Author: Anna Martin
Category: LGBT
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/anna-martin/page,14,529683-the_lost_boy.html
“I missed you a lot.”
“Yeah. Me too. I would have done anything, just anything in the early days to try and get you back. I guess I kind of knew I didn’t deserve you, though, so I didn’t bother.”
“And now?”
“I want to tell you I’ve changed, and I have.” Ben still didn’t look up. He fiddled with anything within touching distance—his fork, the edge of his plate, his mug. “A lot for the worse, but I’m working on that. Of all the constants in my life, though, wanting to be with you is up there. I love Tone, I love my family and the guys, but I’ve never actively and consistently loved someone like I love you.”
Stan bit his lip, trying not to let the tears that were brimming in his eyes fall. “I… I….”
“You don’t have to say you love me back,” Ben said in a rush. He looked up then, and seemed to notice the wreck Stan had turned into. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t,” Stan said truthfully. “What do you want, Ben?”
Ben was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “Another chance. Please.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” Stan reached for Ben’s hand and threaded their fingers together. “Like you said, we’re different people now. Let’s see what happens.”
“People like me don’t get second chances. We don’t deserve them.”
“I don’t believe that. It might not work, Ben, I can’t make any promises. I feel like….”
“You can say.” Ben gave him a tentative smile. “I’ve just spilled my fucking guts here. You can tell me.”
“You’re my man that got away,” Stan said. He reached over the table and held Ben’s cheek in his palm, smoothing it gently with his thumb. “In the past couple of years, I’ve had relationships, but nothing that stuck, you know? There’s never been anyone else who made me feel like me. Not the way I did when I was with you.”
“Can I kiss you now?”
Stan laughed. “Yes. Please.”
Ben got up and took Stan’s hand to pull him to his feet too. They bumped noses, by accident, it wasn’t cute, then Ben gently took hold of Stan’s face in his hands and kissed him, achingly soft.
Stan turned his head, resting his cheek on Ben’s shoulder because it felt right there.
“I should never have left,” Stan said.
“What?”
Ben pulled away, still holding onto Stan’s arms so they were touching, but Ben could look at his face. He was frowning. Annoyed.
“If I’d stayed with you,” Stan started, but Ben was already shaking his head.
“No, Stan.”
“If I’d stayed,” Stan repeated, “Maybe you would have gotten better. You needed me, Ben, and I just abandoned you with those people who were never going to help you.”
“You put up with more than any reasonable person would have.” Ben shoved his hands into the pockets of his joggers. “I don’t blame you for walking away, Stan. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m ashamed of myself,” Stan murmured.
Ben stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. “You’re a better person than any of us. I honestly don’t think it would have worked out even if you hadn’t gone back to London. Sooner or later one of us would have cracked. I just wish we could have kept in touch, really.”
“Yeah?”
“I worried about you. A lot.”
That made Stan grin. “You always worried about me. Mother hen.”
Ben rolled his eyes. It was an old nickname, and one he’d definitely earned. “Please don’t beat yourself up,” he said. “We’re here now. That counts for something, right?”
“Okay. So, where do we go next?” Stan asked.
Ben stepped in close again and trailed his fingers down Stan’s back.
“Back to bed?”
The suggestion made him laugh. “Not right now.”
“Okay. You want to go out? Like a date?”
“Are you okay with that?”
Ben seemed to consider it. “There’s that Everyman cinema in Hampstead. We walked past it before. It has those double sofa seats so you can snuggle.”
And it was dark, and there wouldn’t be that many people around on a weekday during the summer. Stan got the appeal.
“You want to snuggle with me,” he teased, pulling away again to look at Ben’s face.
“Every chance I get.”
“Okay. Sounds good. I’ll go get changed.” He kissed Ben again.
“You could wear that,” Ben called after him.
“No, I couldn’t,” Stan sang back.
Ben just liked his ass in yoga pants. Stan was okay with that.
He’d always felt bold when he was with Ben, like the opinions and disdain of others failed to penetrate the bubble they created of the two of them together. The bubble had burst a long time ago and Stan knew that he did care about what other people thought, maybe more than he should.
He wanted to see if he could be bold again.
Stan took the yoga pants off and pulled on a pair of ripped black skinny jeans that fit him perfectly and always gave him a little boost of confidence. Since it was going to be warm outside today, he picked an oversized white-and-grey-striped T-shirt that hung off his shoulders, and got his strappy sandal heels out of the wardrobe ready.
Since their trip to Harrods, Stan had stocked up on his favourite makeup brands and had started experimenting a little again.
Firstly, he filled in his eyebrows with a colour a little darker than his natural hair colour, because he wanted the definition. In the summer he usually wore brown mascara, instead of black, because it just worked better, and a bronzer instead of blush to give definition to his cheekbones.
Stan was lucky that his skin tone was pretty even, so he didn’t wear foundation on a day-to-day basis unless he was really going for it with a full face of makeup. This was enough to make him feel confident though, a little edgy and a lot sexier.
