left but never trying to either). Most of the time it works.

But when it doesn't...

"I wish it was your dad."

Ben is high. Ben is in an argumentative mood. Ben is sick of people assuming that because it's been two years he's ready to talk about it, ready to begin looking ahead instead of refusing to think of past or future.

Nico is feeling guilty. Nico has argued with his own family, seeking refuge at the deserted school football field with his best friend while he waits for it all to blow over. Nico is a good enough target.

"I wish it was your dad," Ben hisses at him, completely out of the blue that cold October night.

Nico is momentarily stunned into silence. He knows exactly what his friend is talking about even if he doesn't know what has prompted the comment. He also knows exactly where he himself stands on the matter even if he has never vocalised as much. Nico has been thinking about it since the very moment he heard the news. Nico, as much as he absolutely hates himself for it, agrees. And that's what he says in reply. "Me too."

It's Ben's turn to be stunned. "You're not supposed to agree."

Nico shrugs. "Well I just did, so now what?"

"You're not supposed to think that!" Anger laces the older boy's tone, his eyes flashing dark.

"Well I do, so now what?"

"He's your fucking dad, Nico, and you've still fucking got him. Why the fuck - "

Nico sits forward, transferring his weight off of his arms so that he can point at Ben, almost accusing. "Your dad was more of a dad, you fuck. My dad's a dick. He doesn't deserve to die but he's a dick. And your dad wasn't a dick and he didn't deserve to die either, so what? I get a choice? I get to choose in this situation where one father doesn't come home? Who the fuck do you think I choose, Ben? Your dad who hugged me goodbye with tears in his eyes when he went to Afghanistan or my dad who told me categorically that it was weak to cry at funerals when the soldier died defending h - "

At some point during the monologue Ben decides that he's had enough. His eyes shut and his eventual interruption is low and nearly menacing. "Shut the fuck up, Nic."

"You shut the fuck up, Ben," comes the almost immature response, followed quickly by another attempt to explain. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry it was your dad, right, but it was and we don't get the choice."

"You shouldn't fucking say that about your family, Nic. Fucking ungrateful bastard."

Fucking ungrateful bastard.

That's the real kick in the teeth. Everything else might be the cannabis talking, but Ben knows about his family, knows how difficult Nico finds it to reconcile who they want him to be with who he really is. The entire Scafidi clan used to say that he could choose his own family, and that he was more than welcome in theirs. Now it's all you shouldn't fucking say that about your family as though a distinction has been drawn by a loss that is felt just as keenly by the one who doesn't share their surname.

Ben's words hurt, and Nico doesn't expect them to, and so, with a loud suck of breath, he rebuffs them. "You should try living with my family before you say that shit."

That comment is met with silence.

Abruptly, Nico stands up, not deliberately kicking the other boy's school bag across the ground (he trips up over it, really, but the way it skids across the grass and comes to rest between the goal posts makes it look like it was an aggressive move). No matter what is waiting for him at home it has to be better than this.

"Fuck this," are his parting words - but still nothing is said in return. No words of apology or scorn or goading. Just an empty space, an empty hole, and nobody trying to fill it.





a library

A Valentine's Day prank in their final year at school earns Ben a week's worth of unpaid 'voluntary' work in the library during lunchtimes. Nico, being Nico, goes to sit with him every day. A lot of the time he takes his guitar, picking at the strings in a mostly random pattern while his best friend scans returned textbooks. For the first few days, Ben is okay with this. Come Wednesday he's sick of it.

"Will you fucking stop? This is a fucking library."

Nico doesn't stop. His school blazer is draped over the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He's lounging on a chair in front of the desk that his friend is working behind, his feet propped up, the instrument draped across his stomach with an annoying kind of casual grace. "Three days and they've got you properly dedicated, mate. Are you planning on extending your contract?"

Ben glares, picking up another book (Adventures in Algebra: Version 6) and running the red laser beam over the barcode without even glancing down. "Ha ha ha, you're so funny. Why did I take the fall for this?"

Nico shrugs. "It was your idea."

"So?"

"And you wrote all the cards."

"So?"

"And you were the one who couldn't help bragging about it."

The other boy scoffs, waving the scanner around. "Details. You would think Groves would appreciate a saucy Valentines card no matter who it was from."

Nico's hand glides down the strings to play a full chord, his eyebrows raised. "Fairly sure there are laws prohibiting her showing her appreciation."

