Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was so fucking easy to move Randy around. Benson hadn't counted on that. If he'd ever thought about it much before, which he hadn't, he would've had to believe the kid would have enough backbone to at least pretend to resist. Wouldn't just go limp when Benson got a hand on him. Wouldn't look at Benson with gratitude on his dumb skinny face. There was no way to know he was gonna do that. And even if Benson had known all that, he still wouldn't have been able to know how that would make him feel. 

Maybe it was shock at first. People went into shock when shit happened to them. Froze up and cried and whatever. Randy probably wasn’t counting on moving bodies today. Fine. But then it had been like an hour, and he still wasn’t better. In Benson's clothes, in Benson's car, Randy kept crying and caving. They went to the mall, to the place his old girlfriend worked. Closure happened. It was written on his face, clear as day. She said something to him and something happened behind his eyes. His life clicked into focus for him, and then he still fucking melted when Benson dragged him out to the car. 

Randy was a soft apple and Benson wanted to crush him in his hands to see what came out of split skin. 

The story spilled out. Benson had to laugh at just how pathetic it was, and then had to stop laughing because of that too. That crocodile was getting crushed in Randy's white-knuckle grip. And there it was. The problem Benson knew was in there. The thing that made wanting things impossible for Randy. That made him lean back into every shove. 

Soft apple. Eyeball. Kind of the same thing. Gross and dripping. And Benson found himself so goddamn defensive of the mess. From the first time Randy let himself be pushed a few steps ahead and then stopped, waiting for more, Benson didn't know much but he knew he didn't want anyone else to see Randy like that. That meant teaching Randy to resist. Problem, solution. Straightforward good deed to do. Free this kid. End of. 

Problem was, Benson had no clue what to do when Randy kept refusing to put up a fight. He let his stupid eraser ruin the dumb broad's life and then his own, like a fucking idiot, and he seemed bound and goddamn determined to leave it at that. Benson’s good idea was fizzling out. 

No. Couldn’t be. He had him here, in his car, and he wasn’t done helping. So Benson pushed more. Teacher had to be around here somewhere. Randy would have to feel better if he got the chance to apologize to her. Make things right. 

Again, not even token pushback. Randy cried, but he’d been crying most of the day. Lost some of its impact. He told Benson where he went to elementary school without making it a big deal so that was where they were headed. To get him some more answers. To get that look on his face again. Give him a little hope. 

When Benson was in elementary school, he learned different kinds of lessons. Opposite kind, some would say. Hope was stupid. Not for Randy, who’d just gotten a little stuck. He’d pull out of this just fine. But that wasn’t everybody. Some people were just fucked. They got pregnant or got somebody pregnant, got arrested, got fucked up. Shit went too south too fast, and there was no coming back. Only hanging on as long as the poor bastards could before the inevitable end. 

The school was little, and old as shit. Of course Randy didn’t come from money, he lived at home and worked at a burger shack. That gave Benson a spring in his step. Extra energy to propel the both of ‘em along. Randy was remembering how to walk, but Benson kept a hand on his back for balance. Kid was teetering and tottering. Hadn’t had his Wheaties. 

Bitch at the desk had all her buttons and levers and everything she wanted written all over her face. Benson could play to her with his eyes closed. It was easy to carry Randy’s dead weight and turn that into an address, to grin at Randy’s awkward grimace when he was introduced. They were on the edge. About to get it. When that guy walked out. Elliot Sheppard.

That face. Benson would know it anywhere. No matter how long it had been. Where it came from was totally beyond him. Out of reach. Benson was floating, drawn up towards the ceiling. It was hardly a conversation. He wasn’t in his body for any of it, and then it was over They got that address, and he hooked his hand in the crook of Randy’s arm to pull him out of there. To pull himself back down. 

Mistake. Being aware meant feeling all his stupid physiological shit. Sweaty palms and a dry mouth and a twinge in the back of his neck. He needed to crack it. He pushed Randy out in front of him to get a grip, but that didn’t happen. Lost it instead. Because that fucking guy, vice principal whatever who used to be the only adult in a room of kids, was fumbling with his goddamn keys without a care in the world. Like nobody could ever want to hurt him. 

No shotgun this time. This morning, Benson hadn’t totally lost it. Only sort of. He’d had the clarity to make things quick and leave no room for error. Now, he wanted his hands bloody. To really let loose. 

With a sharp jerk, he cracked his neck. Walked over to the guy, reveling in how tall he felt now. The guy was big. Benson still had him beat in ten seconds. And he didn’t stop, either. Didn’t close his eyes or avoid the spatter. He watched himself punch this guy in the face until he didn’t have a face, and couldn’t stop staring. There was something he could almost see in the blood and mangled tissue. An answer. Why he fucking hated this guy so much. Why the sight of him had Benson madder than he could remember being. 

His thoughts were whited out. Body going on autopilot. He only stopped when he heard Randy say his name. Oh. Randy was looking scared of him, and that made sense. He’d just done something terrifying. His own heart was racing. 

Randy said his name. Benson got them both in the car. Again, autopilot. It took him far. Generally the rest of him could figure out what to do when his brain took a breather, or fake it convincingly. Driving was hard to fake, though. He had to clue in when he almost got them T-boned. Like hell would Randy take the wheel, so keeping them going had to be up to Benson. 

The teacher’s house. That’s where they were going. Benson needled Randy into telling him where the hell this address was, and hopefully convinced him into forgetting everything in that parking lot. Whatever the hell it was. He’d pulverized that guy’s face so bad he couldn’t remember what it used to look like. The open road was clearing his mind. The blood drying on his hands looked fake.

Fuck. The day was about Randy, and for a second Benson had lost sight of that. He apologized, because Randy deserved better, and got them to the teacher’s house. His hands were clenched around the steering wheel so tight that his palms were hard to unstick. He tucked the gun into the back of his pants and hands deep in his pockets. Hands covered in blood would probably raise some alarm bells even if this teacher was a saint. 

She did seem real fucking nice. Overalls and messy bun, paint-splattered and so casual about it. Benson let Randy take the lead. His teacher, his closure. Besides, Benson’s hands were still trembling even hidden in his pockets. Talking wasn’t something he’d be good at right now. He leaned in a doorway, between Randy and the front door. Hopefully far enough away that neither of them could tell he needed the door frame for support. 

When Benson blinked, there was an afterimage waiting on the inside of his eyelids. He dropped his head down. All he wanted to do was dig his fingers in his eyes, but his hands were sticky where they were clenched in fuzzy pockets. Something in here smelled like old fruit. Of course this bitch was the kind of person who had candles lit everywhere. The smell of it on top of blood made him feel fucking sick. Sweet and salty. Coated his tongue. 

He asked where her bathroom was, and kept it together just long enough to get in there. Door closed. No goddamn candle in here. Just the smell of that man all over his knuckles. Stomach turning. That had to go, now. 

Scrubbing. Scraping. He had to put some elbow grease into it. It’d dried into all the cracks of his hands, creases between his knuckles and around his nails. And even when the color was gone, he kept washing because that smell was still there. It took longer to get that down the drain. Dirty water. He thought about the mop bucket. It had gone the same color while he mopped up the shop. Only now his hands stung. He’d split his knuckles on the guy’s jaw. If he pressed too hard, more blood seeped out sluggishly. His blood. He’d seen that enough. No big deal. 

So why the fuck didn’t that feel any better? Benson leaned on the sink hard. His neck itched again, it was so fucking irritating today he couldn’t stand it. Like something was back there. Someone behind him. 

This house was a fucking trap. Every house was, but this one especially. The day was about Randy, not this pirate and her fucking finger paint. Benson could just picture what she thought of him, pictured her asking Randy, You said he’s your friend? And Randy would shiver like a little dog and agree in the least convincing way possible.

Maybe he’d get an idea in his head, though. Without Benson there to set him straight, whose to say Randy wouldn’t slip right back into his patterns and try to get back home to Mommy. To what felt safe. He hadn’t really learned the lesson that nothing was safe, and all that mattered was taking charge of his life. Picking for himself, so if anything went all he’d only have himself to blame. 

Like Benson. He was under no illusions that his shit would end up okay. But at least he’d chosen it. To do something, stand up for something. 

On unsteady legs, he went back out to the living room and motioned at Randy. “We’ve gotta go.” 

Randy didn’t want to. He’d gotten his forgiveness, but not the fucking point. 

Points could be reiterated later, when he wasn’t putting them both at risk. Benson told him again. Asked him, even, said “I’m asking you, please,” at the end. Slipped out. Need was always slippery, and Benson needed out of this house before he coated it with everything inside him. 

Randy didn’t know him, so he had no clue when Benson needed him to take him fucking serious. One of the many annoying things about him. But the idea of leaving him here, in this teacher’s house, was like the idea of flying. Imaginable, sort of, but physically impossible. They were leaving here together. 

So Benson was standing there, insisting but not really together enough to do anything if he was tested. Off his game. He didn’t realize the scrapes on his hands were visible until Randy looked at them with his big wet eyes, and then back up at Benson. “Please,” Benson said again, sensing the weak spot. The pleasant comfort in here felt barbed, digging into every inch of him, and he had to get out. That was all he could think. He had to get out. 

“You’re in charge,” Randy said after a second, and put himself into Benson’s hand for the taking. 

Benson put them back in the car. His car. His car, and his plan for the day, and most of the hours-long head start was run out by now. Used up driving back and forth, putting Randy in front of people who didn’t care about him enough to try to help him see the truth. Nobody cared about anybody else, so Randy had to care about himself. At least enough not to eat a day-old burger.

He didn’t know where to go now. Who to confront next. So he took them back to the diner. Sat at a booth this time, looked the guy in the eyes until he couldn’t. Ignored Marcia giving them a death glare from behind the bar. Patty was their server this time, and she was no-nonsense. 

They ordered food. It’d been all day since they’d eaten last, so Benson got himself a sandwich and made Randy pick something too. Well, it was a joint effort. Randy participated this time, and actually said a couple words. “A burger.” The look he gave Benson wasn’t exactly a smile but it was somewhere nearer to that than tears. Progress. 

“They’re going to know,” Randy said once Patty walked away. “About the vice principal. The police are probably already there.”

Benson rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Sherlock.” 

“Well, so they probably asked that office lady. And she probably told them we visited her, and were going to see Ms. Beard next.” 

“Yeah. So?” 

“So where are we going?” 

The question was just annoying. “Come on, Randy, are you really asking me to make decisions for you? After all that?” Benson dug the heel of his hand in his eye. Better, a little bit, now that the sun was falling behind the trees, but his head was killing him. Long day. He had a sip of the water in front of him, and then downed about half of it. 

“No, I just. I thought you had a plan.” 

“Plan. Not a map.” Fucking ouch. His knuckles were killing him too, full of gravelly spots of pain. He felt flesh under his fingertips. Soft and toothy, dripping gore. He interlaced his fingers, pressed down hard into the back of the opposite hands. “So you heard her. None of that was your fault.” 

