If This Were My Last Day - 1. Chapter 1

If you knew the world was ending, who would you spend your last day with?

 

Believe it or not, that was a legitimate question posed to a classroom full of angsty high school students.

 

Few of them even knew what they were doing after the last bell rang, much less what they would do in case of the literal end of the world. There was the typical response from one of the jocks on the school football team. He never took the class seriously anyways, so when he answered that he'd "spend it with a hooker, so [he] could at least go out with a bang," no one was surprised. There was the obligatory laughter from the girls who had crushes on him, followed by whoops and cheering from his friends, and there were groans from those who were actually taking the question seriously. And when the teacher took that response as a cue to change the subject, the subject was dropped and their attentions went to something else.

 

All except for Benjamin Mears.

 

Ben's mind easily wandered these days. Few of his classes truly interested him and he was thankful that he would be graduating in a few short months. For all of the hype put into high school in movies, Ben found it to be a colossal let down—easily forgettable. And it wasn't even that he was doing poorly: he was able to maintain a B+ throughout most of his high school career. Most of his teachers liked him well enough. It was just... It was—

 

He looked over at the football player, who was making yet another crude joke out of their teacher's questions.

 

—them. The juvenile drivel that filled the hallways he was forced to pass through as he went from class-to-class. They were why he wanted out so badly. From the first time he walked through the front doors of the school as a freshmen, he had quickly learned the pecking order—and what a terribly mundane and cliched pecking order it was. Jocks and cheerleaders were atop the ladder, anyone with fists larger than their brains came next, any girl who could hold the attention of the previous tiers for longer than five seconds came afterwards, and everyone else occupied the bottom. Luckily for Ben, the pecking order only became problematic if you earned the ire of anyone above you in "social stature."

 

It hadn't taken him long to figure out a survival method: Stay out of their way.

 

Unfortunately, that hadn't prevented him from earning the wonderful title of "nerd magnet" during his sophomore year. Because he had managed to avoid the regular teasings and beatdowns most of the lower tier students frequently received, Ben quickly became popular among the poor and downtrodden. They flocked to him like sheep to a sheppard, and he was more than happy to have them as his friends—he was certain he wouldn't have any friends otherwise. But few of them truly saw him as a friend. Most just saw a meat shield. If they stuck around him long enough, the endless torment seemed to diminish if not stop entirely.

 

That, Ben would later deduce, was their survival method.

 

And Ben was fine with that (for the most part). Everyone had to learn to survive somehow. But though he was constantly surrounded by these friends, he could not shake the crushing feeling of loneliness. See, being the "meat shield" for these people had its benefits: he had someone to talk to about mundane topics like grades and sports, people to sit with at lunch, even people to play with on Xbox Live during his time away from school. Yet, it also came with a drawback—a rather glaring one, actually. None of them actually knew him.

 

Oh, sure, they might know what his favorite color, food, video game, or television show was; but those were just basic facts about a person. They had no idea who he was. The struggles he faced at home or in the lonely confines of his mind. His real hobbies, such as his love of journaling or photography. None of them knew his spot—that place he went to, when things got bad at home, to think through life or just drown out the noise. All they saw was their protection from the jocks and bullies of the school. And so, as he contemplated his teacher's question, he came to the predictable realization that he wouldn't choose to spend his last day on Earth with any of them.

 

If he spent his last day on Earth with anyone at all, it would probably be with the person he spent all his time with... Himself.

 

When the bell rang sometime later, he was still thinking about that question: specifically, he was really wishing there was someone he could choose to answer it. It would sure be a lot less depressing than admitting there was no one he'd spend those crucial final moments with. As he gathered his things to go—the classroom gradually emptying itself of students—he noticed his teacher, Mr. Maybury, approaching him from the front of the classroom.

 

"Everything okay over here, Ben?" the older man asked with a cocked eyebrow. "You looked a bit dazed during class."

 

"Sorry," Ben mumbled as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. "I guess my mind wasn't completely with it today."

 

Mr. Maybury folded his arms and gave Ben a once over. "Are you sure everything's alright?"

 

"Yeah. It's nothin' to worry about. I just spaced out."

 

Ben knew Maybury didn't believe him. To be fair, if he were in the older man's place, he wouldn't believe him either. Nevertheless, Maybury nodded and merely told him to pay more attention next time.

