Benjamin started writing everyone's names down. Not in list-form, but like spells. He scribbled them into his notebook during classes, on napkins during lunch, even once on his arm with a marker.
Donny Huisman became wild starlight. Christopher Rankin was quiet thunder. And Benjamin? He hadn't figured his own out yet.
That same evening, he had dinner with his cousins. Someone asked if he had a girlfriend. Benjamin laughed awkwardly and said, "Not really," which was true, but the way it made him feel - like he was erasing something - lingered.
Later, he biked past Donny's house and saw him silhouetted in the window. Donny waved. Benjamin stopped.
"Come up?" Donny called.
They sat cross-legged by the window, knees touching. Donny offered him licorice and asked, softly, "Do you think love always makes sense?"
Benjamin shook his head. "I think it makes itself known. In weird ways. Like names you start whispering in your sleep."
Donny smiled and leaned just enough closer to make Benjamin forget how to breathe.
They didn't kiss. But there was a tilt, a pull, an almost. And the way Donny looked at him - it made Benjamin feel like something had been named after all.