“I heard her.” Randy nodded. He was shredding a napkin between nervous fingers. 

“So there it is. Problem solved. Or do we have to go take on your mother?” 

Randy definitely thought Benson would kill his mom, it was not subtle. He went even more pale, and tried to excuse himself to the bathroom. Sure. That would happen. Benson pretended to agree and followed him in. One toilet and sink in a cubby with a door, but Benson cornered him into it without breaking his stride and shut the door behind them. When Randy squeaked out a question, Benson answered with a smirk. “We’ll take turns.” 

“It’s not big enough. And, and I wanted a second, to.” Randy snapped his mouth shut, real suspicious. All of a sudden he couldn’t look Benson in the eye. 

So he was planning something. Some grand escape, or asking for help, or he had something on him that he was planning on using. Benson pressed Randy into the tile wall to pat him down. Smelled like flop sweat and those candles. Blood too, but most of today had a bit of blood around. Nothing visible on him, not blood spatter or a knife or- 

Something hard and rectangular in Randy’s pocket. Benson leaned in closer, took a slow breath while Randy tried to melt. “What’s this?”  Benson asked. 

“I-I don’t know, it must’ve fallen in there,” Randy stammered back. 

If that was how he wanted to play it, then Benson could play dumb too. He held tighter, hand twisted up in Randy’s shirt - or Benson’s shirt on him - and watched every second of regret that passed over Randy’s face. “You want to call somebody, Randy?” he asked in almost a whisper. The exhaust fan in the ceiling was louder, made everything outside of here feel so distant. 

“No.” 

“You don’t want to call anybody? Your mom? Or the cops?” 

Randy’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “No.” His denials were decreasing in certainty. He wanted to use that phone, and he’d been caught. In their little arrangement, that meant Benson owed him some form of correction. Reinforce this dynamic that’d been working so well. The problem was, it was dark outside and the day they started together was becoming a night. Good things didn’t happen at night. And short of taking the kid home with him, Benson couldn’t think of anything to do next. 

Couldn’t take him home. Cops would be home by now, asking Ma questions and getting frustrated with her grunted responses. Not jealous of those poor bastards. They wouldn’t be in a good mood when they got to Benson, that was damn sure. 

Got Benson, not Randy. The plan was never to drag someone else down. Benson leaned in closer while he still could. Close enough that he could see Randy’s heart beating in his neck. “You done with me, Randy?”

Guy could protest all he wanted. It was obvious. 

For a second, Benson thought about making a threat. Putting the barrel of his gun against Randy’s temple, or chin, or between his lips. He thought about hauling back and hitting him, too. Busting his already-battered knuckles open again and making Randy bleed with him. But then, he thought about that parking lot. The last person he punched today. That guy deserved it. If he hit Randy, he was afraid he’d get thanked for it. It could undo everything. 

Benson gave Randy’s chest a few firm pats. He stepped back, took his hands off him. “Make your call.” 

Walking back to the booth, Benson could feel a twinge in his back. Sitting in that piece of shit car all day hadn’t been good for his back, and he wasn’t as young as he used to be. Wasn’t a lot of things he used to be, even this morning, because this morning everything felt possible and now nothing was. Some people were just fucked. And the shit Benson had done, pumping lead into all those dicks, beating the shit out of a well-respected creep, hauling Randy around with him. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind as he was doing all of it, that was the kind of shit nobody came back from. So it was a good thing that Benson wasn’t interested in going back. Bad thing that he didn’t know where else to go.

He sat back down with a wince, went to rub the back of his neck when Randy slid back into the seat opposite him. Must’ve followed him out. His eyes were glowing where they caught the neon lights. 

“You want me to call the cops,” Randy said, right to Benson’s face. 

Benson scoffed. “Sure I do.” 

“You just gave me the chance.” 

“And what, you’d prefer I cave your head in?” When bone cracked under his fist he’d felt it. Benson clenched his hands together again. 

All of a fucking sudden, Randy was unshakeable. He didn’t even blink. Just slid that little phone across the table. “I didn’t call anybody. But I’ve gotta call Mom if it gets much later, or she’ll report me missing.” 

“And that isn’t smothering?” 

“Can we talk about my mom after you tell me why you’ve got a death wish?” 

Christ. Even his big moment, speaking his mind, Randy had to make it a question. He’d be working on that for a while. Rest of his life, maybe. Long after Benson left town. That was the kind of thing Benson should tell him, try saying that like you mean to do something about it. Something like that. But the last two words Randy said gummed up the air between them. He couldn’t say anything. He looked down at the placemat, at the ring of dark wet paper his cup had left. 

Seemed like Randy wore himself out with that question, because they sat there in silence for a while. Eventually, he leaned in. He smelled like Benson’s bedroom, like the clothes he’d pulled off the floor for Randy to wear. Randy whispered to him. “Cameras at work were never on. Vice principal is dead. I’m the only person who can connect you to that stuff.” He wanted Benson to look at him, it was palpable. 

“So my problem is you.” Benson kept his eyes down. Couldn’t raise them. 

Randy really ran out of steam then. “I’m just saying,” he mumbled, and got up to go back to the bathroom. Left the phone on the table, and that statement couldn’t be clearer. He wasn’t planning on calling anybody. 

Great. The problem was, Benson didn’t know what the fuck to do with that. He’d planned on fixing Randy’s shit. Never occurred to him Randy would try and fix him back. Randy didn’t give a shit about him, didn’t know shit about him, and didn’t do shit in general. That was his whole problem. Fixable. And then the road would run out, and Randy would be back in his life with a backbone. Done. 

No version in Benson’s head accounted for a Randy that got better and tried to return the favor. A Randy that missed the point so hard. 

Their food came around the time Randy got back, along with a meaningful look of disgust from Patty. She probably noticed them head into the bathroom and drew her own conclusions with Marcia, who was still hanging out just out of earshot and staring them down. Benson felt the eyes on the side of his face. Good sense of when someone was looking at him, bit at the moment he was more preoccupied by how Randy was watching him too. Between bites, he was trying to bore a hole Benson’s head.

“Did we go to the same elementary school?” Randy asked eventually. 

“No.” 

“But that guy-“ 

Benson clenched his jaw, clenched his whole head together to keep a grip on things. “People change jobs,” he said loudly. 

Even raising his voice didn’t shut Randy up for long now. He found the guts to speak a few bites later. “Were you planning on dying today?” 

Half under his breath, but it was a question. Initiative. Benson thought he should reward that, but it didn’t make the question less stupid. He tried to laugh it off. “You are out of your damn mind, Randy.”

Sounded like Randy said a little something to himself next. “Yeah. I am.” Or some shit like that. Whatever. Benson was too hungry to pay that any mind. 

They ate. He paid. The cash in his wallet was harvested from their dipshit coworkers, and what Randy had said was kind of sinking in now. Benson was putting it together. No cameras. If the two of them said something happened, nobody could say it didn’t. If it made sense. And okay, say nobody saw him in the parking lot. If things were that lucky then yeah, okay. There was a way that this didn’t end the way he’d assumed it would. An extremely small chance of that, but sure. 

That didn’t mean he’d been planning on dying or anything like that. Just that he did what he did fully aware of the consequences. Yeah, he did that math. Randy was the weird one, for just putting it together now. For just figuring out that Benson was willing to go that far. 

“Hey,” Randy said sharply. Well, sharp for him. Sounded like he’d said something before and Benson missed it. Benson blinked a couple times, and saw Randy pulling his hand back. “I think we need to sleep, probably? Some time soon.” 

“Okay.” 

Randy seemed to be steeling himself to say something, his shoulders tight with tension until he said it. “You can come to my house if you won’t hurt my mom.” 

Interesting. Benson narrowed his eyes at him, and took a long, considering pause. “Why would I want to come to your house?” 

“Because it’s a good story. Someone killed the people we work with. We took off together. Scared. And you… I... you could… stay the night with me.” 

The tone was still pretty uncertain, but Benson had to give him credit for at least trying to be more assertive. Couldn’t help but give him some shit, too. “You’re inviting me for a sleepover?” Benson said, and enjoyed the second of watching him squirm. “Should you ask your mom first?” 

Randy scowled. “No. I’ll just. I’ll tell her.” 

“Big fucking man. Okay. Well, I’d like to see that.” 

“Fine, but you can’t-“ 

Benson cut him off with a big shrug. “You remember my ma, yes? And how alive she was?” 

“Do you promise?” Randy’s eyes were clear now, looking right at Benson. Such a childlike thing to ask. But the guy was pretty young himself. He meant it. 

Good thing Benson did too. “Yes, Randy Bradley, I fucking promise.”

Never got any sleepovers as a kid, not like in the movies. He’d crash on somebody’s couch when Ma was god knows where, or stay somewhere too late on accident. Spent the occasional night in jail, or. Whatever. Not like this. He was - fuck, he was a little nervous. 

Randy told him where to go, confidence upped when they were close. Different kind of nerves than the rest of the day, too. Scared of something he understood. He didn’t have much to say. And Benson’s head was killing him, his hand too, so the silence was fine. Welcome. He’d talked a lot today. More than any other day, ever.

The driveway was short. No car, but the garage was closed. Lights were on outside and in, lighting the house up warm. “We’re friends from work,” Randy said. 

“Uh huh.” This was not going to work. 

“And we don’t want to talk about what happened today.” 

“You have to remember to say that?” 

Benson was watching the dark around Randy closely. Saw his mouth open, close, and tighten up. He opened his door and got out, and Benson followed suit. 

The familiarities were comforting. Grass smell, buzzing bugs, and Randy walking in front of him. Where he’d been almost all day. Benson closed the distance, planted his hand on Randy’s shoulder blade and meant to push. Went to push and realized he shouldn’t. Not if he was making a good impression on Randy’s mom. Then he was just walking there, hand travelling to rest on his shoulder, close enough to sink his teeth into the back of Randy’s neck. His hair looked orange in the lights. Randy knocked on the front door and stood there in Benson’s grip, not even trying to shake him off. 

The door opened quick. It was bright inside. “Sweetheart, it’s so late,” a woman said, and pulled Randy into a hug. “Where have you been? And what are you wearing?” 

Bitch. Benson made sure he had a smile on his face when the mom saw him for the first time. “And who is this?” she asked. 

“Mom, this is Benson. We work together.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Benson said warmly, and shook her hand. She looked like her son. Gaunt face, light wispy hair, and eyes bright like jewels. Bird-like face. Fluffy slippers. He was extremely aware of how sweat-soaked and dusty his sweater sleeve was.

“You too. Randy, what’s happening?” 

Fair question. Benson opened his mouth to answer, but Randy beat him to it. With a wavering voice, he told his mom about the shooting in a way sounded like they’d been side by side. Gun at their heads. The way he told it, Benson rescued him. They were terrified, and they took off together. Convincing enough that Benson could almost forget the cold outline of the gun digging in the small of his back, or the way Randy looked at the other end of the shotgun barrel. He’d held Randy’s life in his hand and squeezed.

