“His” and “His best friend” refer to one of the young men/his perspective 

“he” and and “his friend” refer to the other young man/his perspective

To say they were childhood friends would be an understatement. 

Their mothers had grown up together, attended the same college, and ended up in the same city as adults. Throughout those years they kept in contact through letters, emails, and multi-hour phone calls. It had been pure chance that they literally ran into each other at Children’s Place, swelling bellies bumping as one entered and one exited the store. 

Maybe it was then, in that brief touch of the women’s bellies, that the boys formed a connection. No one can really say. But after this incident, the mothers saw each other daily like they were little school girls once again. And, surprisingly enough, the boys were born within days of each other. Their beds in the hospital nursery were side by side. 

As if a string tied the boys together, they were inseparable. Anything one did, the other did too. So enraptured were each of them with the other, neither boy had other friends. Even when puberty slammed into the both of them, their girlfriends came second. It led to both of them having short trysts throughout high school and college. Their mothers went from finding their unshakable bond endearing to finding it a hindrance that kept them from finding the loves of their lives and giving them multiple grandchildren. 

And that’s how they found themselves here, on a double date set up by their mothers. 

“I still can’t believe they fucking did this.”

A calloused hand, hot and clammy, rests over His fist. “Calm down.”

“How can you be calm about this?! They’re trying to set us up like it’s the fucking—”

“Eighteen hundreds, I know; it’s all you’ve been saying since we left the house.” The clammy hand weaves their fingers together briefly for a squeeze before retreating. “Just think of it as making new friends.”

“But you’re my friend! I don’t need—”

“Come on; even I have a friend or two at work. It doesn’t hurt, you know.”

But that new factoid does hurt, His heart beating painfully against His ribcage. “Y-you have office friends?”

“And you don’t? I see you talking to what’s-his-name every time I come by for lunch!”

But that’s different, He wants to say. All His interactions that aren’t with him are one dimensional, surface-level only, and carry no hint of depth. He opens His mouth to explain when the hostess stops at their table, two young women in tow. Not that He spares them a glance because of the shock short circuiting his thoughts; His best friend, only true friend, has other friends besides Him. 

His ego prevents Him from being rational, and the blood rushing in His ears keeps Him from hearing the women introduce themselves. But always the gentleman, he is able to introduce them both with ease, managing to dig a sharp elbow into His side as he stands up to shake their hands.

Simply out of habit, He follows suit, limply holding out His hand to shake the cool one of a blurred face nestled in curls. 

he has other friends…? 

“If you don’t pull your head out of your ass, I’m locking you out.” The threat is deftly whispered in His ear as he reaches forward with the pretense of refilling both their water glasses. It's enough to snap Him out of the fog that had swirled over Him, and He forces a smile, the woman’s face now clearly defined. 

She matches His taste, if you look at the other women He’s dated in the past: chestnut hair that stops at her size DD chest, milk chocolate skin that glows underneath the muted lighting of the restaurant, and thick lips that would make any man think of putting them to use. Her beauty is obvious, but His eyes stray to the man beside Him. His best friend seems to be laughing and smiling with his date like it's a normal day. 

It takes a while, but He eventually blocks out His best friend turned-traitor beside Him, focusing all His attention on the woman smiling widely at Him. Her teeth are straight and white, drawing even more attention to her mouth. Maybe this isn’t as bad as I thought… 

Sensing His change in attitude, his best friend pats His knee underneath the table three times. Before he can pull away again, He uses His hand not occupied with the fork to keep it there. He feels His best friend tense slightly beside Him, but he doesn’t pull away. They stay this way for the remainder of dinner, each eating with only one hand.