Ben's fist bumps onto the desk. It's not quite a satisfying slam, but it's halfway there. Effort was made. "Laws can't hold me down! Who cares about the rules?"

Nico's fingers pause in their movements, the sudden silence noticeable. "Remind me again why I need to stop playing guitar in the library?"

"Fuck you."

The shadow that falls over them at the precise moment that the word fuck leaves Ben Scafidi's lips belongs to the aforementioned 'Groves'. Mrs Groves, to be precise, is the headteacher of Chilwell Secondary School. She's been aware of both Ben and Nicholas since they first stepped through the doors in Year 7, nearly seven years prior, but if pressed she would be forced to concede that she doesn't really know what to make of the boys. They're good kids - she would never dispute that - but she's also fairly certain that there's a lot more going on beneath the surface of them both.

Her opening statement is a reprimand. She heard the fuck. "Language, Mr Scafidi. Guitar down and feet off the desk, Mr Sykes. This isn't relaxation time, it's detention."

Nico only half obliges, pushing the guitar away from his body and propping it up against the chair, the fingers of his left hand still looped around the neck. "Technically, Mrs G, I'm not in detention. I'm here to supervise."

"Only because there were no cards with your handwriting in them, Nicholas. I have no doubt that you were just as involved as Mr Scafidi here."

Nico's reaction is one of exaggerated offence. "So much for innocent until proven guilty."

Telling them to sharpen themselves up isn't the reason that she made a diversion to the library this lunchtime, and Mrs Groves does not want to waste more time than is absolutely necessary. She ignores the response she's given and forges ahead with the real conversation at hand, one that starts with the question: "What are your plans for prom, boys?"

Nico doesn't miss a beat. "I'm sorry, Mrs G, but that would be inappropriate. You're my headteacher and I've got a girlfriend."

Ben snorts loudly. "Fairly sure there are laws prohibiting that, even if you didn't."

Nico laughs.

"Very funny, Mr Sykes."

Ben scans another book, this one something to do with mathematical physics and harmonic functions and drops it unceremoniously on a trolley of titles to be put back on shelves. As he does so, he pulls a face. "Yeah, Mr Sykes. You're a prize comedian. Everyone knows I'm the catch of the day."

It's Nico's turn to snort, lunging forwards and grabbing the textbook from the trolley. "Of the day is right, mate. There one day, gone the next."

"Can't be tied down like you."

Mrs Groves has allowed them to banter for long enough, and she signals as much with an impatient noise and a repetition of the question, phrased slightly differently in an attempt to avoid further insolence. "What are your plans for shenanigans at the prom, boys?"

It doesn't quite work.

Nico's reaction goes a little bit like: "I like that word."

Ben opts for: "Can we get that? Is it too late for that kind of infamy? Scafykes Shenanigans Incorporated?"

"Honestly. It's like you two share a brain. Held together by twine. Let's be clear with each other, Ben, Nico." It's the lack of patience in the headteacher's voice that gets them to listen now. Nico has closed the textbook. Ben has the scanner held up, laser beam glaring, but isn't doing anything with it. "Prom may still be a few months away but let it be known that I will not tolerate any silly behaviour. The committee have worked hard on fundraising and ensuring that everyone will feel represented -"

Ben sighs. "Not to charge you down, Mrs Groves, but our crime here is sending out rude Valentines Day cards, you know?"

Mrs Groves eyebrows arch. "Last year you managed to get the school bell system to play the tune of 'Love Is In The Air' to signal the end of classes."

"That was Nico."

Nico's legs slide off the desk - finally - with a thud. "Oi!"

"Detention for the next three Fridays for that, Nicholas."

"It was a year ago! Thanks for that, Benji."

Ben responds by throwing a rude hand gesture in his direction. "Regardless. Neither of those things hurt anyone. We're not going to do anything stupid."

"I would very much prefer it if you didn't do anything at all."

"I don't think I can promise that."

The woman sighs, her hand coming to rest on her temple. "I do need to let you know that just because you won't be official students at Chilwell School come prom night does not mean you can do as you please. Please. Just think about it."

Neither boy says anything for a few seconds. They share a glance, information exchanged in that single look, and then turn back to the long-suffering Mrs Groves. Nico is the one who nods. "Sure, we'll think about it."

That, as far as the headteacher is concerned, is that. The seed has been planted, whether they pay attention to it or not is something she will have to revisit closer to prom itself, and now there's a pot of coffee waiting for her in her office. They're good kids, she thinks, as she leaves the library. They'll understand her.