Randy’s mom hovered around them every step they took. It was fucking weird. Benson kept clear of all that. He didn’t need somebody’s hands all over him, thanks, and she probably wanted to be near her kid anyways. She walked them to Randy’s room and made getting clothes out of the dresser a group activity. It was so bright in here, and she had so much to say, and Benson was going to lose his fucking mind. The evening went blank until bedtime. Finally dark and quiet. Room empty besides Randy, door closed. 

Randy’s room was dull. It was as nothing as he was. Big bed, desk, model ships on shelves, stars on the ceiling. Nothing had ever made Benson feel so old. Hell, he’d been this old since he was younger than that. This was as good as a foreign country. All this kid shit. He felt like a tourist. His hair was damp. The shirt he was wearing was worn thin at the neck and shoulders, and the pants were a little tight. Their clothes were in the wash. 

“How… h-how do you want to do this?” Randy said into the darkness. Light coming in around the curtains was just enough to see his outline.

“Do what?”  Benson was sitting on the floor, on the air mattress they put in here for him. Fully functional guest room across the hall and everything, but he was in here. Didn’t even have to ask. Randy had just acted like it was a given.

No answer, so Benson turned halfway around to look at him. He really thought that maybe at home, Randy would stop seeming so pathetic. There had to be somewhere the guy was comfortable, right? But maybe not. He was sitting in his own bed and looked just as tortured as ever. 

“You need me to tell you how to fall asleep? I thought you were making decisions.”

Randy shrugged. “I thought you wanted to be in charge.”

He really was just obedient, huh. For the pure joy of it. Well, if he was so desperate to be bossed around, far be it from Benson to deny him that. “Move over.” He pushed himself up and climbed into Randy’s bed with him. Since he was gonna be so fucking difficult about it. Randy had squeezed himself up against one side of his headboard, so Benson sat next to him. Being on this side of him felt wrong. “What are you asking, Randy?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Too keyed up to sleep?” 

Randy nodded, and then changed his mind to his head halfway through. “No. I just. Are you?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Is the air mattress okay?” 

“I can sleep anywhere.” 

Again he nodded. Still looked like he thought another shoe would drop. What, did he want Benson to lie down and go to sleep first? Because that would never fucking happen. 

“Your mom saw blood on my shirt,” Randy whispered. 

“My mom hasn’t had a cogent thought since 1990. And she doesn’t give a fuck. She won’t say anything.”

“What happened in 1990?” 

Benson almost said the first thing he thought, a what are you fucking talking about kind of thing, but then it clicked. But the year didn’t mean anything. He picked it randomly. She hadn’t been clued in since he could remember. “Nothing that hadn’t happened before. It’s rhetorical.”

“I’ve been sitting next to you all day. I’ve been to your house. I don’t know if I know anything about you.” He sounded sleepy. In the dim light, hard to see if Randy’s eyes were even open still. Shit, Benson was tired too. Even if they hadn’t had a long day it was late. 

He yawned. “I’m an open book, Randy. What do you want to know.” 

After a second, Randy came up with one. “Where’s your dad?” 

“Gone. Never knew him.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Just about thirty.” Thirty, and working the same kinda dead-end job he’d been embarrassed to work as a teenager. Felt demeaning even then, before he understood how much life could be. How much it wouldn’t be. Because he was stuck here. By something, near something - trapped.

It was a while until Randy got another question out. He was totally falling asleep. “Can I ask you about that guy?” 

Question about a question. Reaching new, previously unfathomable level of indecisive. Benson snorted. “Told you to forget about him.” The last words were lost in a yawn. Bed was pretty comfy, and the house was so quiet. He’d stashed the gun under Randy’s mattress for now. Within reach if he leaned forward. 

“I don’t listen to you,” Randy murmured, or Benson dreamed he did. One way or the other, they were both out. 

The cops were there first thing in the morning. Randy’s mom was a guard dog - she kept the detectives in the living room and woke them herself. A hand on Benson’s leg and Randy’s shoulder. “Five minutes. Get dressed,” she said, and headed back out, shutting the door firmly behind her. Didn’t seem too freaked out that they shared a bed, but maybe that was coming. Benson had meant to be up before her and get out of there.

Randy tripped over his own legs a couple times as he hurried out of bed to his closet. He tossed things at Benson and stripped to change in the same movement. Maybe he actually wasn’t gay. Well, whatever. Benson stood up and changed too. Green work pants and a T-shirt, and Randy was pulling on a crewneck and jeans. Didn’t say anything, either of them. Once they were dressed, they were just standing there. Looking at each other. 

Benson broke the silence with a yawn. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Hi.” 

“Ready?” 

“Yeah.” 

Words died in Benson’s mouth. What was he supposed to say? Remember, I didn’t kill four people yesterday. That would just be insulting. But they didn’t even have a story besides them. Friends. Such good friends that after somebody blew holes in their coworkers, they took off together for a day. For comfort, or safety, or whatever the fuck the cops were supposed to believe. Before yesterday, Benson had heard Randy say basically a dozen words ever, and they were all food items. Which was all to say that the problem right now was how none of this felt real. Yesterday had a lot of unknowns, but he’d assumed pretty universally he wouldn’t make it to the next morning. Cost of doing business. Somehow, Randy had cooked the books.

Fuck the words. Benson pulled Randy in with a hand on the back of his neck, pressed their heads together so for a second they were breathing the same air. Probably went without saying that Randy didn’t even try to resist. But - this was new - he put his hand around Benson’s wrist. His fingers were warm. There was an imprint on his face from the pillow and his hair was sticking up. He looked more clear-headed than all of yesterday. “You don’t talk much, usually, do you?”

“I talk when I have shit to say.” 

Randy bit his lip. Still seemed relatively confident. “Follow my lead?” 

That was exactly what Benson had been waiting to hear from him, even if the delivery wasn’t quite right. “Is that an order?” Benson asked with a smile. As he pulled away, he couldn’t help but ruffle Randy’s hair. Not like Chris did it, either. Softer. 

Maybe Randy did know him a bit by now, because he didn’t flinch. He blinked  and went for the doorknob then paused. “Leave the gun,” he said, and walked out into the hall. 

That was an order. And a pain in the ass, because Benson absolutely intended to keep it on him in case something went wrong. But this was Randy’s house, and Randy’s story. Fine. Benson left the gun. He could always slit his wrists.

The detectives were practically cartoon cops. One pear-shaped and the other built like a coatrack. He didn’t recognize them, but they knew him. Probably had his file in the car. Fired at Shake Shack for throwing a milkshake. Fired at the corner store for hitting somebody that touched his hair. Et cetera. Nobody believed that he didn’t start it, including the two of them in this room. Randy’s mom didn’t love it. 

Not Randy. Randy was apparently a ride or die friend, because he didn’t even hesitate. His voice quivered as he told them how much Benson regretted it, how he was trying to be better. They were working on that, he said, and all Benson had to do was nod. Perfect segue into his part. Of course he’d get the two of them out of there and run until they knew they were safe. Of course he’d want to help his buddy with some childhood closure after a near death experience, especially when Randy had already done so much for him. 

Wasn’t even a lie, either. Randy had done more than he knew. 

None of this mattered, though, because if they had a single braincell they’d mention searching his car any second now. Benson was waiting for it. He sat on the arm of the couch next to Randy, hands calmly folded, and rehearsed the sprint to the knife block in his head a hundred times. A thousand. And then they left. 

Randy got his attention somehow. Well, he always had it but Benson had been somewhere else. Staying keyed in was always a problem for him sometimes. All times, but sometimes more than others. “Is that okay?” he asked, and Benson didn’t want to ask what that meant so he said sure and found out if that was the truth after. 

It was fine. Randy’s mom had driven his car into the garage earlier this morning. She said she had to go somewhere and couldn’t get around him, but that felt a little too coincidental to be true. 

Benson cornered Randy against the kitchen counter. “I need to wipe down the car,” he said in a low voice. “And if there’s a single thing missing, there will be consequences.” 

“There won’t be. I can help.” 

“Good idea.” Then he couldn’t try and interfere if that bitch had decided to try something clever. And she definitely had, because otherwise she was just helping some guy her son liked avoid the cops. What the fuck would that be. 

Randy’s mom called out to them as they passed the living room. “Hey, honey?” 

“Yeah.” 

“If you’re going to the garage, open a window. I used bleach in there.” 

What did that mean? Benson pushed Randy ahead of him with a firm hand on his spine, waited impatiently for the few seconds it took for the lights to flicker on. He had to wait much longer for the scene to make sense. 

The car was spotless. Cleaner than he’d ever seen it. Everything was right where he left it except all the trash was gone, and everything smelled like bleach. The steering wheel especially. Randy’s mother had comprehensively removed every single shred of evidence that might’ve been here. 

A loud screech split the air. Benson winced, and looked back to find Randy cracking open one of the high, long windows. He spoke without looking over. “Mom’s not going to let anything happen to me.” 

“Yeah? Why do I care about what happens to you? She can connect the dots. I’m out of here.” He opened a door and leaned in to find a pack of cigarettes. He needed a smoke. 

Totally empty threat, by the way. The moment he said it, Benson knew there was no where else for him to go. Not home. Not much of anywhere. He’d found the thing that held his focus. Without Randy in the room, there wasn’t a reason to be anywhere. He wasn’t leaving. 

Randy didn’t seem to know that. “No,” he blurted out. Jerkily, like he hadn’t used his body ever before, he walked over to stand uncomfortably close. “Don’t. She was trying to help you too.” He didn’t step back when Benson lit up, either. Probably never been burned by one. Shit, he was young. 

“Is she? Why? Out of the goodness of her heart?” 

“To protect me. This was a good thing.”

The fuck it was. Benson leaned in. Let a mouthful of smoke out. “She saw exactly how much blood was in there.” 

“I explained the blood. The guy made us help him clean up.” 

On top of him, Benson kept talking, “And what, you want me to trust her?”

“Trust me.” The two most emphatic words that ever came out of Randy’s mouth. He didn’t look any less miserable than when he said nothing. 

Benson had no words for a comeback. He stood there, smoke wisps curling up. Wasting the thing, but he couldn’t move. Trust him, Randy said. And Benson was so scared to find out he’d just been waiting for him to ask. 

Relief hit him like a train. Benson took a deep breath and a deep drag. Tapped off the ash. “Well. When you put it that way.” He didn’t even mean to, he just found himself stepping in closer. Randy didn’t even shift on his feet. Again, he was staring at Benson. Visibly thinking something. Maybe his total limp dick resignation did have some perception hiding underneath. Look at that. 

Then, Randy took another step in, and nudged Benson’s arm. “Come on. Breakfast?” 

No fucking way. There was no fucking way that life became this now, that he could have it just by wanting it. He got breakfast for the first time in however long. Eggs and toast and Randy eating next to him. Before Randy’s mom left for work, she tossed their stuffed animals across the room to them. These were cleaned too. Smelled like a dryer. “Mom,” Randy complained, but he held the thing in his lap. 