 

Ben promised that he would.

 

***

 

Out in the halls, Ben was once more confronted by the exhausting reality that he had to share this space with so many loud and obnoxious teenagers. Between their high-pitched laugher, the whooping among the guys, the mass of inseparable voices, and the loud banging of locker doors, he couldn't tell which noise he hated the most. He threw a ritualistic glance down at his watch: only 1:25—there were still two more hours, class periods, and walks through this very hallway, left in a day that he felt should be over right now. With a sigh, audible only to himself due to the noise, he began to push his way through the throng of teenagers towards his next class—

 

—when he was brought to a halt by a new noise. That wasn't to say that screaming or chanting weren't the norm in the school hallways, but there was something distinctly different about this. As Ben neared the source of the terrible sound, he noticed a ring of students beginning to form. Some had their heads thrown back in laughter, others had their cell phones out and were videoing, and yet others were chanting as if whatever they were seeing was another one of those dreaded high school pep rallies.

 

Ben pushed himself through growing blockage in his path until he was part of the circle. Only then did he see what was happening. There were three boys at the center of the circle, though he only recognized two of them.

 

The first was Tony Johnson—but everyone in school, even his closest friends, just called him Johnson. He was a bulky senior, number twelve on the school's basketball team, and did everything he could to make sure everyone knew it (which included wearing basketball jerseys with the number "12" almost everyday, no matter the season). His cohort was Randy Thomas, who wasn't in sports, yet somehow attracted a sizable majority of the school's female population—making him fast friends with the upper tiers of the school's pecking order. Together, the two were notorious for picking on whomever they could get to be afraid of them.

 

Their latest victim, it would seem, was in the circle with them. He was a pale boy, thin with baggy clothing and a mop of dirty blonde hair: an ideal target for the pair. The poor kid looked as though he had just had his most prized possessions taken from him. When Ben looked to see what the big deal was, he noticed that the two bullies had taken the kid's backpack away and were proudly holding it hostage, like it was the spoils of a hard-fought battle they'd won.

 

It took Ben all of a minute to realize that the kid was afraid of them—afraid to take back his own possessions. In fact, from the looks of it, he was absolutely terrified. The kid was beginning to tremble and Ben couldn't help the heat that rose in his belly and spread upwards into his face. He looked around for a teacher or the principle—hell, a janitor would've sufficed, but found no one. He found himself lamenting the fact that faculty was never around when shit like this happened.

 

He looked back at the poor kid, whose face was beginning to turn a ripe shade of red and who was clearly fighting tears as best he could, and made up his mind.

 

In the almost four years Ben had been in high school, he had known an entire army of bullied youths. They weren't hard to find—though they usually found him. But never once during those four years did he ever intervene on their behalf. It wasn't because he was an asshole or a coward, he was just usually not physically there when it happened. Now he was, and the mixture of anger and revulsion he felt practically propelled him forward.

"Alright," he said in a voice as loud as he could muster. "You guys have had your fun. I think the poor kid's had enough. Give it back."

"What's your deal, Mears?" Tony snarled angrily. "If you know what's good for ya, back the fuck up."

 

"Yeah!" Randy chimed in, predictably on his larger friend's side. "We'll decide when we've had enough fun with the little faggot!"

 

Ben's stomach coiled at the sound of that word. Faggot. He never got why other people even bothered saying the word. It was repulsive and grating—like sharp nails on a chalkboard—yet they felt the need to throw it around as if saying the word validated their bullying.

 

He couldn't help but notice that the other boy's crying had stopped. The bullied kid was now staring at him with a mixture of fear and uncertainty, tears still glistening in the corner of his eyes—and when they made eye contact, the boy was quick to look away. There was unmistakable shame written all over his expression. It was almost as though he regretted that he wasn't tough enough to stick up for himself—that he wasn't good enough. Ben felt his heartstrings being pulled at and, when he whirled around to face the two bullies again, his resolve was even stronger.

 

"I think you've done quite enough already, Thomas," he spat. "Give him back his backpack and let it go."

 

"I'll do what I damn well please, Mears," Randy shot back, refusing to back down even in the slightest. "And just for that, you can stand right there until we figure out what to do with you too."