And, well. They do. Kind of. But that's a story for standing.





a studio

When Nico first plays him the song, Ben stops him after the second line.

"Hair down to his knees? Hair down to his fucking knees? Is this a joke?"

Nico shrugs.

"What am I meant to do with this? I can't even brag about it. Hey, girls, I've had a song written about me, it's pretty good. What? Okay, well before you listen to it, the dude's a liar and I've never had hair down to my knees. What's that? You think I'm the liar? Why would he write that if it wasn't true? Is it even about me? What? Of course it is! It's called Benjamin Twi - no, my surname isn't Twine, I'll admit that too - no! Come back, girls!"


When Nico tries again, he gets as far as the second verse.

"You're such a dick. This is about me in the use of the name Benjamin alone. Three years? Try fucking thirteen. Thirteen years and I'm not worth a truthful song."


Third time lucky and it gets to the reminiscing.

"Fucking hell, yeah. Needing to prove to people that you'd passed your test like the absolute cool guys we are but not having our own car to do it in. What was that about?"


Number four and Nico is expecting the interruption.

"Is this payback for Emma? You're singing about how hot my sister is in my song - which is the real contention here, give her her own fucking song - to get me back for Emma, right?"

Nico just laughs.


The fifth time Nico starts the song, he manages to finish it, and this time Ben doesn't say anything for a while. When he does, it comes with a smirk and a punch to the arm.

"Fucking hell. You're going to be famous. It's great."





a stage

The proverbial they hold a party to celebrate the release of Wanted on Voyage. Ashley, his very newly employed publicist, asks Nico for a list of people that he wants to invite outside of those directly involved in the record and doesn't quite manage to mask her surprise when he lists three people and three people alone.

Benjamin Scafidi is the first name on the list.

Ben's insistence that he's going to stay sober lasts until they get to the venue. The blown up version of Nico's album cover on one wall of the room is what breaks him (though he was always going to break). "Fucking hell. This is even weirder than hearing you on the radio. Fuck you, Nicky, when did this happen?"

When did it happen is the question of the hour. When and why and how and what the fuck. Music has been a huge part of Nico's life for so long but until he went away the suggestion that he could make a living from it would have been laughed at. Now, three years later, he's on the radio. He's been on TV. He's got fans. He's releasing an album. He's not a kid playing around with melodies in his bedroom anymore, no matter how much he might still feel exactly like that.

Nico mills around and makes small talk; accepts the literal pats on the back from people with more authority, experience, and willingness to patronise; treads the line between being humble and bragging for hours until he's exhausted and just wants to tell everyone asking that he just doesn't care anyway. This record is not a record for everyone, although they might hear it and interpret it and own a little share of it. This started life as a record for him. Why is everyone else so fucking interested?

Part of the way through a conversation with a greying producer that he has never met and hopes to never meet again Ben pops up, two bottles of beer in one hand. He uses the other to drag Nico's shoulder down to his level so that he can yell in his ear. "You're a fucking megastar, mate. The fuuuuuuuuck?"

Nico grimaces at the unnamed man and steers his friend in the direction of a quiet corner, ready to berate him for a lack of propriety until he notices that there's no drunken fog in Ben's eyes. "Did you do that just to get my attention?"

"You look like you're about to kill someone, Nic," Ben replies, handing one of the bottles over. "More than your usual resting assassin face, I mean. Em and Mum went back to the hotel, said they'd see you tomorrow. I figured you could use a familiar face among all these business people."

Nico sighs, taking a step backwards and hauling his body up so that he's sitting on the edge of the abandoned stage. Ashley mentioned maybe using it to showcase some of the album later. There's a significant chance he pretended not to hear her. He takes a swig of the drink as Ben sits down next to him and claps a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know if I can do this, Ben."

"You're talking bollocks."

"I'm not. This is legit. This is actually releasing an album. I should've gone to uni."

Ben scoffs, his grip suddenly vice-like on the shoulder of Nico's shirt. "Fuck off. I know you've got people pandering to your every whim now that you're a big shot but fuck right off with that sympathetic bullshit. You're fucking good at this, Nico. We knew it when you started music lessons, we knew it during underage karaoke sessions at the Chilwell Arms, we knew it when you were Link bloody Larkin, we knew it when we heard those songs you wrote with us in mind. You went off and got out and now someone else is saying you're good too and at some point you're going to have to believe it because this is your fucking life now. You've played at Glastonbury twice, you prick. You think they let any old loser with a guitar do that? Believe me. I've tried it."