“Now, I will call you at lunch. If anything happens-“ 

Randy cut her off. “I’ll call. We’ll be fine. Thanks.” 

The smallest, weirdest things were different at other people’s houses. Having a mom that left, for example. Breakfast at the kitchen table. Solitude. 

“Any idea for what to do today?” Randy asked him. 

“Besides not go to jail?” 

“Yeah. Besides that.” 

Not going to jail was really the one thing on his plate for the rest of his life. He’d shoot himself in the head before he let somebody lock him up again. 

“We should drive somewhere,” Randy said. “Air out the bleach smell.” 

Okay. That sounded about as good as anything else. Nothing better to do. This was overtime anyways, so all of this was bonus. 

Back in the car, Benson’s stomach flipped. The smell of overpowering cleanliness. The overwhelming memories of yesterday, of how sick he felt the second half of the day. He still felt sick now. Rolled a window down for fresh air. 

Randy gave directions, which was pretty fucking presumptuous of him. He was giving orders now? But he did sound confident, and Benson didn’t have any better ideas so he went where he was told. To the fucking mall again. 

“Really, Randy?” he said as they turned into the parking lot. “You need another crocodile?” 

“No. We need new shoes.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with my shoes?” 

“Blood in the treads, probably.” 

The words took longer to sink in because of the easy way Randy delivered them. Blood in the treads, he said. He’d been thinking about it. And for whatever fucking reason, he wasn’t scared. Benson had to admit he was impressed. 

Okay. New shoes. Starting there. 

Just like last time they were here, Benson had to roll his fucking eyes at the place. The fucking ridiculous concoction of faded glory and active decline. This was a peak fucking place back in the day, or it wanted to be. It had only been full for what, a couple years? Probably was a fucking money pit for investors. Yet another example of how nothing around here ever met anything, and never would. 

But Randy was headed inside so Benson went with him. He probably needed new shoes anyways, he’d had these for a couple years. Since he worked at the ice cream place that was such a fucking nightmare. Once you wore shoes to a fast food joint too long, they were ruined for almost anything else. He’d start his new career with new shoes. Good idea, Randy. 

The sky was bright. Same-ish kind of day as yesterday. Benson twisted his hand in Randy’s shirt to direct him to a different door. People were going through the others, was all, and he liked having Randy under his hand. And then he pulled Randy back a bit, so his arm was more relaxed, and they walked like that. 

Randy got a clean pair of black board shoes, just like he had before. Benson grabbed a pair of boots that were on sale. They wore them out of the store, carrying their old shoes in bags. “What are your plans for these?” Benson asked. 

“Throw them away somewhere. Hey.” Randy had come to a stop, and Benson bumped into him not totally on accident. He was pointing. Benson looked. “How do you feel about sales?” Randy asked. Verizon store was hiring. 

“I am not working in the fucking mall, is how I feel,” Benson said. But he couldn’t stop Randy from grabbing two applications. 

They dumped their shoes in two different trash cans, when Benson was convinced nobody was following them anywhere. Then Randy took them over to some other place for lunch, a taco place near his house Benson hadn’t made it over to before. Both of them got their tacos spicy. 

Benson was expecting to be softened up for something, for Randy to ask him when he was going to leave him alone or to suggest Benson put it all on himself up when they got caught. If he was thinking shit through, he had to think of that. That was where this was going, and Benson didn’t think much while he was waiting for that to happen. 

“Will you take me to pick up my car?” 

The fuck? Benson blinked at him. “What? Sure.” 

“Cool.” Randy looked back down at his food, evidently satisfied. Just like that. He was such a pushover, it was so stupidly easy to make him happy. When Benson said Randy needed to take charge, he’d assumed the other part would stick too. About doing things that mattered, not just getting another dead end job and staying put. Benson needed to be moving. 

Whatever. They could eat a fucking taco first. There was a patio to sit on, and the sun wasn’t too bad when they were in the shade. Benson had a beer. 

“So what do you do when you’re not at work?” Randy asked. 

“Eat, sleep, and piss.” 

“You go to concerts or anything? All the band shirts.” 

Benson snorted. “You can get shirts fucking anywhere. The fuck kind of question is that? What do you do?” 

“I do stuff. I listen to music and read books.” Awkward pauses between every word. 

“Sure, music. Nobody else listens to music.” 

“I have records,” Randy snapped, and Benson had to grin at him. He’d seen the fucking records, and the turntable. He was just giving him shit.

So he gave him the real answer. “I try to forget my fucking life, Randy Bradley. That’s what I do.” 

“Like. Watching TV?” 

The fuck kind of question was that? Of course Benson watched TV, everybody watched goddamn TV. But then they were done eating, and Randy had listened to Benson talk his ear off about the dumbest shit. What he’d watched on the tube. Shit that wasn’t real. But Randy seemed interested. He actually had interesting shit to say about it, too, like he knew behind the scenes stuff. 

The waitress brought them one check. Benson paid, and Randy object. All this agreeability was making Benson’s skin feel too tight. He needed something real to anchor onto. He needed to know what was really true. 

On their way back to the car, he slung an arm over Randy’s shoulders. “Why do you care what’s on my TV, huh?”

“Because I want to get to know you,” Randy answered. Said it easily. 

It was easier to walk holding onto Randy than to do it alone, these days. Benson held on tighter. 

They picked up Randy’s car. The burger spot had yellow caution tape across the door, all windows dark. It would probably never open again. Hadn’t made that much money before the triple homicide. Wouldn’t now. This was the last time Benson would pull in next to that little blue car here. Though, if he let Randy talk him into it, he could park next to him at the mall. Fucking hell. 

He trailed Randy home, ae train of two. Life was going slack again. Nothing to do. Nothing left. Long meant to be over by now. They were pulling into the driveway and Benson could only think of how little he was meant to be here. This wasn’t real. This was ending. It had to. 

Randy parked and then jogged back to Benson, leaning into the window. “You want to go to the park?” 

“Sure, Randy. Let’s go to the park,” Benson said back. 

The path around the reservoir was dead now, middle of a Sunday. They passed a jogger every once in a while. Randy paused to scuff the sharp edge of his toe against a rock. Oh. They were wearing in their shoes. Good idea. Brand new shoes on both of them could get noticed by somebody. Never stopped being the most pleasant kind of surprise when Randy showed signs of having the brain Benson always knew he had. 

On the far side, there was a little wooden tower. Two flights of stairs, a platform at the top to look over the water at what counted for a few around here. Randy led them up there. He leaned on the railing, all the way in one corner. Just asking for Benson to box him in. For them to lean so close their arms pressed into each other. Benson lit up in the second they had. Even though his chest felt a little tight from the walking. These things would kill him, just like they were killing Ma. 

“I’ve been thinking about that receptionist. At the school,” Randy said. 

Oh. Great. He’d been fucking thinking. “Okay.” 

“She’s our only problem left. She saw you talk to the guy right before.” 

Before what, Benson wanted to ask, just to hear how Randy would say it. He scratched the side of his neck. “So what? That’s not proof of anything.” 

“No, but they’ll ask you about it. And right now, it seems like you really don’t want to talk about it at all.” 

What a fucking understatement. “Perceptive.” Benson dug the nails of his free hand into the wood railing. They sunk in deep.  

Randy glanced over at him, shifted on his feet. Really had to psych himself up for this one, and that meant that Benson had every second to run away. But he wasn’t much good at running. Never was. He just crushed the butt of his cigarette under his shoe and stayed where he was. “Well, you need to. Talk about it, I mean. You have to make it sound like he’s a nice guy you were happy to see.” 

Fuck. Benson had to laugh, and he pushed away from the railing to pace the platform. Fuck, his neck ached and his stomach was turning. He had to get down from here. “Sure. No problem.” He went for the stairs. Took them two-at-a-time and pretended his legs weren’t a second from buckling. Once he got to the bottom, though, he wasn’t sure where to go. 

Of course Randy had followed him down, and of course all he had to say was stupid and unsteady. “I can help. If you want to practice.” Benson had been really fucking clear, and he’d meant it as much as he could — if Randy said anything about that man, Benson had promised to kill him. And here Randy was, pushing anyways. 

“If I want to — no, Randy, I don’t want to fucking practice.” Benson could feel his shoulders crawling up, hunching hard against the reality that he really did not want to face. Yeah, he would have to talk about it. In a way where his lungs didn’t threaten to eject themselves from his body when he thought about it. Fuck, every time he thought about it his skull prickled like something was about to pounce on him. Shred him to pieces. 

He had to crack his neck. Worked every fucking time. But this time, he didn’t totally finish it because Randy grabbed his face in both hands. Made Benson look at him exactly where he was, no stuffing it back down. They were both breathing hard. “You need to practice,” Randy said. 

“Stop.” Benson’s throat was gummy. Hard to swallow past it, and he couldn’t see clearly. Didn’t want to. Randy had been buttering him up for something, with all this shopping and running errands and whatever the fuck. Lulling him into a false sense of security so he could fucking spring this on him. Not throwing him under the bus or asking for a sacrifice, but worse.

“Benson. Please.” 

“Shut the fuck up. Shut up.” He tried to pull away. Randy didn’t let him, he held on tight. Came in closer. His eyes were so blue. More blue than anything out here, than the water and the sky combined. When he moved, Benson’s instinct was to flinch away but Randy was just going for a bear hug. Randy wrapped his arms around Benson’s neck tightly and held on. 

Fuck. Benson couldn’t just stand there. He clapped Randy on the back a couple times before he could let his hand rest on there and hold him back. Skinny guy. Not hard to hold onto him. Easier to refocus on what was here in front of him. 

”Just think about it.” The words tickled Benson’s shoulder. 

The first answer that came to mind was automatic. Same one he’d given yesterday. He’d built his whole life on never fucking doing that, and he wasn’t about to start now. But Randy was still here, asking again, and Benson didn’t even want to let go of him. Let alone, well. Anything else.

Yesterday he hadn’t been able to keep it together for the six words he said to the guy. Just being in a room with him had been — okay, so Benson didn’t remember what exactly that had been like but that was the point. How was he ever supposed to talk about it more than that? Who the fuck would be able to do that? 

He tousled Randy’s hair as he pushed him back. Soften the blow. And he’d be thinking about Chris every time he did that like he did just now, picturing how he saw it happen from across the room but knowing what he knew now. That he did get off his fucking ass and do something about that motherfucker, finally. Took a stand for once in his rotten life, and made a difference. Now him and Randy were taking a hike in the sun, and Chris was being stuffed with cotton and painted up in a mortuary somewhere. 

With some space between them, Randy was trying to figure something out from Benson’s face. Sorry, kid, Benson wanted to tell him. Nothing to help you. His face didn’t have much to say when his head was so far away. He was still standing up there on the platform, looking down at him and Randy. He could see the top of his own head. The lake a few yards away. It was quiet up here. He could finally fucking think. 