 

Great, Ben thought and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Good job, Ben. You had to go and open your mouth.

 

But there was no backing out of this one. Both Randy and Johnson looked ready to go fist-to-fist, and that was not a skill Ben had any talent in. He didn't even have a sibling to fight with. If these two decided to go toe-to-toe with him, it would be lights out Benny in a few seconds flat. Thankfully, fate was on his side today. Johnson, meat-headed jock that he was, cracked his knuckles and made to charge on Ben in what would've been an amazingly devastating frontal assault—

 

—then the bell rung, stopping his charge mid-stride.

 

Some of the spectators began to break up—though a few remained—having decided that the fun was over and that it was time to go to class. Randy and Johnson didn't move, though. Not at first anyways. Then a cruel smirk crawled across Johnson's face and Ben felt his stomach tie itself up in a knot again. He opened his mouth, likely intending to say something that would make Ben's blood boil again, but found himself foiled again—this time by the timely intervention of a teacher that just happened to walk out of her classroom.

 

"What's going on out here?" she snapped. "You kids get to class right now!"

 

Seriously lady?! Ben thought angrily. Where were you five minutes ago when we really needed you?

 

"Alright, Mears," Johnson said with a sneer—seemingly ignoring the teacher. "You win this round. But if you think this is over?" He chuckled. "You're fucking wrong."

 

"Here," this time it was Randy. "You can have this back."

 

Before Ben could react, Randy had launched the backpack they had stolen towards him. Full of books and god knows what else, the satchel hit Ben square in the chest, which practically drove the air from his lungs.

 

"Hey!" the teacher called out after them, but the two bullies simply snickered to each other and walked off.

 

Ben recovered and shook his head. Honestly, what good were teachers who just stood there and let that kind of thing happen right before their eyes? He didn't know, but he suddenly didn't care. Gripping the backpack, he turned to find the boy looking at him strangely. He wasn't sure what he expected. Gratitude? More tears? Shoving those thoughts aside, he handed the boy his backpack, which he took timidly.

 

"Why?" he suddenly said. His voice was softer than Ben had expected. Soft and... soothing?

 

Ben cocked an eyebrow. "Hm?"

 

"Why did you do it? They're just gonna come after you now. You should've just let them."

 

"Let them pick on you?" Ben was genuinely mystified. He folded his arms. "Why would you want me to do that?"

 

The boy shrugged. "It's what everyone else does."

 

"Well, not me. I'm not an asshole like those two losers."

 

"Hey, you boys," the teacher—having noticed them still standing in the almost empty hallway—called out. "Get to class."

 

"Sheesh," Ben murmured, looking at her over his shoulder. "First she doesn't stop the two losers bullying you, then she gets onto us for not being on time to class. Go figure, huh?"

 

The boy said nothing.

 

"Well, I uh- I should go. Maybe I'll see you around some time?" Ben wasn't sure why he said it. Maybe it was because the kid looked like he needed a friend right now—maybe it was something else.

 

"Maybe," the boy mumbled.

 

"My name's Ben, by the way. Ben Mears."

 

"Sam," the boy replied. He immediately turned around, shouldering his backpack at once. "Thanks for my backpack."

 

Without another word or gesture more, Sam turned and began to head down the opposite hallway. There was a noticeable droop in his shoulder. Ben had seen it before. He wondered if Sam had thought he'd helped him out of pity. He had certainly acted like it. And something about that stung Ben. He wasn't sure—that entire encounter had been bizarre. It was only then that he began to realize the ramifications for what he'd done. Johnson and Randy were now his biggest enemies in school and he wasn't sure what to think of that.

 

He turned to go to his own class before he got yelled at again; but, before he could go, the thought finally crossed his mind and he began to wonder just what the hell he had managed to get himself into.

 

***

 

A week later, everything had fallen completely apart.

 

Four years.

 

Four years of careful avoidance, which had kept him off of the every bully's shit list, flushed down the toilet. And why?

 

Because he had dared to stop a poor kid from getting picked on, that's why.

 

Suddenly, all of his so-called friends had vanished. His magic had completely worn off—he was no more immune to the bullying than they were. Their meat shield was gone. Rose was really the only one who remained. Perhaps her friendship had been genuine after all. She still waved when she saw him in the halls; she still sat with him at lunch; she still worked on homework with him and called him after school. By Friday, he found himself grateful for her friendship for the first time. She was weathering the fallout and hadn't even shown signs of flinching at his newfound negative attention.