There's a pause to allow Ben's monologue to settle around them - a pause in which Nico can choose any number of replies to shoot back at him. But, really, there's only one it's ever going to be. "What did they say?"

"In hindsight I should've gone with a different audition song to showcase my talents."

"Cotton-Eyed Joe?"

"What else?"

"You want to leave this party?"

"So badly. Ever since I saw that fucking blow up of your mug."

Nico laughs. Then he stands up, casting one look back at the room full of people he doesn't know and who don't know him. "Me too. C'mon."





another field

It's V Festival 2014 and Nico and Ben are sitting among the crowd, away from the crush of people at the front, when Ben drops the bombshell. "I'm going to ask Emma to marry me."

Nico doesn't even look at him. "You're what?"

There's a sigh. "Don't be a dick, you heard me."

"I need you to clarify." Now Nico looks at him, face calm, one eyebrow raised.

"I'm going to ask Emma to marry me."

The words themselves don't really tell Nico anything he didn't hear the first time around, but forcing Ben to say it again suggests a lot. Like the fact that he's serious. "Wow."

"Yeah." Ben drags this word out, and it's almost like it loops around the two of them - this twine of yyyyyeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh winding around two friends who have been through a fair amount together, adding another milestone to the list.

There's a lengthy pause, during which time Nico watches a group of two couples in front of them argue about whether or not it's appropriate to put significant others on shoulders at a festival. He never finds out which couple is triumphant because Ben has been doing some thinking and has a question. "Is this weird?"

Nico deliberates, pursing his lips in thought. "Well. Yes."

Another sigh. "Brilliant."

"Come on, you knew the answer was going to be yes." Nico rolls his eyes, kicking his legs out in front of him and narrowly avoiding tripping a guy over. Holding his hand up in apology, he continues talking. "Yes, mate, it's incredibly fucking weird. But purely in storytelling terms. It doesn't feel weird."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." The nod is confident, the expression on his face one of utter contempt at the thought of it being any other way. "Yeah. God, it was always gonna be you, mate. You told me you were going to marry her on a bus. We were on a bus when you told me, I mean, you didn't say you were going to get married on a - you should get married on a bus, though, just to bring the whole thing full circle."

Ben looks suddenly altogether more relaxed, sitting back to rest on the palms of his hands. It takes a few more seconds for him to join in with the bantering, probably while he gathers his thoughts back into check, but when he does join in he does with apparent ease. "Hey, yeah, I told you I was going to marry her and you went out with her anyway."

"In my defence, she said I was cuter."

"Yeah, yeah. You're really okay with it?"

Nico groans. "Ben, shut the fuck up. Yes, I'm okay with it. I've been okay with it since you told me you guys were going out, it's fine, we were never in love or any of that shit. She loves you, you love her, marry the girl."

"She's got to say yes, I hear."

"Well, yes, that helps. Necessary, actually, definitely take her word for it if she says no."

"She might say no."

"She won't say no, you loser."

Ben sits up properly again, grabbing the his can and raising it like a toast. "You're a good man, Nico Sykes."

Nico snorts lightly, emulating the gesture. "Aye, the best one probably."

The scoff from Ben is loud but disingenuously so, and if Nico was still worried the glimmer in Ben's eyes calls him a liar too. Nico isn't still worried. He'd like to think he can read Ben well enough by now. "I think the record deal has gone to your head, mate. Assuming you're best man and everything."

"Please," Nico waves a hand, the hand with the beer in it. "None of your other friends are as successful as me."

"You can be my best man if I can be yours."

They have to wait until Nico has taken a drink before he replies, but the grimace probably says enough. "I dunno, Ben, I get on so well with my brothers, I don't know if I'd ever be able to choose between you all should this implausible scenario ever come to pass."

"Imagine Lewis as your best man."

"Imagine me having any need for a best man."

Ben goes quiet. Nico just presumes that he's thinking about Emma, about one knee and wedding bands and the words I do, until his friend speaks again, tugging at the ringpull on his can of beer. "I can imagine that, you dickhead. Just because you're always pushing people away doesn't mean you always will."

At that, the crowd around them starts standing up - the act they've been waiting for has made his way onto the stage and there's no more time to sit and chat. When Milligan exits stage left an hour later, life has moved on enough not to revisit it.

