C39 Eleven

Someone—I believe it’s Ben clears his throat, I jump to my feet and Asher’s palm slips into mine. Ben’s eyes lower to our linked hands, I smile at the realisation he’s wearing the same grey sweatpants as me. Unlike me, he didn’t need to roll the waistband of his about a hundred times for it to fit his waist.

Water coats Ben’s forehead, rolling down his temples. I steal another peek at him