They started walking the second half of the trail slower, meandering along at Randy’s pace. Benson kept his eyes on the ground in front of him to make sure he wouldn’t trip. His hands swung at his sides. Relaxed, and conscious of it. The smell of trees and plants was fresh. 

He’d have to say something. Unless he was planning to flip the fuck out at the first question from the cops, and give those stupid pigs the satisfaction of having their work done for them. Fuck that. No fucking way. He was keeping his shit together to spite them, and to spite him. That old piece of shit was not going to be the reason he got caught. No. Benson killed him and he was glad he did it, even though it had been a mistake. Couldn’t make any more of those, if he wanted to stay around Randy. Couldn’t crack under pressure. Which meant doing something. 

“Are you mad at me?” Randy asked when they were back near the start. He was walking a careful arm’s length away and kept throwing Benson these little looks. 

After a few steps of consideration Benson reached out for him, caught Randy by the belt loop on his jeans and hauled him closer. “Told you to shut up,” he said, and Randy did. 

They got back to Randy’s with unremarkably scruffy shoes and a car that smelled the way it should, like cigarettes and dirt. Benson didn’t turn the car off right away, even after Randy got out. “Come on, man,” Randy said back through the window. 

“We’re still doing this?” Benson asked. He kept the engine running but got out so he and Randy could look at each other over the roof.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean I’m going home at some point.” 

Randy opened his mouth, closed it again. Something happened on his face. “Well, do you have to?” 

“Do I have to go home?” Benson repeated. Just to make sure he got it right. He let out a laugh in disbelief. “Obviously. I live there.” 

“I think we should stick together until they close the case.” Turned out Randy’s confident stance looked a lot like his scared shitless one. Straighter back, maybe. 

Benson squinted at him, tilting his head for a better view. The sun was lower, half in his eyes. Blond hair was so bright to look at in the sun. “You do?”

“Yes. And I want to. Too.” 

Too good to be fucking true. Just like this morning, Benson told himself he couldn’t be getting what he thought he was because it was exactly what he wanted. He wasn’t sure life without Randy was worth living, and Randy seemed to be offering him the opposite. Life with him. But what did a person fucking do, when he suddenly had to plan to live when all his life he’d been counting on the opposite? How was that supposed to work? Come on. 

As a last resort, Benson asked, “Your mom know you’re offering this?” 

“Well no, but. She’ll be fine with it.” 

“If you don’t, I’m asking her myself.” 

Should’ve clarified — he didn’t mean that he’d talk to her in a threatening way. Wasn’t even thinking about flashing the gun. It had stayed stashed under Randy’s bed today, and Benson knew that wouldn’t work anyway. There was just about nothing worse than being in a house with somebody who didn’t want him there. Turned out, he didn’t have to do either, because the moment his mom got home Randy asked her himself. With Benson sitting so close to him on the couch their legs overlapped, his arm over back of the couch behind Randy’s head. “Mom, can Benson crash here for a while?” 

She’d say no, obviously. Benson was preparing the things he’d say. Couldn’t offer to pay his way, since he was the only thing between Ma and a shelter. That’s where most of his money went, not concerts or whatever Randy thought. Benson could earn his place, though, could do something in the house. Mow the lawn or do the shopping or whatever. It wouldn’t be long, either, he could go as soon as he convinced Randy to tell him to. 

None of that made it out. Randy’s mom just said sure for now, as long as they got jobs. To which fucking Randy said they were applying somewhere tomorrow. Another attempt to get Benson to apply to work at the fucking mall, and he would not be doing that. For at least another night or two, though, he’d be here. 

Dinner together. Movie after. Randy was really close with his mother. And, she was close with him back. They liked talking to each other. They knew each other well enough to make Benson frown to himself more than once. Was this what he was supposed to have? No, come on. More moms were like his than like this. He couldn’t be missing out on this. 

She was fine, Randy’s mom. Naomi. Not the bitch he’d pictured for the first part of knowing Randy, dragging him around his whole life. She was annoying, sure, but Randy could be pretty annoying right back. They bickered. Benson felt like he was watching a sitcom. It showed him Randy in high definition, detail Benson had never caught at work or alone. 

Maybe Randy had a point. Getting to know somebody was pretty fun. 

After a movie, before bed. Randy hauled Benson up off the couch and let himself be nudged down the hall. They took turns in the bathroom. Benson changed while Randy was brushing his teeth or whatever. Randy changed while Benson was standing right there, and Benson was too tired not to glance at his skinny torso and lean arms. No meat on those bones. Still made his chest catch and dick throb. Go fucking figure. 

The air mattress was in here. Mostly made. Benson ignored it, and got in bed with Randy from the start. He got on Randy before Randy could stop him, and wrapped him up in both his arms. A hug that he wanted to make violent for a moment, just to feel Randy give in. 

“Told you she’d be fine with it,” Randy said from in there. His lips brushed Benson’s arm when he spoke. 

Benson had to let go. He couldn’t. “Lucky she’s dumb, I guess.” 

“What? What’s that supposed to-“ 

“She’s letting some creep sleep over in her son’s room just because he asked nice.” Benson made sure to keep his voice low. Walls weren’t that thick. That was the only reason he stayed leaned towards him. So he could talk quieter. He looked at Randy, a full sweep of his face. Looked like Randy was holding his breath. “She’s lucky I’m not crazy.”

Randy’s lips twitched towards a smile. “Get off me.” 

Hands up. Benson backed off to his side of the bed. Different now, to be going to bed and not totally exhausted. Felt like how he always thought vacation would feel. A break from everything life had to be, and a chance to just pretend. Hard to feel tired. Even when Randy switched off the lamp and the room was almost black, Benson was wide awake. He sat back against the headboard and looked around the darkness as it took shape. Next to him, Randy lay down and spent a moment getting comfortable on his side. Back to the door. How could he do that? Benson always had to see the door. His door at home locked, and Randy’s didn’t. 

Randy broke the silence. “You’re not tired?”

Christ. He just had a fucking gift for asking questions Benson didn’t want to answer at all. Yeah, he was tired, but at some point when he was a kid Benson had started falling asleep propped up by the wall and some pillows. He didn’t need to, he just liked it. So instead of explaining that, Benson made a big annoying deal out of lying down on his back. “Fucking control freak,” he muttered. 

No response from the other side of the bed. 

Benson woke up sometime midway through the night and found his hand clamped around Randy’s arm. Just fit there naturally. The house was totally silent, not even the furnace going, and Randy’s breath whistled a little in his nose. If he was more awake, Benson would’ve done something dumb. Gentled a hand over Randy’s hair, or jaw. Really careful. He hadn’t gotten to try that yet, so that was what he wanted. And this was the fucking problem, here. If Randy just made his dick hard, that’d be one thing. That wasn’t why he killed those assholes, or why he didn’t kill him, or why he was here next to him. That was the other thing. This tenderness Benson wanted to explore on him. With him. Whatever. 

Tonight he just smoothed the side of his thumb over a little patch of Randy’s arm. Just to feel him here, asleep and safe. Hard to imagine sleeping without him already. That was probably a bad sign. 

After another day or two, Benson stopped home for clothes and shit. Ma barely even noticed him coming in, which was about what he expected. She could get to the front door for delivery and the bathroom. Long as he paid the bills her disability didn’t cover, she’d keep on having nothing to say to him. 

Randy wasn’t here. He got a second interview, which meant he probably was getting that job and Benson wasn’t, but whatever. Benson was here alone, so he made it quick.

He pulled a duffle bag out from under his bed and started stuffing it. Some of his favorite shirts, for starters. Randy dressed like he was a stretched out toddler, and Benson wasn’t about to put on a striped fucking polo. No. He grabbed some of his boxers and socks, couple pairs of pants. And that was about all he wanted to take. 

Just while he was here, he checked on the hidden shotgun. Totally safe. He wiped it down that day, checked it again now. Nobody was finding it even if they tossed the house. He grabbed a box of ammo for the revolver, threw a kiss towards Mom’s thinning hair on his way out, and pretended not to hear her complaining. 

“Did you plug the phone back in again?” Randy asked. 

Benson tossed another shirt into the drawer they’d decided would be his. “Why, so she can bother the kid on the corner to go get her more smokes? Run up a bill talking to QVC that I’m going to have to fucking pay?” 

Every piece of clothing he tossed, Randy picked up and folded for him. He was making neat stacks in the drawer. “I don’t know. What if there’s an emergency? The house burns down or something.”

Okay, sure. Fine. He should’ve plugged the phone back in. He should help her more than he did, and he should feel worse about it than he did, but fuck, she should’ve helped him too. Where the fuck was she, when he needed something? He’d made it this far mostly by accident, not because she gave a shit. So why was it on him, to be better than he’d gotten? “I don’t fucking know, Randy. Then the house burns down. What do you want me to say?” 

“Nothing, I guess I just thought you liked her more than that.” Randy let out a nervous little laugh. 

Benson eyed him. “The fuck are you not saying? Just say it.” 

“Well, I thought you’d just… shoot her or something. If you didn’t like her.”

“You think I should kill my ma.” 

“No, I just. I guess I don’t know why you haven’t.” 

The air was thick after he said that, thick like it had been that long first day together. Randy was frozen like a rabbit, making no sudden movements. Oh, Benson said to himself. Oh. He didn’t get it. “Generally, I don’t start solving my problems with a shotgun.” Benson tossed the next shirt in with a little extra oomph. 

Randy flinched. “Okay.” 

Pretty brave of him in retrospect to let Benson stay here, if he wasn’t even sure about that. If he thought Benson would snap and shoot somebody any second. Or maybe Randy was the one with the death wish. Took one to know one, people always said, and maybe they said it for a reason. Benson put his hands on his hips. “The circumstances that brought us together were probably confusing,” he decided. “I should’ve clarified.” 

“It’s fine.” 

It wasn’t fine, it was fucking rude. Bad communication. Dick move. Benson dumped the rest of his bag into the drawer and then started helping Randy get it all organized. And when that was done, Benson shut the drawer with his leg. He was packing himself right into Randy’s life, and Randy didn’t even get it. 

“That day,” Benson began, and paused. The words were winding up inside of him. Fuck, he had to do so much talking for Randy, it was goddamn exhausting. He couldn’t figure out how to make it pretty, but he said it. “I wasn’t planning on it. It was a heat of the moment thing.” 

Even though Randy was having trouble looking at him, he had no trouble talking. “Seemed pretty well thought out.” 

“Yeah, well that’s because I’d thought about the hypothetical.” What he would do if he was doing something about the next time Chris got it in his head to be a bastard. Chris had never laid hands on Benson the way he fucked with Randy before. Hell, Chris squeezing his shoulder trying to threaten him — that had been the final straw as much as anything else. Like whichever job he’d lost before, when someone thought they could push him around and Benson had to let them know that wasn’t happening. 