Sam, on the other hand, had become completely distant. Ben had never even known the kid existed prior to the incident a week ago. Now, he was suddenly everywhere. Not that it mattered. Sam refused to make eye contact with him, didn't speak to him, and simply pretended that he didn't exist in general during the few instances that they were forced to be within close proximity to one another. At first, Ben hadn't minded—he was never the type of person to crave attention from another, but Sam was different. He had stuck up for Sam and now the boy was acting as though he was the scum of the Earth.

 

"Maybe he thinks it's some kind of joke," Rose was saying as the two friends enjoyed lunch together.

 

"A joke?" Ben replied.

 

"Yeah, you know, like you were in on it with Johnson and Randy," she explained. "Poor kid gets picked on all the time. I'd doubt if he could tell a friend from a foe at this point."

 

"He gets picked on all the time? How do you know?"

 

Rose took a bite of her sandwich. Then, with a mouthful of food, said, "He's got second period History with me." She swallowed. "Sits all by himself. You know Spencer Jones—the guy who heads up the tennis team?"

 

He nodded.

 

"Guy throws wadded up paper at him when the teacher isn't looking. That among other torments."

 

"And nobody says or does anything?"

 

"You were the first, kiddo," she sighed. "Trust me, that kid has more enemies than he has hairs on his head."

 

"Why, though?" Ben scrunched up his nose in confusion. "What could he have possibly done to deserve all of that?"

 

Rose shrugged, "Not a clue. Must be pretty bad with the way he's treated."

 

For the rest of lunch, Ben found himself unable to eat—his appetite was completely gone. He had been so frustrated with Sam for avoiding him, he had never once stopped to wonder what the boy might be going through. He'd pulled the same crap other people had pulled on him. He didn't know Sam. But right then and there, he decided to change that. He managed to dodge Johnson and Randy for the rest of the day. Then, when the last bell rang, he made it his mission to hunt down Sam.

 

It wasn't a very eventful hunt.

 

He found Sam outside the school, preparing to walk home in the cold from the looks of it. The boy's head was hanging, shoulders drooped—he honestly looked like a little boy who had just had his puppy shot in front of him. Was that how bad the bullying had gotten? Ben wondered that as he tailed the boy. He wanted to talk to Sam, but he didn't want there to be any chance that Johnson and Randy could corner them. That was the last thing he needed today. When they had finally gotten clear of the schoolyard, Ben increased his speed to catch up.

 

"Sam!" he called out. "Sam, wait!"

 

Sam immediately froze and tensed up.

 

"Dude, you've been avoiding me like the plague," Ben said, still panting to catch his breath. "What's up?"

 

Sam stood still for a moment, his hands curling up into fists. When he turned, his eyes were already glistening. His cheeks were stained a rosy red thanks to the cold nip in the air.

 

"Just do it," he said flatly.

 

Ben immediately looked taken aback. "Huh?"

 

"Just get it over with!" Sam practically shouted. "Have your fun, have your laugh, and then please leave me alone."

 

Ben blinked. "Sam, I'm... I'm not here to torment you. I—"

 

"That's what they all say at first! 'Relax, kid. I'm not gonna hurt ya or nothing.' 'Geez kid, just take a chill pill why don't ya?' I've heard it all! Next thing I know, it's 'Hey faggot!' or 'Suck on this, queer!' Okay? I get it!" Sam barked. "Just have your little laugh and leave."

 

Ben was at a loss for words. What could he even say? Rose had been right. This poor kid was practically being tortured. He attempted to put a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder, but Sam jerked back as though he had just had boiling water thrown on him.

 

"Don't touch me!"

 

"Okay, okay, geez!" Ben said, pulling his hand back. "I'm just trying to let you know I'm not going to hurt you! I came to see if you were okay."

 

Sam fell silent for a moment. He gave Ben a once over and narrowed his eyes as if he were suspicious of Ben's intentions. "Whatever..." he finally said.

 

"I'm not lying," Ben retorted. "I really did come just to check on you."

 

Sam recoiled as though he had just been slapped across the face. His eyes were watering again before Ben could even figure out what was happening.

