Entanglement: An MM One Night Stand/Friends with Benefits University Romance

Chapter 7

STAN

When I joined Rave's friends, I was met with Bass leading a toast with his usual exuberance, urging everyone to down their drinks before taking his own. Standing beside him was a tall, muscular man who seemed oddly familiar. A closer look confirmed that he was the guy who had picked me up from the bar about six months ago—Tim, if I recall correctly. While Tim was decent in that regard, I had to admit Rave was in a different league.

Beside Tim was Met, looking at him with a smitten smile. I noticed Rave's tension beside me as he stiffened at the sight. He seemed frozen, only moving when Bass spotted us and called us over to join the group.

Rave awkwardly made his way toward his friends, and I couldn't ignore the shift in his demeanor. He seemed uncomfortable, possibly harboring some resentment, though I couldn't pinpoint why. The mood had been light-hearted before we arrived at the bar.

We exchanged warm welcomes and introductions. Tim pretended not to recognize me, and I mirrored his pretense. It was clear neither of us wanted the group to know about our past liaison—a sentiment I wholeheartedly shared. Rave, however, showed his dissatisfaction during the introductions, offering a mere nod toward Tim.

I tried to maintain composure amid the unfolding absurdity. Rave’s growing irritation was evident as he downed shot after shot of tequila, his gaze repeatedly drifting toward Tim and Met, who were unmistakably flirting. A sourness churned in my stomach as the realization hit me: Rave’s intense jealousy stemmed from his feelings for Met. His eyes, usually so beautiful, were now filled with a clear resentment. If glances could kill, Tim would be in serious trouble. Rave’s grip on his glass was nearly crushing, his obliviousness to everyone else around him—including me—was glaringly obvious.

A strange sensation tightened around my heart. I fumbled for a cigarette and mumbled to no one in particular about stepping outside for a smoke. Unsurprisingly, no one seemed to notice. How foolish of me to think I mattered within this group.

As the smoke curled into the night air, my self-directed anger mixed with the bitter taste of tobacco. How many times had I told myself that Rave and I were just friends? Friends who happened to have a physical connection but nothing more. My current distress was nothing more than possessiveness over a friend. It was natural to feel upset when a friend neglected your presence, right? My frustration stemmed from Rave inviting me to this absurd club and then ignoring me upon encountering Tim and Met.

I leaned against the wall, scoffing at my own foolishness. Who was I kidding? Stan, you dumbass. Didn’t you say you’d avoid catching feelings at all costs? And now look where you are—completely tangled up in them.

RAVE

Despite the dimness of the wretched club, I could make out Tim and Met with startling clarity, engaged in their flirtation. Tim was encroaching on Met's personal space, which was unusual given his typical discomfort with closeness. Yet Met leaned into it, reveling in the attention, and clearly smitten. The look Met was giving Tim—the one I had longed for—was now being freely bestowed upon someone he had just met hours ago. No amount of alcohol could wash away the bitter taste in my mouth.

I wanted to slam my fist into Bass's smug face. His ridiculously wide grin was a taunt, knowing full well that his actions were designed to hurt me. If anyone knew about my unrequited feelings for Met, it was Bass. He had often teased me about my inability to express my emotions directly to Met and had witnessed every ridiculous stunt I’d pulled in the name of these feelings. And now, Bass was fulfilling his pledge to help Met lose his virginity before graduation, clearly choosing the ideal candidate based on the heart-eyed looks Met was giving Tim.

Met, Bass, Chai, and I had been through countless outrageous escapades since middle school, but nothing compared to my unreciprocated feelings for Met. I often wondered if this stemmed from our mutual reliance on each other or from the fact that Met had been there for me during times of illness or discomfort, filling the void left by my absent father. Perhaps it even traced back to that painful memory of overdosing on pills in the bathtub—Met had rescued me, taken me to the hospital, and convinced me to seek rehabilitation, saving my life.

During the grueling detox and withdrawal process, it was Met’s face I’d see peering through my rehab room door. And when I emerged from rehab, it was Met who kept me on the straight and narrow, ensuring I never strayed again. My innocent, warm-hearted Met, a beacon of light at the end of my darkest tunnel.

Jealousy gnawed at me, my grip on the whiskey glass almost painful. Yet, did I have any right to feel this way? As Met’s friend, I should be happy for him. Rarely did Met form connections outside our group—Bass, Chai, and me. It was unjustifiable to throw a tantrum just because Met couldn’t reciprocate my feelings. My debt to him was too deep to harm him in this manner. It had been years, and I knew Met had deliberately ignored my feelings, not out of ignorance but to spare me pain.

How could this not be causing me pain? Seeing him so openly enamored with someone else felt more agonizing than any physical blow. It was as if a permanent chokehold had me in its grip. I finally determined that I needed to leave before I did something irreparable.

I scanned the surroundings, searching for Stan, my belated recollection reminding me that we had arrived together. I swept the dimly lit club but couldn’t spot the tall, handsome guy I had come with. Stan was impossible to overlook. Despite his understated style, he had an inadvertent magnetic presence. So where was he? Maybe he felt too uncomfortable here—he had said he wasn’t keen on joining us tonight. Perhaps it was for the best if he left, although a goodbye would have been appreciated. I didn’t think I had the strength to explain my glaringly smarting feelings to Stan.