Randy straightened up and leaned on the dresser. Getting into Benson’s personal space a little bit, but that was okay. He’d earned the right. His eyes were still down, so Benson couldn’t tell what was on his mind before he got it out. “And that guy at the school?” 

Felt like a slap in the face. “That was different.” 

“Different in a way where you think it could happen again?” 

“No.” 

“It’s okay if it does.” 

Benson let out a single harsh laugh. “Sure.”

“No, I mean it.” Randy caught his eye and held the contact. His mouth was in a firm line. “I’m trying to understand, and I think I do, kind of. You weren’t there, when you…” 

No, he wasn’t. Benson clenched his jaw rather than say anything, because this was a fucking trap. Nobody had ever said it out loud like that, just you weren’t there. He wasn’t. But nobody got to skip out on responsibility just because they skipped out on the present. “I was when I shot Chris. And the others. So.” 

“Sure, but. They deserved it.” 

“So did Sheppard.” Fuck. Benson shut his mouth, since he couldn’t put the words back in. Deep breath in through the nose and out again. The smell of Randy’s room was comfortingly unfamiliar. Starting to be familiar. 

Randy was still. Right up in Benson’s space, watching him like a fucking hawk. “Okay,” he finally said. “Well, I’m sure he did. And if somebody else deserves it, I think we should plan it together. That’s all I’m saying.” 

Random thought out of nowhere: Benson wanted to kiss him. To pull him in by the collar of his T-shirt and just plant one on him. Maybe that could be what he did instead of thanking him, because that was the other feeling underneath. Naked gratitude. Not for the fucking preemptive permission, or whatever Randy thought that was, but the stuff he didn’t say. He was okay with it, that was what he was saying without saying, and Benson couldn’t think of anything big enough to say back. 

“You’ll be the first to know.” That was the best he could do. 

Seemed like that went over okay. Randy didn’t seem freaked. He stayed close. Well, to some extent he had to. They shared a bed, for fucks sake. Talk about TMI. But even for them, Randy was close. He nudged him with an elbow. He let Benson lean on him and almost crush him into the arm of the couch. And then he had the balls to rest his head on Benson’s shoulder. Right there in front of his mom, like that was a normal thing to do. His face felt sharp. 

Seconds passed slowly for a while. Benson thought more about the movement of that shoulder than fucking ever, and then started to wonder if it was really that weird after all. Naomi didn’t pitch a fit about it. And how different was this than Benson walking with his arm over Randy’s shoulders? It wasn’t. They were just like that, since the first moment Randy couldn’t move so Benson moved him. 

Benson wasn’t like that, though. He didn’t like anybody touching him, period. End of rule. He kept a healthy distance in public places, he sat at the end of the bar, he just stayed away from people. Sometimes he’d get in a fight, or he’d hook up with somebody in a bathroom or backseat. But that was about it, as far as people in his space. He didn’t like it. 

And yet. He didn’t mind this. If he wanted Randy off of him, that would happen in two seconds flat. That was probably it. He didn’t mind it. He didn’t miss it when they got up to go to bed. Didn’t think about that hug out in the woods. Whatever was happening couldn’t be real enough to last, so he didn’t spend much time on it in his head. He flopped into bed ready to pass out and not think about it even harder, but his subconscious had different fucking plans. The only dream he remembered was something red and dripping. 

Randy got that second interview job, but he also got a job at the Verizon in the mall. And that only mattered because the application he submitted on Benson’s behalf got hired too. All Randy had to say was, “Don’t you want to work together again?” and Benson’s extremely logical opinion about the mall was not important enough to dig in on. 

Yeah. He did want to work together again, because once this was over and he was back home, he’d want to know he’d see Randy as much as possible. Fine. He worked at the mall, but only because Randy asked him to. 

The other good thing about working together made their story hold a lot more water. They had to be good friends, surely, to go work together again after that. At least Benson had to figure that was what the cops were thinking, because they hadn’t come back with more questions. Silence on that front, and most others. Wasn’t like Ma wanted him to come back home. So life was mostly chilling at Randy’s mom’s house and going to a new job. It felt like a total dream. If his life was a movie, this felt like the washed out epilogue. The end had happened. This was overtime. Sudden death. 

So there was a certain element of Fuck It energy. Benson could do whatever he wanted, and none of it would count. Randy asked to come along with him when Benson went back to Ma’s house, and Benson couldn’t think of a lot of reasons why not. Fuck it. 

Randy drove them. He didn’t need directions to Benson’s house. That had implications Benson didn’t really want to think about. None of that in his bonus time. He got out of the car and walked Randy up to the front door. Ma was exactly where she always was, just fine. The phone was plugged back in and she was on it, which was probably most of the dirty look she shot him. Interrupting her call. She hadn’t missed him for a second, the old fucking bitch, and he still felt like he’d done something wrong. Fuck. He stopped in his tracks and focused on breathing.

“Through here?” Randy asked. 

Benson glared at him. He wanted to sound nice, to show Ma he knew how to act and also to give something back to Randy. But that didn’t feel right. He was too mad to be nice. Something was rising in the back of his throat, the thing that squeezed the trigger. No gun on him. He’d left it at Randy’s. But then, he didn’t want to actually do anything to Randy. Another breath and he remembered. He could put Randy into the wall. Or walk out. Or ask him not to. “Gimme a second.” He was miserable with Ma’s eyes on him. She was seeing him like this. It made him want to claw his eyes out. 

Least bad option: Benson took Randy by the shoulder, walked him fast down the hall out of sight until he stumbled and Benson caught his weight. “Hey, no rush,” Randy protested, but he stopped when he saw Benson’s face. Benson let go of him to curl his hands together. Not into fists, but close. “Hey,” Randy said again, so much quieter. His eyes were fixed on Benson. Worried. Of course he was worried. Benson was being a fucking weirdo. 

He noticed something in the next collection of seconds. Randy wanted to put an arm around him, but he didn’t just do it. He held his hand out almost in place, and let Benson close the space. Was that on purpose? How long had he been doing that? 

It was the exact right way to keep Benson’s head on straight. Benson had nothing to say that was quick and also fine if Ma overheard the way she was definitely trying to. He opened the door to his room, and shoved Randy in ahead of him. Shoved as carefully as he could, and shut the door again behind them. “I don’t want you talking to her.” Benson flipped on the light. 

“Why?” 

“Can’t I just want it? I gotta know why?” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. 

Randy fell back half a step, leaning against Benson so it was impossible to ignore him. Easier to wrap his arms over Randy’s shoulders and hang on for a sec. “She drives me crazy.,” Benson added. 

“I can see that.” 

Dumbass. Benson let go and took a good look around his room. Not that bad. It felt awful. Randy was seeing his twin bed, the posters on the wall, the dark red walls Benson had painted himself at like three in the morning. He was here for some more stuff. Shorts, because it was getting hotter. Couple cut offs. A blanket he liked. The CDs, and the handful of movies he had swiped from the library or picked up at Goodwill. Whatever he’d be sad not to see. 

“Is the shotgun in here?” Randy asked. 

Benson shook his head. “Back of the broom closet. Wiped clean. Already gathering dust.” He found a big plastic tub in the bottom of his closet. Empty except for a couple thick sweaters for winter. Everything else went in there too, and fit just fine. He locked the lid into place, and straightened up to find Randy looking at everything around them. 

Exactly what Randy was afraid of, because now he had to fucking see it too. Remember that under the crappy paint he did, it was the baby duck wallpaper. He kept waiting for Ma to take it down and she kept not giving a shit, so he painted it. Not very well, either. He could still see ducks in the narrow corner behind the door. Randy totally saw that. And he definitely saw how little else there was in here behind all the red. Didn’t say anything, which was great because Benson couldn’t have handled it. Randy got the doors for Benson so he could carry the bin out. 

“Where’re y’goin’?” Ma said when Benson was halfway through the front door. 

“Close the door,” Benson told Randy. 

Door closed. They were out.

Getting the bin in the backseat took a second. It was just wide enough to be annoying, but they got it. Benson knew how to say something else by then. “She never gave a shit about my life before. She’s not trying it out with you.” 

Randy just nodded. He spun the keyring around his finger and caught it in his hand with a solemn air about him. Jackass. Benson wanted to dig his nails in and make him speak his mind. Not on the street in front of Ma’s house. Benson went for his door handle instead. 

“What are you worried she’ll say?” Randy asked. 

“I’m not.” 

Hard to comfort himself these days by thinking Randy didn’t know him, because Randy knew him pretty well these days. He knew that was a reaction, not an answer. So instead Benson tried to comfort himself with total denial. He hadn’t said anything and Randy would leave it there. Maybe fifteen minutes between their houses. He thought he got away with it for at least half the trip. 

“Are you always like that in there?” Randy asked then. 

“Shut up.” 

The sun was setting now, peach and purple flooding across the sky, and Benson wanted to fall asleep right where he was. Passenger seat, head back and eyes half closed. Home had taken all the energy right out of him. 

No, he wasn’t always like that. Randy wasn’t always with him, either. Home was a secret he was hiding from everybody else, most of the time he was growing up. First, there were reasons people didn’t want to come over. Those became reasons they couldn’t. No dad, weird mom, no money. By the time he dropped out,  there wasn’t anyone left asking to come over. He forgot how to let it happen. 

But there was the other thing too, the feelings that filled his chest. A sudden geyser, high pressure. Nothing he’d done had ever gotten Ma to look up from her book. Good or bad. But come home with Randy, and now she had shit to say. It set him off. Too fast, too hot. He couldn’t say any of this without hitting something, and he had a hunch hitting things wasn’t going to work as a long-term strategy. Naomi would not put up with that. None of the people who were gentle with him would appreciate that, because they were in their stupid fucking bubbles where everyone was nice to each other. And that was fine. Sometimes people were nice to each other. But sometimes he felt like his skin was too small for the things in it. 

The guy sitting next to him, though. Randy had his back. He was trying to help him. Being an invasive dick about it, but in a helpful kind of way. Just asking because Benson basically freaked out on him. 

Dick move. Benson apologized for it and Randy told him it was fine. Great. Thanks. Forgiven. There was still a whole explanation owed. Just not one he could give, because he didn’t even have the pieces together yet. Ma was just looking at him all of a sudden, and he was standing there getting exactly what he wanted and it made him so fucking scared. Made him realize that here wasn’t safe. Never had been, maybe, but hadn’t known without the point of comparison. Without having spent a Wednesday night tipsy and melting into the couch, Randy warm and heavy at his side, feeling like just about the most relaxed guy in the world. Nobody wanted anything from him, nothing coming he didn’t know about. He’d never had that before. He didn’t know how he lived so long the other way. 

The new job was cushy. No burning oil, no milk to spill or mold or smell. Just fucking phones, man. People who wanted ‘em, and that was about it. Different polo, more bullshit to memorize, but that was fine. He stood next to Randy most of the day and found out he was really good at upselling data plans. Whatever. He was making good money, and afterwards he got to go where Randy went. Great last few days before he got arrested, because that had to be coming soon. Every extra day he got felt like a rubberband, tightening before the inevitable snapback. Hence the fuck it. Nothing would last, so he might as well get what he wanted for now. No reason to rethink that now. 