 

"It's true, you know?" he stammered. "What they said about me? It's true."

 

Ben was even more confused now than ever. "What they said about you? Sam, what are you talking about?"

 

"I'm gay!" Sam barked. "I'm a big ol' flaming faggot! Got it?! You want to make fun of me now?!"

 

Now it was Ben who felt as though he'd been slapped. Rather, he felt as though he'd just been hit by a freight train. No wonder the poor kid was being tormented so much! When Johnson and his goons found out about a secret like that it was a wonder they hadn't beat the poor kid within an inch of his life! Something in Ben's expression must have gotten through to Sam, because the boy's own expression melted into one of fear and regret.

 

"You- You're not upset?" the boy practically sobbed. "Wh-Why aren't you upset?"

 

Ben realized he didn't have the words that Sam needed to hear. There were none that could possibly mend the boy's scarred heart, so he did the only thing he thought could help. He stepped forward purposefully, spread his arms, and enveloped the smaller boy in a tight hug. Sam immediately tensed—no doubt a reflexive move of self-defense—but, after a moment, he realized that Ben was being genuine and practically melted into his embrace.

The next few moments, for Ben, were a bit of a blur. One moment, Sam was being hostile and shouting and the next the boy was sobbing hard in his arms. He rubbed the crying boy's back and let him sob it all out—what else could he do? Words continued to fail him and it was blatantly apparent that the kid needed some affection in his life. Moreover, he needed a friend. So Ben simply let Sam cry, an act that lasted almost ten minutes before the smaller boy was able to regain some manner of control over himself.

 

"I-I'm s-s-s-sorry," he trembled.

 

Ben momentarily hugged him tighter. "Don't be," he said. "We all cry sometime."

 

"P-promise?" Sam asked. "P-promise me y-your not gonna m-m-make fun of m-me?"

 

"Promise."

 

Ben had rarely been so sure of anything in his life. But, as he watched Sam come undone in front of him, he made the vow in that very instant never to intentionally hurt the boy.

 

At the same time, a new feeling began to rise in him—like pressurized water desperately seeking an exit. The new feeling was so alien to him that, for a moment, he wasn't quite sure what was happening. He felt warmth spreading through his stomach, which felt like the inside of a washing machine at the same time. He had the jitters too, as if he was suddenly nervous. His heart was beginning to beat as though he had just finished running a marathon.

 

It was then, for the second time in over a week, that he wondered just what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

 

***

 

The feeling persisted.

 

Weeks turned into a month as October slowly faded into November. Some things at school changed: Sam was somewhat more sociable and he had now joined both Ben and Rose's lunch table. The three friends had also begun to hang out outside of class—an entirely new experience for Ben. Some things, on the other hand, didn't change at all. Johnson and Randy were the same assholes they had been for over a month now. They still picked on the boys and Ben had the bad feeling that it was all building towards something not pleasant. He tried not to think about it.

 

Despite Sam's emotional confession, however, things had been... weird between the boys. Sure, Sam would sit with them at lunch and wave at Ben in the halls, but something was different. He decided—as the Thanksgiving holiday approached—that it was these weird, persisting feelings that had changed. He couldn't help them. Every time Sam got near him, his entire mood shifted. He would suddenly become shy, avoid eye contact, answer with simple words—basically the opposite of how he usually acted. And what was worse? When Sam left, it was as if a gaping maw had opened up in his stomach and that really didn't feel good.

 

Weirder still: he thought that the intense longing he felt when Sam was away would push them together; instead, it only drove them apart. Soon, it was Ben who found himself avoiding Sam. They were back at square one again and he had no idea how to fix it this time.

 

Just when Ben was beginning to think the situation couldn't become anymore troublesome, it got worse—way worse.

 

Ben had P.E. for his seventh and final period of the day. He both hated the class (he had to share it with Johnson) and loved it (it was his last class of the day). But ever since the incident with Johnson, Randy, and Sam a month ago, the class had become increasingly more difficult to endure.

 

"Faggot alert!" Johnson bellowed as Ben entered the locker room.

 

That had pretty much become a staple of the class period. Class was over. It was time to get back into normal clothing and go home for the day. Yet, rather than get dressed and get out, Johnson always had to make a scene. When all of this first started, the other guys found it amusing and usually chuckled. Now, they were more-or-less indifferent. Not that it made it any less mortifying.