Since his hair had already mostly dried from the shower, he scrunched some product through it to give it some texture and shape. He finished the look with a delicate gold necklace, a few gold rings, and the sandals.
When he walked back to the kitchen, Ben had switched his joggers for black jeans and put on what was likely a clean T-shirt. And messed some stuff through his hair. He’d brought a backpack with him when he came over last night, so Stan guessed the clean clothes had been in there, but he was pretty sure whatever hair products Ben had been using came from Stan’s supply. Not that Stan really minded.
Ben looked up when Stan walked in and his face slowly lit up as he took in Stan’s outfit.
“There you are,” he said.
Chapter Sixteen
For a few days, Ben floated along in a haze of good sex hormones that were almost certainly driving Tone crazy. He didn’t have sex with Stan again—even though he wanted to. He knew this was part of Stan’s directive to not rush anything, and he respected that; he totally did. But being with Stan was like someone turning on a dusty old switch in his heart, reminding him what it felt like to love someone. It felt like running a marathon after not exercising for a year. Everything ached.
Instead of all the incredible sex they could have been having, Ben spent hours researching dates. He booked after-hours events at museums, dinner at chef’s tables in restaurant kitchens, private boxes at the theatre to watch plays. He was going overboard and he knew it, but Stan seemed alternately charmed and bemused by the whole thing, so Ben kept going.
He was sticking to Stan’s vaguely defined rules and figuring out if they could make this relationship work today. The more time they spent together, the surer he was that it was going to be good. Not just now, but for a long time to come.
That Stan liked to dress up when Ben took him out was a very appreciated side benefit.
“You look great,” Ben murmured, smoothing his hand down Stan’s arm. He was wearing a dress again, this one loose and
voluminous in some kind of textured chiffon material. Stan didn’t often wear a lot of yellow, but this looked amazing on him.
“Thanks,” Stan said. He leaned over and gave Ben a kiss. “Where are we going today?”
“Just walking, I think. We might find something interesting on the way.”
“That sounds nice.” Stan reached for Ben’s hand. That was a new thing, holding hands in public again.
When they got outside, Stan tipped his sunglasses down from where they’d been perched on his head onto his nose. Ben copied the gesture, even though it wasn’t that bright outside.
They headed north, farther out of the city, taking the scenic route towards Primrose Hill. For a while they just walked in silence. Ben basked in it. He’d always appreciated being able to be quiet with someone, and Stan was good at it.
Then Stan said something that upset everything.
“I need to go back to New York.”
Ben panicked. “Forever?”
“No, not forever.” Stan smiled at him, his expression fond. “I need to bring back the rest of my stuff and have a few handover meetings at work. Say goodbye to my roommates. Things like that.”
“Oh.” Ben was still panicking. “How long will you be?”
Stan fidgeted for a moment. “Maybe a week? Or less than that. A week at most.”
“Okay.” Ben nodded. “Okay.”
“I’m moving back to London,” Stan said. “It’s going to take time to figure that out logistically. I have EU citizenship, so that’s not a problem, but I still have to register my business and sort out what happens with my US work visa and all of that stuff.”
“No, I understand,” Ben said, even though he wanted to be selfish and beg Stan not to go. “Just… text me or something? Let me know you’re okay?”
“Of course I will.” He stepped up close and kissed Ben, just a light brush of lips on lips. That was new too, being openly affectionate in public. “I’m not going right away. I just needed to tell you that it’s going to have to happen.”
“Can I come with you?”
Stan shook his head slowly and started walking again, tugging Ben along with him. “No, sweetheart. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re doing so well here. And I’m going to be busy when I’m there, so I won’t be able to be with you all the time.”
“Babysit me, you mean.”
“Ben. Please don’t be upset. I want you to stay here and spend time with Tone. Summer and the boys will be back soon. You need to catch up with them, too, have some of those conversations.”
“I know you’re right, and I know I’m being irrational.”
That made Stan laugh.
“I still don’t want you to go, though.”
“Honestly, I’m not excited for it. But it’s important.”
“I know.” Ben sighed, and when they stopped to wait for a light to change so they could cross the road, he looked over at Stan properly. He seemed resigned. A little sad. “I’ll be fine.”
Stan booked his flight and left two days later, giving Ben enough time to get used to the idea and not long enough for him to get stressed. His thoughts tended to spiral, and that wasn’t good, especially when his main coping mechanism for his brain not shutting the hell up was a boatload of drugs.
Tone had already swept the house to make sure there wasn’t anything hanging about. He now had a massive stash of weed in his bedroom and seemed immensely pleased about this.
Since arriving back in London Ben hadn’t exactly been a social butterfly, but with Stan gone, he stuck to his bedroom more than ever. He kind of understood Stan’s reaction to the room, now that he’d moved back in. It was weird. There wasn’t any other way to describe it. Some wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey shit was going down.
Ben stuck to his twice-a-week sessions with Dr Greg because routine was important and having something he was responsible for doing actually helped. He couldn’t get himself into a disgusting mess because he needed to go out and walk over to Dr Greg’s flat and sit in his conservatory to talk about his feelings.
