A/N: Yes, I'm still alive and still writing this story UwU Sorry for being so late, I was writing a short story for a contest a little while back and took quite a break. A few flashbacks are lined up for a couple of chapters, that hopefully show another glimpse into Ollie's past with the two idiots. Enjoy as always, and love you all <3

Chapter 14: Girlfriend No. 6

Ollie's POV

It wasn't unusual for hordes of high schoolers to pass by Haruto's coffee shop, especially two hours after the high school down the road got out. Most hung out at the mall or by the fast food places across the street, but there was a fair share of people that didn't mind taking the longer walk to the coffee shop for less lines. As Haruto and I joked, the ones who came here were the real ones who knew what real coffee was all about. Too bad it was his day off today, so I couldn't make fun of them later about it.

Except today had been different. It wasn't the wannabe hipsters or band kids that decided to stop in, but what looked to be half their football team and their partners (or fans). Football players, no matter the age, left a bitter taste in my mouth. In jerseys and duffle bags no less, the football team was just as I remembered; loud, annoying, taking up way too much space, and most likely pompous attitude.

Trying to resume my people watching from my seat, I pretended to ignore their overbearing presence.

Of course, that was a fail; the unwarranted memories of my time through that hell had resurfaced. Maybe it was the chaos of nonsense they were spouting, or the overly PDA couple practically eating each other's necks like a starved person. Or maybe it was just the bitter realization and thoughts of Haruto being like that with that "adorable idiot" he confessed to liking the other day. Was I hopelessly jealous, jamming to the Sour album a little extra hard these past few days, or was I just an idiot, who knows?

It wasn't the same high school I had attended, or should I say either of them, but the irony of it all was that two of the jerseys were the same numbers Mason and Benjamin wore, 9 and 3, respectively. What a shit coincidence.

At least neither of them looked like them, I guess that was a plus. Yet, the way number 9 had quietly stood around, even quietly placing his order with Janice and Mi-young reminded me of Mason. Fitting in with them, when really, there were more differences than similarities. Something I had learned about Mason a little too late. Had he never broke that trust to begin with, I'd imagine things would've been very different for the both of us. Maybe I would've stayed in touch, answered his calls and texts, maybe even openly accepted the wedding invite.

Of course, that's not what happened, and this is where I was, sitting at a coffee shop, staring at some teen's nostalgic jersey like some absolute creep. Surely this kid wasn't a total ass like Mason was, or Benjamin for that matter. Or so I hoped. Then again, it was hard to beat those pieces of shit.

But I mean, Mason hadn't always been a little shit, or hadn't always been in the mental burn book I had concocted that year. Of course, his name quickly got added again shortly after, following the events of the Winter formal, but that's another story.

Reminded of just how many names I had mentally put in that book, I cringed. The days spent sandwiched between raging hormones and emotionally (and sexually) confused high schoolers really ran me through the ringer. All these pretentious teens with their inflated egos; where all those overly attached couples roamed the halls, walking with their girlfriends and boyfriends like a trophy piece. Glad I didn't have to relive that all over again.

Well, not physically. Mentally, it replayed over and over like a nightmare I couldn't seem to wake up from. Then again, teens in general always left a bad taste in my mouth. Driven by their hormones and desire to socially climb the ranks.

Stupid superficial relationships and hurting people with figuring out what the fuck feelings meant. Like my friendship with Benjamin, or with Mason.

Or Benjamin and his girlfriend number six, Lauren, for that matter.

It had been like some silly western cliche, the two of them. Lauren had been a cheerleader, like two of his ex-girlfriends, and him, the star athlete. Lauren had been the epitome of an overly-attached girlfriend, clinging to him at every possible second. So much that even Mason had been pushed aside when she was around. Benjamin had already cut all ties with me by then, but the fact that he had pushed away his new best friend was astonishing.

It had been a weird gray area of time where Mason wasn't obligated to hate me. Or to bully, harass, or make demeaning comments. In fact, maybe girlfriend number six had been an overall great thing to happen, I wasn't completely alone. Mason would even strike a greeting or make small talk before class, a token of our brief ostracized-by-Benjamin-and-his-group club.

The weird gray area between homecoming prep with Harvey's sloppy kiss and the Winter formal.

And yet, despite the short time they were together, girlfriend number six also brought unwanted drama. She had a clique of her own, the cheerleaders, and all the sports stars would follow her like a lost puppy. Gossip queen, someone had coined her, along with her gaggle of snobby teens that followed her like paparazzi. A total Regina George, if you will. Except less pink on Wednesdays, and her clique was far more intimidating.

Nothing good ever came out of his brief relationships, other than gossip for the high schoolers to obsess over rather than their homework. Maybe the only good thing was that I learned a thing or two about Mason during that time. And for once, had someone to rant to who seemed to actually understand; even if it had been as brief as Benjamin's relationships.

It had been a Thursday, the day before the homecoming parade that the strange camaraderie between me and Mason had started. It was hard to say what had sparked him to engage in conversation with me, given he had never seemed interested in talking to me alone. I had only associated with him because of Benjamin for starters, but I guess it had to have been when he walked in on me and my giant bruise. Whether that had triggered his own memories of his previous high school, or simply out of curiosity, it had been a nice break from all the drama and stress Benjamin had provided.

Since Harvery's not-so-innocent kiss, Benjamin and his team had approached me with nothing but contempt. From nasty looks, to bumping shoulders, it had been progressively getting worse. One of their benched players had tried to trip me during lunch, while another had stuffed a slip of paper with a slur on it in my locker.