 

Ben had developed a system, though. He was always last to get dressed and leave the locker room. Johnson had his laugh, the amused spectators left, then Ben could walk out of there freely. Today, however, there was a significant change in that lineup. The other boys finished quickly, as usual, and shuffled out of the locker room to go about the rest of their day. Ben finished up shortly thereafter and went to leave himself—only, this time, Johnson was waiting for him. And he wasn't alone.

 

Randy was there with him. He had also brought Bryce Wilson and Colby Jenkins, two more of his football buddies. Ben made to ignore them—he only needed to push through and then there would be too many witnesses for them to do anything serious. However, when he tried to do just that, he found his path blocked. Johnson's lips curled upward into what amounted to a very sadistic smirk. Ben felt his stomach drop into a bottomless pit. Whatever was about to happen, it wasn't going to be good.

 

"I see you trying to duck out on us, faggot," Johnson sneered. "Ain't gonna happen, though. You aren't leavin' here 'till me and the boys say so."

 

Ben's mouth morphed into the mutant cousin of a snarl. "What's this about now, Johnson? Still peeved that I prevented you from bullying a helpless kid a month ago? A junior at that. I thought you senior jocks had better things to occupy yourselves with."

 

The sneer never left Johnson's face. If anything, it only got wider. "That's alright. Keep talkin' shit. When we get through with you, I'd be surprised if you were even able to form words anymore."

 

Fear now possessed Ben, but he didn't dare show it. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

 

That's when Johnson turned back on his friends and uttered the words that froze the blood in Ben's veins. "Watch the door," he told Randy. "If you see anyone comin', give us a whistle."

 

"You've got it," Randy replied, turning only briefly to give Ben a wink and a sinister smirk.

 

Ben's mind raced. He had never been in a fight in his life. Other than flailing uselessly, he knew nothing about how to fight. He wasn't physically strong—all he could do was stand his ground and grit his teeth. Johnson, on the other hand, seemed to be getting off on his latest victim's last show of defiance. With a wordless gesture, he commanded Bryce and Colby forward; and, when Ben was distracted with watching them, he struck.

The first blow—strategically placed in Ben's gut—drove all of the air from his lungs. Ben felt his legs begin to shake violently as all the strength in them left him. He collapsed to his knees, palms on the cold tile floor and fought to regain precious oxygen. In that position, he could no longer defend himself. Bryce and Colby had him pinned to the title before he had completely recovered his sense of what was going on. He struggled, fought, kicked, and flailed—if one of them had been close enough, he might have even tried to bite them, but they weren't. Finally defenseless, Ben was forced to lay there while Johnson rained blow-after-blow down on top of him.

 

Besides being completely ruled by pain, Ben found himself humiliated more than he'd ever been in his entire life. Once Johnson's blows had driven most of the fight out of him, Bryce and Colby were finally free to release him and join in on the fun. The pain was so overwhelming that he soon became disoriented. Punches and kicks were flying at him and he was no longer able to tell which direction the were coming from. He didn't even realize that he was bleeding until he hid the tile again and a wad of blood flew out of his mouth.

 

When it was finally over, and they were practically high-fiving one another for a job well done, Ben lay there in the floor completely drained of willpower. Whatever their parting insults were, he never heard them—they were lost to the white noise in Ben's head. He barely heard the door close behind them. At that point, he could've gotten up, but the strength to stand was gone, so he just lay there. He had never been so defeated.

 

And what was there to feel?

 

Nothing.

 

He felt nothing.

 

He had a lot of thoughts, though. Was this what Sam went through? Rose? All of the others? Is this what he had been missing out on the last four years? And to think, all of this stemmed from the fact that he had just wanted to stand up for someone who couldn't stand up for himself. In hindsight, it was almost funny. Here he was, laying in the floor of the boy's locker room, covered in his own blood, sweat, and bruises, and yet he still couldn't get his mind off of Sam. Even though there was no feelings attached to them this time, even though the memories themselves did nothing to numb his pain, the boy just refused to get out of his head.

 

And then, he came to an epiphany.

