No way. No way. Ben was not introducing his cousin to the guy whose name alone made his knees buckle. A guy who made his stomach dissolve into a sparkling pink cloud of adoration that he had to fight to keep from leaking out of his stupid, fickle face. A guy who inspired dreams that…well…

But more importantly than any of that: a guy. The possible implications of those two little words were enough to strike Ben dead with terror. Why, why did his stupid, dumb heart have to latch itself onto another guy?! As if getting girls to like him wasn't hard enough. Jeez.

The margin for potential backfire was great enough to swallow a couple of Russias. If Gwen found out that Kevin was so decidedly barren of lady-parts, there was no telling what would happen. What if she disowned Ben entirely? What if she never spoke to him again? What if SHE developed a crush on him? Or worse…. What if Kevin developed a crush on her?

Ben shuddered, his heart dragging in the mud as he trudged to the library. He tried his best to shove away such thoughts as he pushed the glass door open, straightening up as best he could. It was bad enough that Kevin thought he was a dork, he didn't need to peg Ben as a crybaby as well.

He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, hoping that he'd gotten there early enough to regain composure before Kevin showed up. As he rounded the corner, he was feeling pretty good. His spirits had lifted as he remembered how close they'd come to each other yesterday. Kevin had approached him. Kevin had sat across from him. Kevin had leaned closer to him. Kevin was….already here.

He immediately panicked. Kevin was early! Really early. Ben was counting on the delinquent, of all people, to show up late; he still needed to glue the pathetic fragments of his confidence back together! He ducked behind a tall shelf, ready to offer up his soul to whomever would ensure that Kevin hadn't seen him. Trembling, he squeezed his eyes shut, all his doubts and fears flooding back over him. Smothering him.

The soft, sandpapery noise his jacket made as the drowning boy slid down the front of the bookshelf seemed to echo through the building, the silence so thick naught could escape it, but it masked the muted gasps Ben emitted as he dissolved into sheer terror. Suddenly smothered by his doubts, he clutched at his neck, unable to force air through his windpipe. He curled into a ball, choking on fear, the cold hand relentlessly throttling his weak neck.

Ben shook violently, wracked with insuppressible panic, oh god, he was in way over his head; he screwed up big time. What was he thinking? Kevin would probably take one look at him and know everything. He'd never speak to Ben again, he'd beat Ben to a pulp for defiling his metaphorical personage, Ben would be a school pariah, look at the little gay boy, thought he could get that hot upperclassman, what a dumbass, what a pathetic little butt pirate, fairy, fag, melon-fucker, an icy hand like stop signs in winter latched onto his throat, choking, stifling any sound he could make in defense, crushing him slowly, cruelly, it was so cold, so cold, why was it so cold, why couldn't he stop the shaking, the madness, the hopelessness, the falling, tumbling over and over into the darkest depths of the pit of the deepest trench, fag, fag, FAG, so cold, so dark, the hand, that frozen hand, the hand of death himself, creeping onto his shoulder to take him away for all the horrible, deplorable thoughts that had run about in his head, how dare he think such terrible things, icicles creeping up his arm, a black widow dripping nitrogen from its arctic mandibles, reaching for him, reaching—

Ben screamed. Well, he started to before a small hand clamped over his mouth, shutting him up.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" a tense voice whispered, heavy with concern.

With wild eyes, Ben trembled as he looked up at the thin frame in front of him: a shadowy silhouette blotting out the bright library fluorescents. His mouth hung open as she let go, voice having fled shamelessly.

The shadow crouched, both small hands clamped onto his shoulders, light pouring over the slim arms, collecting in small pools around the black hair and furrowed brow. It was just a girl. Her pink-clad shoulders were hunched, near-invisible eyebrows knit above her dark, worried eyes. "Are you okay?" she repeated, adamant.

Ben remembered to breathe.

Her almond-shaped eyes were locked on his own, which were still wide in terror. She wasn't letting him go without an answer.

Ben Tennyson could only manage a jerky nod.

"Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth."

He could not refuse her stern face, lit dramatically from above. But he supposed it was fitting, as he groped for his senses. He searched for his voice, a throttled whisper, "That's never happened before."

"Obviously. You had no idea how to handle yourself," she remained stern, but relaxed her vice grip on his arms.

Humiliation battered the already loose grip he had on his cool.

"But it happens, dude. To the best of us," she amended quickly, seeing his already unstable sensibility threaten to tank further. The girl sat back across from him, satisfied that he could handle breathing unassisted now. "I'm Julie," she whispered, seeming at last to shatter the oppressive silence which cocooned around him.

"Ben," he exhaled. His fingers dug into the fibrous plate that the library tried to pass off as carpet.

She hesitated a moment. "My first was right before a tennis match." She studied his face carefully. "So, y'know, at least yours was in a quiet place," at this, she cracked a smile. "No time limit or anything, right?"

Oh yeah. Time limit. He was surely late by now. "I dunno about that," he glanced furtively at the far edge of the shelf. He desperately sought a cover story, "Study session…" he half-truthed lamely.

Julie pondered this. "...If you don't mind me asking, what's so scary about that?"

Just lie, just make something up. Something, anything! "Kevin Levin…?" A cop-out, but better to just let her draw her own conclusions.

She regarded him skeptically. "Kevin? I didn't think he was that bad."

"It's a long story." He looked at the floor.

She bought this half of the story. Nodding, she reached into her pocket, "Are you gonna be okay?" She scribbled into a small, wrinkled book of post-its.

Ben nodded. Another fragmented truth.

Julie pressed a lightly battered yellow page into his hand, her eyes propelling reassurance into him. "Give me a call if you ever need to talk or anything. And if it happens again, just remember to steady yourself and take deep breaths." She smiled. Such a genuine human being.

Another dumb nod as she stood, and he let her help him up. He watched as she straightened his hood with unusual stranger's affection, and wondered dimly on her oddness.

"Go get 'em, Tiger," she grinned, and chucked him on the chin lightly, giving a brief wave as she made a secret exit. After all that, she still tried to preserve his dignity by taking a longer route out.

Seriously, what.

Ben shook off this weirdness, thumbing the softened corners of the slip in his hand. The only proof he had that she wasn't some crazy hallucination. He tucked the page away, taking a breath to steel himself. He took a step forward, toward Kevin, and shrunk back. No way, this was crazy. Maybe he could still reschedule? No, stop that. You're both already here, and you've pussied out enough already. Just get it over with.

He gripped the post-it like a totem in his jacket pocket, and after a moment, out he walked.