Most people would have ignored it, or told a teacher to investigate or whatever, but every little nuance of their pestering had been getting to me. Seriously, Benjamin should have known that I would fight fire with fire eventually, but I guess he didn't really know me after all. It had begun with me sticking my middle finger at them in passing, cursing them in the halls, to me shoving their shoulders back.

Of course, I was spiteful, maybe took it a bit far, but I was furious. And silly me didn't realize that I shouldn't have pushed them too far, especially considering they were all about twice my size. So spreading a rumor about a cheating girlfriend number six was a terrible idea in hindsight, I figured my journalism skills would've been the perfect setup to get them to stop.

Which, of course, had been a terribly wrong idea. It only made him madder.

And to top it all off, my big mouth had snarkily told him that sloppy kiss Harvey was going to be my date to said dance. Not my brightest of ideas, I'll admit. That had earned none the gentlest of shoves, scorns, and even punches from Benjamin and the team after I had announced my plan to be as gay and free as we wanted at the dance on Saturday, and he and his lackeys couldn't stop us.

Benjamin, didn't approve of that, that had been evident. Hence the uncomfortably tender and deep purple bruise sprawled on my side. I could only hope that it would be less painful by the dance.

I hadn't even been able to explain that when I said we were going together, it had meant as friends. They had been so quick to judge, that I hadn't even been able to correct them. It wasn't like we were going to be fucking in the bathrooms or anything. At most, maybe I'd show Harvey what a real kiss felt like, and even that had been a big maybe; of course somewhere more private away from people too.

Had I not been trying to protect my head from their punches I would've snarked back that I didn't particularly want to see any of the straight couples grinding on each other on the dance floor either. At least Harvey and I had more class than that.

Staring at the gnarly piece of skin through the crusty bathroom mirror only surfaced the memory of it all again. Most memorable, Benjamin's face during it all. A frown, scowl, pretty much every negative emotion plastered on his face. When was the last time I had seen anything remotely positive? I couldn't even remember what his smile looked like anymore. Even in passing when I did slip by him and his posse, it was like his face was stuck with a permanent frown.

Just thinking about it made me angry. If he was that unhappy, why would he feel like it was okay to make someone's life a living hell like that, especially someone you knew for that long. Did being myself really affect someone's personal happiness; was it such a fucking crime to accept who I was?

Ready to punch the shit out of the mirror, I settled with heavy breathing and slamming my palm against the sink. Benjamin wasn't worth breaking school property over, nor injuring my body more than it already was. Throwing a punch would've been too strenuous for my side anyways. Yet, through my frustrated slamming and huffing, I hadn't heard the bathroom door open till the sound of it closing startled me out of my thoughts.

In the reflection of the mirror, I could see who had entered. Fucking hell.

Mason's gym bag seemed to slide nearly off his shoulders before he caught it, readjusting it as his jaw slacked open. His eyes were trained on my side, catching me at probably the most inconvenient of times. Him and his fucking timing. "Ollie—"

"It's fine," I rushed out, the words slurring together as quickly as I pulled the shirt back down. Grabbing my bag from the floor, I turned to walk out the door. "It's nothing. I've got to get to class."

His arm shot out, almost as if to reach for my wrist but he stopped himself, his hand dangling awkwardly between us. "It doesn't look like just nothing. When did—was that Benj?"

"No, actually." A scowl made its way to my face. The look on Mason's face said he could see past my little lie. Well, white lies, really. Benji hadn't actually punched me in the side, but he did partake in the shoving, sneers, and overall fiasco of watching Keegan and Evan, their offensive linemen, tackle me like I was a rival quarterback.

"That was Keegan and Evan," I clarified, attempting to walk briskly past him. He easily stepped into my path. With a glare, I gritted out, "I need to get to class. My free period is almost over."

"Wait." He gritted his teeth. "Can we talk?"

"Isn't that social suicide?"

He huffed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Fine," I said firmly. "But it depends on what this is about."

"Benji." He looked past me before gulping, pointing toward my side. "And that."

I rolled my eyes. "I already told you, it was Keegan and Evan."

He nodded, before leaning against the wall, his arms firmly crossed. "I know, but it's just—Benjamin. Why would he allow that? I didn't think he'd get this violent."

"Who fucking knows." I adjusted my backpack, which jarred my side a bit. Mason sent a sympathetic wince, one I couldn't decipher if it was genuine or not. "Probably just mad that I'm 'pushing the gay agenda' or whatever the fuck people call it. Or that I'm not taking it like a wimp he thinks I am."

Rolling my eyes, Mason's questions were exactly what I had been wondering. Has Benjamin always been this close-minded? Had he always been violent, a bully, and I just hadn't noticed it cuz I had been included in his group? What was the real Benjamin like if it had all been a lie; had he even liked me as a friend before this whole spiral?

"I just don't understand it. You've known him for so long, why would he—"

"Yeah, I don't either. Join the club." A second later, the school bell rang, signaling it was time for the third period, one I sadly shared with Benjamin. Looking at him I jeered my thumb at the door, saying drly, "Look, I've got class. Maybe we can chat later."

"Same," he said awkwardly before lowering his voice, glancing at the empty stalls behind me in relief. "Meet you after school? I can drive you home, maybe talk about it then?"

I blinked, the suggestion coming out of nowhere, but the offer was still intriguing.

"Sure," the words slipped out with ease, the appeal of ranting about Benjamin sounding all too tempting. "I'll meet you after school."