 

There, having just been broken in all of the worse possible ways, and laying limp on the tile floor, Ben had the biggest revelation of his young life: He was in the same boat as Sam. They hated him because he was different—because he was gay (a "flaming faggot" as Sam had termed it). Somehow, they had known it even before he had. Or, at the very least, they suspected it. He should have known sooner. All of the strange feelings and thoughts he had had since he first encountered Sam, and all of the confusion that came along with them... Looking back on it now, as he did laying on that tile floor, it was so painfully obvious that he berated himself for being too stupid to see it before.

 

That's when feeling returned, but only a very specific feeling.

 

And, in that moment, he realized that he was deeply, hopelessly, in love. He knew he was in love, because all he could think about—despite his abysmal condition—was how Sam's dirty blonde locks seemed to glisten in direct sunlight, or how the boy flipped his hair out of his eyes with a smirk whenever they talked. He thought of the way Sam bit his bottom lip when he was nervous, and the way his brown eyes swam when he was on the verge of tears. With every memory, every single gesture, Ben felt the love in his heart tug him towards Sam as though he was compelled to attract to the other boy by the strongest magnet on the planet.

 

Yes, he was in love—there was no denying it. He had once thought falling in love would make him happy. That it would be the thing that could block out all pain and cure all sadness. Instead, it made him angry. Angry and afraid and oh so sad.

 

Unable to comprehend the rush of emotions pouring through his body, he buried his head in his arms and—for the first time in a very long time—cried until the tears wouldn't come anymore.

 

***

 

The anger grew stronger the next day.

 

It was Friday—finally—and Ben couldn't wait to go home for the weekend. He didn't know why. Things had gotten worse there too. Johnson's little charade had ruined everything. When he came home, covered in bruises and barely able to form coherent sentences, his parents were of course concerned. But the anger had had the entire bus ride from the school to his house to build into a raging inferno. So, when his parents had asked him what had happened—why would someone have done this to him—he had blurted out, rather angrily at that, "I'm fucking gay, that's why!"

 

Yeah. His parents hadn't taken to that too well.

 

By the time lunch period rolled around, he was so mad at the world that he didn't even bother going to the lunchroom. He simply wandered outside and sat by the flagpole. It was cold outside, which made his bruises sting. The whole day all eyes had been on him. Kids walked by him in the hall and had one of three reactions: gasp, take pictures with their cell phones, or giggle and then gossip about what might have happened to him. Rose had tried to say something to cheer him up, but he had simply shrugged her off and left her standing alone in the hallway.

 

Not his brightest move, but he didn't know what else to do. He hadn't seen Sam that day and, truthfully, he didn't know if he wanted to. Who knew what emotions that encounter would dredge up.

 

The wind blew gently across the schoolyard, lightly ruffling his hair, and causing his scarf to flail behind him, a crude imitation of the flag on the pole above him. As he sat there—arms folded across his knees, chin resting on his arms—he thought of what his life had come to. He had spent most of it being the emotional refuge for those who had gone through some form of bullying. The reason he was even in this position was because he decided to get a big mouth and protect one of them. How ironic, he thought, that he was now the bullied one and yet there was no one sitting next to him trying to make it all better. Or, at least, so he thought.

 

"Fuck 'em," he mumbled softly to himself. "Who needs 'em anyways?"

 

He only became aware of someone's presence when he heard the loud crunching of cold grass under shoes. His first reaction was instinctual, defensive—he thought Johnson and his gang of goons had come back for more. Instead, he found himself staring up into the tearful eyes of Sam, who stood there silently with his hands buried in his jacket pockets. He immediately looked down and away from Sam, praying that the other boy hadn't seen the nice, big shinier he had there.

 

"Hey, Sam," he muttered.

 

He didn't know what else to say. The feelings were already back, no matter how much he tried to block them out. And when Sam stepped closer, his heart lurched and he just knew he had to get away. Scrambling to his feet, he managed to put a few feet between them before Sam could get any closer. The gesture couldn't have been more obvious and Sam looked absolutely crushed.

 

"J-just stay away from me," Ben managed. He wasn't even sure why he was behaving like this, but he had to keep Sam at an arm's length. He knew if Sam made contact, he'd be a basket case with no hopes of drying up.