The house they were pulling up to. This was quickly becoming the best place in the world, because Randy was in here. He carried the bin inside in his long skinny arms, through the doors Benson held open for him. Randy did a little better standing up for himself these days. As an assistant manager, he kind of fucking had to. Maybe he glanced at Benson for support every once in a while, but that was fine. Benson liked looking at him. Almost as much as he still liked telling him what to do. 

Randy was putting the box down just inside the door of his bedroom and Benson stopped him. “Nah, over here, babe,” he said, and moved him. Hands on his hips. Still didn’t feel close enough. When Randy set down that shit and stood back up, Benson couldn’t keep from just looking at him and thinking. Dreaming about — well. 

“What?” Randy said. 

“Nothing.” Nothing that would do any good to say. 

“Come on. That’s not nothing.” 

Okay, so it wasn’t. Benson was a little pissed off at that, just like he’d been at Ma’s house. Just irritated, with an edge to it of not wanting to be. He liked Randy too much to be upset with him. Still had to rise to the challenge. So he took Randy and pushed him back until he hit a wall. Held Randy there, between himself and that wall, and even then he couldn’t say what he was thinking. Couldn’t look straight at it, even with his eyes on Randy’s. He could. They could. Or. 

“Do you want a hug?” Randy ventured. 

Benson had to roll his eyes at that, even fucking Randy knew it sounded lame. But yeah, sure. He wanted a hug. He let Randy squeeze him tight and only itched a little. Just like before, Randy seemed to get this was an invitation-only kind of deal. 

“You’re a good guy, Randy,” he told him. He was. Especially now that he’d found his fucking backbone. Randy told his mom to back off now, and she didn’t even seem mad about it anymore. 

Actually, Naomi had really started to come around. Benson would even say she liked him. Couple nights of him doing the dishes and he took out the trash once, and basically won her over already. Too easy. But she just kept on liking him. Throwing him jokes, picking up food just for him at the store. They were probably closer in age than him and Randy, technically. And it felt a little bit like that, too. The two of them, watching out for Randy on different fronts. They were chill with each other. He let her hover over Randy at home, she let him play his music loud as long as it was off by nine. Practically Leave it to Beaver. 

And yet. When Benson was babysitting the pasta on the stove and Naomi got home and Randy decided to open his stupid fucking mouth to say, “Benson wants a hug,” Benson didn’t know what her response would be. He started to shrug it off. Seemed like the right thing to do. So he was more than a little surprised when she came towards him, arms out. Almost shy. He hoped he smelled okay. 

“Rough day?” Her eyes were smiling. Wrinkles at the corners.

There was a second of weightlessness in Benson’s stomach. He could pull away. He didn’t want to. And then she had her arms around him, over his shoulders, and he was fighting off feeling young. He barely put up a fight. 

“It’s fine,” he said. But he didn’t let go until Naomi did, and he had to swallow hard then. Fuck, this kitchen got hot. 

It hadn’t been a rough day. The day was fine. Randy’s mom tousled both their hair on her way to bed, and Benson had to sniff hard. He wasn’t fucking crying about that, he just remembered something. Something sad. 

Randy was on his phone when Benson got in bed, one thumb hovering over the screen. “That thing’s melting your brain,” Benson told him, and Randy took that as invitation to bring the thing over here. To curl up with his head on Benson’s shoulder and edge of the phone resting on Benson’s chest, and keep on reading. 

“Comfortable?” Benson asked after a second, letting his disbelief show. 

“Yeah,” Randy answered. 

Well. If he was fucking comfortable, then Benson couldn’t mind too much. He took a breath in. Randy’s hair just brushed his neck. It was fine. He wasn’t exactly glad when Randy moved away, but he got it. This shit they were doing was headed in a direction, and if Randy didn’t want that, then fine. But Benson didn’t even get that far in his thought process before Randy flipped the light off and was twisting back towards Benson. Reaching over his own shoulder. “Your hand,” he whispered, and made a claw motion with his hand. 

“What?” Benson whispered. 

“Give me your hand.” Benson tried to. Randy felt at it intently, and dropped it. “Gimme the other one.” 

“The fuck are you doing, man? What is this?” 

Randy sighed and let his arm drop. Now that he wasn’t reaching, he was just curled up on his side, his back to Benson. 

Fuck it. Benson rolled over. Randy caught his hand on the way and pulled him where he wanted Benson to go, which apparently was totally on top of him. Benson ended up mostly on his stomach, chest on on top of Randy’s back with an arm curled around him. There was nowhere to rest his head but on Randy, but that was okay. Randy was pretty ergonomic. 

Almost didn’t work. Randy shifted his arm and how it lay under Benson, and that was almost too much. But Randy stopped and then Benson was just on top of him feeling the even rise and fall of Randy breathing under his cheek. It was fucking hypnotic. Benson didn’t realize he fell asleep until he was waking up, and then he was weirdly embarrassed. 

They just slept all night like that? It was fucking weird, and weird how he felt so well-rested. Something in his center was settled. Benson couldn’t trust it. 

Took awhile for Randy to say something about it. They were clocking in, taking turns at the computer, and when Benson was typing Randy asked, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” 

“You won’t look at me.” 

Sure he would. Later. Benson focused on they keyboard. On typing. “You are something else,” he said under his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Randy watching him. Lurking, in that stiff way he had of standing. Like a stick figure man. 

“Did I ruin this?” Randy finally asked. 

Fuck. Benson had to cave. Nobody was around this early, no idiots waiting at the doors with problems they fucking made. Mary was working with them today, but she wasn’t in until ten. So Benson did what he wanted to. He took a few slow, deliberate steps and backed Randy up into the sales counter without touching him. He looked at Randy, at every part of his face. A muscle in his cheek moved as Randy pressed his lips together. “Don’t be a dumbass,” Benson said. “We’re fine.” 

“So you’re still feeling weird about your mom?” 

“Where the fuck are you getting that from?” 

“You’re being weird,” Randy said. 

Benson took a lap. He walked back behind the other counter for a while, and they were across the store from each other. Somebody walked in needing a new charger. Randy helped them with his dumb little customer service smile, and then they were gone and the air was charged again. 

“Can you just talk to me?” Randy asked, barely loud enough to hear. 

“And say what?” 

“I don’t know. Not the silent treatment.” 

Benson threw his arms up. “I’m a silent guy, Randy.” 

“Yeah, but.” Randy glanced at somebody walking by outside. There wasn’t any kind of real door here, so anybody that walked in would hear whatever they were saying at this volume. So he followed Benson across the store, and leaned on this counter, too. Putting himself in the same positions they were just a moment ago. Benson could step in closer. He didn’t.

“We’re headed somewhere tricky,” Benson said from his safe distance. “You know that, right?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m not an easy person. Not good at keeping shit light.” 

Randy laughed. “Yeah. Obviously.” 

“So let’s not get into anything it’ll be hard to end.” That was a good way to put it. Benson was proud of himself for that one. Sounded good, let everybody down easy. The only one who seemed to miss the memo was Randy. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Randy’s voice trembled.

“Means let’s be smart about this.” 

“I am. I want-“ 

Whatever he was about to say, Benson didn’t think he could handle it so he cut him off. “You aren’t. This isn’t smart.” 

Randy sort of spread his arms out, physical communication of confusion because he couldn’t even voice it. “What isn’t?” 

“You and me.” 

“How?” 

Oh. Great question. Benson was more than happy to list the reasons. “I’m ten years older than you. I have criminal record, a GED barely, shitty old car, and a job at the fucking mall.” He killed four people in front of him, in a day. That passed between them too, even though Benson didn’t say it. That was the real punchline, though. Randy had seen Benson actually lose his mind. No clue when that might happen again, but it could. It had before, just nothing more serious than a night in jail. Benson tried to make him understand. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Okay, but you are.” 

Benson shook his head. “No. Not for long. I’m fixing your life, not-“ 

“Yeah, but it’s fixed because you’re in it.” 

Pause. The sound of their breathing. Benson’s eyes were on Randy’s shoes, planted side by side. Someone walked in. Wordlessly, Randy turned to handle them and Benson went to the bathroom. They both knew he couldn’t talk to somebody at that moment, and absolutely not about fucking cell phones. How lame was that, too? Benson was so fucked. He couldn’t manage the baseline expectations of this easy-as-shit job. Randy had to keep covering for him, and the idiot thought he wanted to do it forever. 

After too long — not long enough — Randy came back and knocked on the door. He told Benson how things were going to be. He told him none of that stuff mattered because Benson was here, and he was staying here, and there was nowhere else he should be. Didn’t have to talk about it now. All kinds of sweet shit. It worked. Benson pulled it together for the rest of the shift, cracked his neck once and his knuckles a lot, but stayed in one piece until they got to leave. 

They were walking out through the echoing mall corridors, side by side. Randy caught Benson’s hand in his. “You made your point,” Benson said to him.

“Have I?” Randy said innocently. He swung their hands back and forth, like they were little kids. 

“Yeah. You can let go now.” 

“You can too. If you want.” 

Well, fuck that shit. Randy wanted to know what Benson wanted? Fine. Yeah. He wanted this. But that was the fucking problem, wasn’t it. Grass was always greener, he always wanted things he didn’t have. How well did it turn out when he got it? He had seven hours and Randy in his car and he hadn’t made it further than the other side of town. No reason why he’d do any better with this. 

Benson held on until the car, but even that wasn’t the end of things. Randy tried to put his hand on Benson’s leg while they were driving, which was a hard fucking no. Benson slapped that shit away, and then apologized. Randy told him it was fine, but it wasn’t. Fucking list of reasons not to do this, and Randy just tried to get closer, hold on tighter. 

Very unlike him. But maybe they could be like that sometimes.

Benson reached over and felt in the dark for Randy’s hand. Easy. That was good before and good now. So they were holding hands then. Randy let him move both their arms when Benson needed to flip the brights on or whatever, and otherwise just sat there happy. The fucking nerve of him, to look so content every time Benson glanced over. Same as that first day. Benson wanted his hands on him to make sure nobody else ever got here. 

Everything that had happened so far today had sunk weariness deep into Benson’s bones. He wanted to hole up in a dark room for twelve hours. But getting home was a whole thing at Randy’s. They’d all three talk about their days. Make something to eat, sit around together. Not that bad. Better it used to be, when he’d just go home and fall into bed until he was too hungry to sleep. 

Tonight it was annoying Benson couldn’t goddamn think without Randy worming his way closer. It was fucking obnoxious and Benson was pretty sure that was on purpose. They were eating and Randy took a bite off his plate. He patted Benson’s back without warning. He fidgeted next to him on the couch, jiggling his leg until Benson was about ready to explode. Yeah. Randy was pushing his buttons. 