He also listened to a lot of music.
Not Ares music, because he wasn’t ready for that yet. Ben dug through the hundreds of playlists he’d made up over the years and made a couple dozen more. His favourite, for now, was his divas list: Whitney, Mariah, Ella Fitzgerald, Diana Ross, Etta James, Dolly Parton, Adele, et al. It put him in a strange, girl power frame of mind that he wanted to do something with.
Ben set up his new phone carefully on the tripod he’d borrowed from Tone and hit Record.
“Not sure what I’m doing here,” he said, plucking at a few chords on his acoustic. “Let’s find out.”
He’d never heard a man cover I Will Always Love You before, and his style leaned more towards Dolly Parton’s country original than Whitney Houston’s powerhouse version. Strangely, though, his voice suited the song, and the lyrics felt appropriate.
It felt like a long time since he’d sang anything and actually meant it.
When he was done, Ben stopped recording and sat in silence for a while, letting himself feel whatever he was feeling and trying to identify those emotions. Dr Greg had taught him the exercise, and the point was trying to make Ben more comfortable with the more messy emotions instead of turning to drugs to suppress them.
He was feeling a lot these days.
Before he could change his mind, he quickly edited the first and last few seconds of the clip with an app on his phone, then uploaded it to his YouTube channel. Then he turned his notifications off and went back to writing his own music.
He was sleeping—napping—when Tone thundered into the room and yelled at him.
“Benjamin mother-wanking Easton!”
“What the fuck?”
“He’s alive,” Tone said to someone on the phone. “I’ll call you back.”
“What?”
“Jesus Christ, Ben, you fucking wanker.”
“What?” Ben repeated. “What did I do?” He shifted on the sofa to sit up properly and let the blanket fall to the floor.
Tone sat down too and poked Ben in the thigh, apparently to make sure he was still there. “People think you posted a fucking suicide note on YouTube.”
“What?”
Tone slapped his hand to his face. “You posted a fucking moody and dramatic Whitney Houston cover and people decided to interpret that as your goodbye, cruel world moment.”
“Wasn’t Whitney,” Ben grumbled. “It was Dolly.”
“Christ on a bike, you’re good at missing the point.”
“It wasn’t a suicide note. I’m not going to die.”
He liked repeating that to himself, from time to time. Ben strongly believed affirmations were bullshit. Instead he preferred to tell himself what a piece of shit he was to force himself to do better.
Each to his own.
“Stan saw something on Twitter and freaked out. You turned your phone off.”
“Oh, shit.” Ben scrambled for it.
“I just spoke to him. But you should call him back. And maybe post something on your Twitter to say you’re still in the land of the living.”
“I don’t have access to my Twitter. They took that off me ages ago.”
Tone rolled his eyes and left, muttering something to himself about melodramatic emo boys. Ben decided that was probably him. Oh well.
He picked up his phone and dialled Stan’s number.
“Is mother-wanking really your middle name?” Stan said as he answered.
Ben started laughing. “You know it isn’t. What time is it there?”
“Just after eleven. Can you video call me?”
“Sure.”
He flipped his phone and set it up on the tripod again, since that was easier than holding it.
“Hey, beautiful.”
Stan grinned at him. “Hey yourself.”
Stan was wearing makeup—pretty pink lipstick and blush and masca
ra. It looked like he was just wearing a T-shirt, but Ben couldn’t see properly from this angle.
“Sorry if I upset you.”
“You didn’t. But you’ve caused hell of a fuss on the Twittersphere.”
“I’ll let management deal with that,” Ben said, stretching his arms over his head until his back popped. “Did you listen to it?”
“Not yet. I thought I’d wait until after I’d spoken to you.”
“Well, we almost have a full house again. Summer and Geordie got back last night, and Jez will be back in the morning. He’s got a meeting with our management company about the new album.”
“Shouldn’t all of you be at those meetings?”
Ben shook his head. “Sometimes we are, but not for this. It’s about the album. I think he’s presenting to them what we’ve got so far so they can start deciding what songs are going to be put out as singles. Stuff like that.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“How’s New York?”
“Lovely, actually. There’s an Indian summer going on. I, uh, I actually met with someone yesterday.”
Ben frowned and sat up a little straighter. He didn’t like the expression on Stan’s face.
“A guy I used to date. I wanted to tell you before you saw anything about it on Instagram or whatever.”
“I don’t have Instagram,” Ben said. He didn’t like the squirmy, jealous feeling in his stomach, not one bit. “Why did you meet him?”
“To tell him I’m moving back to London. We stayed friends after we broke up. He’s a dancer, at Juilliard.”
“Okay,” Ben said slowly.
“Ben, I’m telling you because I want to be honest. You don’t need to worry.”
He was worrying, though. That was the problem. “You’re a really long way away,” he said instead.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Stan sighed. He rubbed his hand over his face. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
Ben made a face. “Should I be worried?”
“No,” Stan said emphatically. “Honestly. I’m just trying to be open with you.”