Not for another eight months or so, anyway.





a tree

"You're in love with her."

Nico's head snaps up and although he knows full well what Ben just said he asks the question anyway. "What?"

"You're in love with her. You just don't realise it yet," Ben says, his tone matter-of-fact. He shifts his leg so that it looks like he's sitting cross legged in the space where the two huge branches meet; a wise man in a tree.

A crease appears between Nico's eyebrows, but he takes a few seconds to compose his reply. During the slight pause, the grin on his best friend's face widens considerably. A twat in a tree is more like it. "The fuck are you talking about I don't realise it yet?"

"See, I have this theory -"

Nico sighs, leaning as far back as he dare. They're in the middle of Sherwood Forest in the dying days of April sitting in a tree and it feels like if he allows Ben to start explaining his theory then he might not be able to escape until June. "Fucking hell."

"Shut it. I have this theory that we fall in love with everyone we meet."

There's a pregnant pause and then, "I can already disprove this theory."

Ben cuts in instantly. "Will you listen to me?"

It's not annoyance in Ben's tone, but an edge of determination, as though this is a theory he's been hypothesising for an age and is finally getting to share his research. Except Nico knows Ben and knows that he's probably just making this shit up as he goes along. Which is why he replies:

"Begrudgingly."

Leaving a pause for dramatic purposes (because there's no other reason to pause) Ben continues like he's come up with the solution to world hunger. "We do. The thing about love is that none of us want to admit to it too early, right? It's this sacred thing that requires really knowing a person, apparently, but the thing is that most of the time when we realise we love someone we can't remember ever not loving them. And it's because we didn't. We always loved them."

Nico doesn't even know where to start. His head drops down to watch the ground below them, attempting to process not just the idea itself but the certainty that was in his friend's voice when he'd made his original claim. You're in love with her. But if Ben thinks that he's going to get away unchallenged he only has to wait a few moments to find out how wrong he is.

"So, hold on, in this theory -"

Ben interrupts again, shaking his head with a knowing smile that is almost infuriating. "I know what you're doing, Nic."

Nico holds out a hand, eyebrows raised in a fake warning. "Will you listen to me?"

Ben grins and motions for Nico to proceed.

"In this theory, you say we love everyone but we only realise it with a certain few?"

"Yeah."

"So... you loved Mrs Groves?"

Ben's face drops. "Fuck you."

Nico is only just gaining momentum. "You loved all six of my siblings?"

"You're such a dick."

"Hold on, hold on." Nico raises the other arm too, holding them in front of him defensively now, head tilted to one side. "You loved the guy that took you and Emma for £1000 more than the asking price when you bought your house?"

"Why the fuck do I even bother?" Ben sighs dramatically, untangling his legs and kicking one out in front of him.

The rhetorical question gives Nico more time to process (you're in love with her) and he takes it, mulling the idea over in his mind and unable to stop the twinge of frustration when he realises that, actually, it's not all bullshit. Just, you know, a lot of it is. And the thing is, he could absolutely leave it where it's been left and allow Ben to continue feeling like an idiot because he deserves it but it doesn't feel right to do that. It feels like he should keep talking. He's trying to get better at talking. "Look, I get what you mean."

"Of course you do." The knowing smile is worse than ever and Nico attempts to push back against it with making Ben feel like an idiot again. He likes that better.

"But it's not true. You don't fall in love with everyone, fuck that noise. You have the fucking capacity to love anyone, let's put in love to one side. You could have found something to love about Grovesy, Lousy Lewis, or the swindler. But you didn't because to do that would have been fucking ridiculous."

There's another pause but Nico knows better than to entertain the possibility that he's won. Very rarely does anyone win an argument against a hopeless romantic with nonsensical theories.

"So what I'm taking from this is that you love her."

Nico looks away from his friend, the crease appearing at the bridge of his nose again as he starts picking at some of the moss around where he's sitting with one hand, using the other to subconsciously displace his hair. "I don't know how you're taking that from this."

Ben shrugs, taking in all of the things that his friend just told him about this girl he's met and how she's like nobody he's ever known before; how he talked like he's never seen him talk in fifteen years, all animated and less monotonous than usual; how he's now paying more attention to exposing the skin of the tree than he is to the original point, that he's in love with her. Ben shrugs, and lifts both of his arms to pull himself up to a higher branch. While he's swinging, he laughs.

"Because you haven't said you don't. Wanker."