A/N: I have no idea where this came from, but it sort of wrote itself, so I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: National Treasure isn't mine. Neither is iTunes. Or iPods. Or Moby Dick.
In my life, I have been addicted to exactly three things, and I can date and identify each addiction and why it started.
The first is technology. The most obvious of my three addictions, it started when I was in fifth grade and I discovered I could completely dismantle a computer and put it back together in a matter of minutes—and it still worked. The addiction has manifested itself in a variety of ways, including a collection of working and un-working laptops and various mp3 players and iPods. When the new iPod nanos came out, I spent no less than forty minutes in the store, staring at the display and trying to decide on a color. I also name every device I purchase, the most normal being an ancient, now discarded laptop named Ahab (I'd just read Moby Dick).
The second is yo-yoing. This is my strangest addiction, and it started for an odd reason as well. I was in seventh grade, and I'd earned just enough money to buy something at the store. I had no idea what I wanted, and it wasn't very much money, but it was mine, and I was intent on spending it that day, before my father found it and took it. I found a yo-yo, and I found that I had exactly enough to buy it. I was ecstatic, although I was a terrible yo-yoer at first. I learned, though, and within a few days I was performing tricks like nobody's business. The next year I even won a talent contest at my school for it, which won me a date with a very pretty girl who dumped me after about a week. I moved on—I bought a new yo-yo, and I've been addicted since then.
My third addiction is candy hearts. When I was a kid I hated the candy, and the holiday associated with them. I'd watched too many other little kids get them when I was left alone in my sugarless despair. My loneliness became cynicism, and by high school I took Valentine's Day with a grain of salt, but for some reason I never got over my deep-rooted hate of the stupid little hearts. By the time I became an adult, I more or less forgot about the holiday, until one night.
I was typing away on my computer, coding a program that would bypass payment on iTunes, when Ben let himself into our—his—apartment. After I'd gotten thrown out of my own, I had come to live with him for a few days, which had become a few weeks, until he finally just offered to let me live here. It was late, and I was tiring slightly, when Ben entered and threw a box at me before heading into the kitchen. "What's this?" I'd asked.
I looked down at the box, at first in contempt, and then in realization. I was silent, having no idea how to respond. As I thought of a reply, he walked by again, probably on his way to bed.
"Happy Valentine's Day."
He continued on his way, and I glanced again at the box. A million questions entered my mind. Was it Valentine's Day? Had I really forgotten? Did these mean what I thought they meant? …Did they taste any different from the way I remembered last having them, in about second grade?
I ripped open the box, and found that, if possible, they tasted more delicious than ever. I smiled.
Abandoning the box next to my laptop, I followed him to the back of the apartment, where his bedroom was.
"Did… those mean what I think they mean?" I asked, entering his room and sitting on the bed.
"Depends," he answered, reappearing in pajamas. "What do you think they meant?"
"Nevermind," I said, standing. "They probably aren't what I think they are. Good night." I tried to leave as quickly as possible, having utterly humiliated myself, when he caught my arm and spun me around, capturing my lips in a mind-blowing kiss.
When we broke for air, he asked, "Is that what you thought they meant?"
"Something along those lines," I answered, and he smiled.
And I've been addicted since then.
A/N: I'm subconsciously planning a companion fic to this, from Ben's point of view. Maybe. …leave a review?