 

Sam stood there for a moment, looking as though hew as on the verge of crying. His eyes flicked up and down—clearly, he was getting a good look at all of the visible damage caused by Johnson and his friends. The longer he looked, the more tears became visible. At the same time, the pain in Ben's heart was becoming too much to bear. No matter how much physical pain he was in, something about seeing Sam like that hurt more.

It eventually got to the point where he couldn't look at it anymore. He had to get away and make the pain inside stop. He turned to walk away and submerge himself in more solitude. That, as it turned out, must have been when Sam got his courage back. Ben felt another body crash into his own. There was a lurch of soreness as his own body was rocked forward slightly. For a moment, he thought he was being attacked again—this time by someone he undeniably loved—but was stunned when two thin arms wrapped themselves around his waist and held onto him tightly. He felt Sam's head rest against his back and realized then and there that he was being hugged.

 

"I'm sorry," Sam murmured sadly. "This is all my fault. If... If you hadn't stuck up for me, thi- This all might have never happened."

 

He felt the body of the boy who was holding onto him begin to tremble and he knew Sam had started to cry. And when Sam started to cry, he felt tears beginning to build in his own eyes. No one had ever cared for him like this—not even Rose. He was always left alone, only wanted when he was the comforter. Now, suddenly on the other side of the spectrum, he found that Sam wasn't simply satisfied with being comforted. He wanted to be a friend too and... and perhaps something more?

 

Realization hit Ben like a freight train.

 

How could he have missed that too? The sitting at the same lunch table with him and Rose, the subtle waves in the hallway, the small smiles whenever their eyes made contact. Now this... Ben blinked back tears. Is he...

 

He never finished the thought. He took Sam's arms—which were still wound tightly around him—and pulled them apart. The younger boy looked defeated, completely emotionally crushed, for just an instant—clearly unaware of his older friend's intent. But all of that melted away when Ben took his cold cheeks between his own cold hands and roughly pulled his lips onto his own. The kiss was painful. Ben's lips were still badly busted up from the beating he had received the day before, but he fought through the pain and focused on making what he assumed was Sam's first kiss a mind-blowing experience. And, when Sam got over the shock of what was happening, he found himself kissing back just as roughly.

 

When they separated and Ben—still holding Sam's face between his hands—looked upon the boy he loved, drinking in the sight of his beautiful brown eyes swimming with tears, he made up his mind. This, right here, is where he wanted to be—the rest of the world be damned. The feelings of love bubbled over in him and he could resist pulling Sam in the rest of the way for a tight, very warm, hug. He held Sam with all of the love and tenderness he thought the boy deserved and it wasn't long before the younger boy was a sobbing mess all over again.

 

"P-promise?" Sam cried into his chest. "P-promise me this isn't a j-j-joke? Promise me this is r-real?"

 

The boy's voice was so tortured. It slowly dawned on Ben that Sam must have needed this just as much as he did. The boy had been so unwanted by his own peers for so long that he had forgotten what it felt like to be care for by one of them. And love of this magnitude must have seemed too good to be true.

 

Ben half-laughed, half-sobbed, and ran his cold fingers through Sam's mop of dirty blonde hair before planting an innocent kiss to the boy's forehead. "Promise," he choked hoarsely.

 

They stood there—two boys out in the cold, underneath the school flagpole—rocking each other back and forth, and probably looking very strange to any onlookers. Now, Ben thought. Would probably be a really bad time for Johnson to find us. But, as quickly as the thought had come, it was gone and replaced by a new, better thought:

 

His mind drifted back a month to that terribly boring class that had directly proceeded the first time he had met Sam that fateful afternoon.

 

If you knew the world was ending, who would you spend your last day with?

 

He still thought the question was stupid—certainly not the topic of a high school discussion. Yes, it was still a legitimate question asked of high school students. And, yes, at the time he had scoffed and said there was nobody to fill the role, save himself (and what a sad and depressing thought that now was). But, as he held Sam tenderly, rocking the smaller boy back and forth in his arms—every now and then pressing a small, yet firm kiss to the boy's forehead—he thought... that maybe, just maybe, this is what it might feel like to have someone like that.

 

He smiled—

 

It hurt to smile, but he did it anyways, and closed his eyes.

 

—and thought that, yeah: if he had to spend his last day with anyone, spending it with Sam would be pretty great...