#pii

"You say that like I wouldn't do exactly what you're tellin' me not to do if you were my bride."

"You have a penchant for defiance," Reagan rumbled. He made sure not a hair on his head was out of place, then checked his pearly white teeth for anything he potentially missed while flossing ten minutes ago. "And the dramatic."

Ben inhaled deeply, a way to ground himself and to keep himself from passing out. "It's been ten years. People are gonna be here, right?"

Reagan tipped his head and pivoted on his heel to look at Ben more directly. "Just our wives, I'm sure," he teased. It was his turn to smile, and boy... his smile always knocked Ben's socks off, no matter how often he saw it. "We're has-beens."

"I would like to reiterate my point about it being ten years," Ben sighed. "And a neat trick I know is that I can change the meaning entirely by adding that, in that context, it's only been ten years."

There was a stretch of silence during which Ben knew just by looking at him that Reagan was savoring being in the same room with him on a professional level for the first time in a decade. There was a glint in his eye, one he'd had since they were kids, one that really, when they got down to it, never fully disappeared.

"You know," Reagan said in a low, sultry murmur that, on the other hand, was only used sparingly when addressing Ben, "Adrian's gonna be mad at us if he finds out we're in the same room before the show. He wanted so badly for our reunion to be an actual reunion."

"When we're in the same vicinity," Ben responded in a matter-of-fact, almost bored drone that expertly hid his abrupt shiver, "you and I may as well be fused together inoperably. He knows that. He's seen that. If anything, he's gonna be pissed because he knows we're in the same room before the show, and he knows we decided to come here in the same car in the first place, and he ain't doin' jack shit to stop it."

Reagan's smile only got wider, if possible. "It's gonna be good. It's gonna be so good."

And good, it was. Gilmore and Murray graced the stage to raucous applause and cheering that nearly deafened them—a sound that wasn't nearly as loud during their individual shows for the last ten years, and certainly not as loud during their first shows as partners.

Ben took his place at the white grand piano center stage. Reagan unmounted the microphone from its stand downstage, maneuvering the cord to bring it back to Ben.

"Mr. Benjy Mertz!" Reagan chuckled over the continuous love from the audience. The stage lights adjusted, spotlights falling on him and Ben, and he caught a glimpse of the red light on the television camera at the back of the house. Millions of people watching this one-time-only event, broadcast throughout the country.

Ben shook his head and played a few, gentle bars of music, attempting to get the audience on the same level. He looked up at Reagan with a personable grin. "Mr. Rían Murphy Gilmore," he drawled into his own microphone. "It's been a long... long time since we've been together, hasn't it?"

"Well, no," Reagan said, casting his attention down to the mic cord at his feet, yanking it and realizing it was taut. He peered into the wing off of stage left. "No, it hasn't, Ben—I dunno how to tell you this, but I was at your house as recently as this morning."

"Oh," Ben said, throwing a comically arrogant smirk into the lens of the camera. "I thought I was hallucinating, but I didn't say anything because I didn't want to cause any problems."

"Someone's holding the microphone hostage," Reagan muttered into the device, reducing his harder pulls to light tugs. "Can... can someone please let the microphone go? It has a family."

After a pause—one of the stagehands loosened the cord—Reagan snickered. The audience once more applauded the fact that he could freely move again, and the first thing he did was lean against the piano, crossing his ankles and sighing.

"The microphone," Reagan said languidly as Ben's gentle chords increased in strength and the cacophony died down, "is shaken, but we think he'll make a full recovery. His family has been notified, and they'll be around to take him home after the show."

It was as if they never separated. They played the classics, their individual songs, and a few covers, and it went so much better than either of them imagined. They cracked jokes, minor things went wrong and they capitalized it... Gilmore and Murray's energy was unmatched by Gilmore and Murray apart and together combined.

At the end of the show, they received a standing ovation. Their first one ever as a duo. Ben felt his heart being swallowed by his own body with his degree of joy, and as he stood on that stage beside his best friend, the first true love of his life, he wept. Nothing overly dramatic, and he couldn't get rid of his visible elation to save his life, but he also couldn't stop those tears from flowing down his face.

Reagan turned his head to look at him as the crowd continued their ovation, and Ben knew what was about to happen seconds before it happened—Reagan gripped the back of his neck and pressed a firm, enthusiastic kiss to his lips. It was brief, and full of pride, and Reagan's eyes glistened with tears that he'd never shed in front of Ben or anyone else.

"I love you," Reagan said, just quietly enough that only Ben could hear him. "I hope you know how much I fucking love you."

Ben nodded, patting Reagan's face with all the affection he could afford to give him in front of the entire country. "I do know, Reggie. I know."