So Benson went to bed. He said goodnight to Naomi only, pointedly. Not to the dickhead that was trying to get a reaction out of him. But Randy was in there with him after a minute anyways, throwing the door open with something like eagerness. “Oh, are you having a good time?” Benson demanded of him. 

Randy turned his back to close the door. “Are you not?” he demanded, with the same half-innocent tone. 

“No, asshole. I’m not. The fuck is this?” Benson crossed his arms, and waited for Randy to look at him. 

Took a second. Randy sure was taking his sweet time now that they were alone. “I don’t know.” 

“Come here.” Benson didn’t realize it was an order until Randy treated it like one, and then he was so glad it was. Watching Randy come towards him made his mouth dry. He pictured punching him in the face. He pictured kissing him. He didn’t touch him at all. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“I don’t know.” Randy shrugged. 

“Yes, you fucking do. Try again.” 

The guy broke in a heartbeat. “I want you,” he said, sincere as anything. “I know you think it’s a bad idea, but I don’t. I don’t care where you work or anything. And I don’t care about doing something important with my life. It’s okay if all I do is drive around this shitty town with you for the rest of my life. That’s important enough to me. So.” 

Benson’s mouth had fallen open. He stared as Randy approached him. As Randy put himself right in front of him, and reached out to prod at Benson’s shoulder in an uneven pattern. 

It was fucking irritating, and he knew it. Benson found words again out of pure spite. “If you want me so bad, why are you pissing me off right now? Come on.” And Randy started to play dumb about it again so Benson had to be even more clear. “You know I don’t like that shit. What are you doing?” 

“I’m…” 

“You’re trying to piss me off.”

That was the truth, even if Randy didn’t have the guts to say it. At least he didn’t try to say that was wrong, either. “I guess.” 

“Yeah, you are. So what do you want me to do about it? Huh?” Benson knew what he wanted to do about it. He wanted to — well, didn’t want to hurt him, but wanted to remind him he could. Remind him that Benson was dangerous, and that no meant fucking no when he said not to do shit. If he wanted something, Randy had to use his big boy words. 

Randy was frozen now, hands limp at his sides. “I don’t know.” 

“Yeah, you do.” In the silence after that statement, while it sunk in, Benson took a step in closer. As close as he could get without running into him. He knew how to make that a threat, but it wasn’t that. Randy knew it too, he didn’t back off. 

There was another long moment of stillness. Benson wet his lips with his tongue and waited until Randy raised a trembling hand and set it on Benson’s chest. Kind of over his heart. “Okay,” Benson said in an encouraging tone. 

Pressure. Randy was pushing him backwards, and Benson went willingly. He let himself be backed into one of the walls, eyes on Randy the whole time. He let his head rest on the wall, and took a breath against the press of Randy’s hand. 

Benson’s pulse was loud in his ears. He had to talk louder over it. “There you go.” 

A question almost made it out of Randy’s mouth, and that would’ve fucking ruined it. So good thing Randy just leaned in and kissed him instead. Not for long. He backed off to look at him, to see if it was okay like Benson hadn’t just talked him through every step to get here. “Is it-“ Randy started to ask again, and Benson pulled him back in. 

Yeah. Randy knew what he wanted, even if he’d needed some help to get there. He needed help to wipe his own ass practically, and he’d had one girlfriend ever so of course he needed a nudge for this. Still, Benson was paying attention. He stayed in his skin, felt Randy’s hands holding his face and tongue in his mouth and dick hardening. Both of them, from how close they were pressed. Shit. 

Benson eased them apart. Randy stayed leaned in as close as he could. Half his weight was on Benson’s hands. “Your mom is on the other side of that wall,” Benson said. Whispered, because they were too close to be any louder. He wanted to bury his face into Randy’s neck. He wanted to be crushed, harder. 

“So?” 

“So no. Too weird. Not yet,” he added, since Randy looked like he was going to fucking kill himself. “What, all of a sudden you can’t take it slow? Relax, hot shot.” And he did give in then, planted a kiss on Randy’s cheek and pushed him off for real. 

Now, this was Randy’s own bedroom and Benson wasn’t heartless. He couldn’t stop the guy from jerking off in his own bedroom, and he told him that. Don’t let me stop you, or something. Benson wasn’t exactly sure. He lay down, crammed a pillow between his cheek and arms, and shut his eyes. Not to sleep. He couldn’t sleep on his stomach, but he must’ve because next thing he knew Randy was saying his name and Benson couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Just. It had. Had a way of doing that sometimes.

Randy didn’t say anything after Benson’s name, but his hands joined the conversation. One started at Benson’s shoulder, waiting to see if there was any reaction before moving to the elbow. No reaction here. Gently, Randy tugged. Benson let his arm be freed, and let Randy hold that hand in both of his. First clasped against his chest, and then just cradled. 

Fine. That didn’t irritate Benson much, just a bit. Not now when it was just the two of them and he could let go. Randy wasn’t being as fucking annoying either. He was just petting, sorta. Long, even swipes of his hand up and down Benson’s forearm. Points of pressure. Benson blinked, and took the first deep breath for what felt like a while. Fuck, did Randy even get off or did Benson just think about it a little too long? 

“What happened here?” Randy’s hand stopped moving. Took a second to figure where. He moved it back and forth a bit, and Benson could feel fingertips catching.

“Something on some grill.” 

Randy moved his fingers again over the thing. “This? The ripply thing?” 

“Oh. Hot oil.” 

“Ow.” 

“Nah, not that bad.” The girl in drive through had almost passed out, though. They said it smelled weird. Benson remembered looking at his own arm like it was through binoculars.

Randy pressed hard over it, hard enough that Benson could feel the ridges of the scar tissue refusing to warp, and then he let off. “I’ve never even broken a bone.”

“Nothing? Not even a finger?”

“Mom’s really protective.” 

Yeah, and Randy was really dedicated to having a life where nothing happened to him, until a couple weeks ago. 

Benson picked his head up and turned a little so he was facing Randy. Still mostly on his stomach. The bed smelled like both of them. Like comfort. And Randy was just blinking at him, content and a little sleepy. 

They were taking it slow. They were being smart about this. Benson moved the hand out of Randy’s to cup the side of his face. Slowly, he spread his fingers out over the side of his head, combing into his hair, and then he smoothed his thumb sideways over Randy’s eyebrow, start to end. The skin was a little greasy. There were more hairs in that eyebrow than Benson would’ve figured. 

When Benson zoomed back out, Randy had shut his eyes. Free reign to look at at him close again. At the little spidery veins in the corners of his eyelids, the pores of his nose, the blond eyelashes that Benson didn’t notice most of the time. 

This was the only thing that mattered in Benson’s whole life. This, right here. He was willing to die to fix it. And now Randy was telling him he only actually helped as long as he was here? Didn’t stick. How was he supposed to take that? Because to him, there was only one right option. Fixed was fixed, and if Benson had to stick around a little longer that’d be fine. He could — well. He could certainly live with it. Ha. But something about accepting it felt so fucking selfish.

When he thought about it for a fraction of a second, actually thought about it, there were a million reasons why this wouldn’t work. He was getting arrested, that was the big thing. He didn’t plan on being around long after that, either. Which was fine. That was what happened. Randy thought shit went south when he got what he wanted? That was only because he hadn’t seen what happened to Benson. Ma was just an example, and look at that. Finally got her to pay attention to him and Benson couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He was fucked. This was dumb.

Benson found one of Randy’s blue eyes looking right into his. “What are you thinking?” Randy asked. 

“Thinking you don’t understand what you’re getting into, sweetheart.” 

“I can take it.” 

Benson hoisted himself up so he could look right down at Randy. Most of his weight was on the bed, but he had his hand on Randy’s shoulder, too. Pressing in there. Randy gazed up at him with hope in his eyes it was hard to look straight at. 

Hell. Maybe Randy was right. He was the one who thought Benson should kill Ma. Kept him from shooting Sheppard so they wouldn’t get heard. Covered their tracks those first days. Gave him a fucking bed to sleep in. Little Randy was more dangerous than he seemed. And now he knew what he wanted. Not Benson’s fault it was what he wanted too. 

“You should kiss me again.” Randy’s eyes were on Benson’s lips, and then he squeezed them shut tight. Snapped himself out of it. “Or not. I’ve waited this long. Not like I’m in a hurry.”

God. Benson did kiss him for a second, firmly, because hearing Randy ask for it was really doing something for him. But then he heard a door open and shut, Naomi walking around, and that was cold water. Not now. But maybe one day. He probably had days left, not weeks, but one day he’d pop Randy’s cherry. Yeah. He’d make sure it was good. Fun. Not bad. 

Things couldn’t just be the same now that all that had happened. When they were actually lying down to sleep, both of them had a second of trying to figure it out. Randy was trying to catch his eye, but Benson wasn’t letting that happen so there was a second of awkwardly not looking at each other. 

Fuck that. Benson got in on his side of the bed, and minded his own fucking business as Randy got comfortable. They weren’t joined at the hip all of a sudden, they were two guys who’d locked lips a couple times. Not a big deal. And he wasn’t even going to be around for that long, so really he didn’t need anything else to happen. He could get locked up right now, and all of this was good enough that it didn’t feel real. Like when somebody’s dog was dying, so they gave it one really good last day. 

Randy turned off the light, and the room went blue-black. Best sleep of his life in this room, and there wasn’t any reason that needed to change now. He settled in, stretched his leg out until one of his knees cracked, adjusted the pillow a couple times. Next to him, Randy was fidgeting a little, quietly. Sounded like a mouse in the wall, until all at once he moved and hooked his hand around Benson’s arm just above the elbow. Alright, fine. Benson slept alright like that. 

When he woke up and Randy was curled up right against Benson’s shoulder, Benson figured he’d slept alright like that, too. Woke up good, even. Randy’s warm breath tickling Benson’s arm was nice, and the rise and fall of his chest under the blanket. The house was still quiet because Benson was the only conscious thing here. That was the level of privacy he needed to admit some shit to himself. He wanted Randy. Of course he did. But he killed somebody in broad daylight. People didn’t just get away with that. Benson wasn’t twenty-one and it would be smart to act like it. 

Nobody had ever called him smart. Yeah, he was a washed out never-been-anything piece of shit but Randy wanted him to hang around. And Benson hadn’t gotten enough of what he wanted, ever, to be able to turn this down. 

Benson turned over, ended up half on top of Randy again, both their heads facing in towards each other. He put an arm over Randy’s head and kissed his hair real quick. No need to keep bullshitting himself. Benson wanted to be in this for the long haul. There was someone who’d miss him. Someone to miss if he wasn’t here. He owed it to Randy to do what they’d talked about right away. Benson needed to practice. 

He gave it a shot with Naomi first. Randy was stirring the soup, and both of them were not micromanaging him about it. Like she did sometimes, Naomi had the news on. Waiting for the weather report to see if a hike tomorrow was a good idea. Two words in that tinny newscaster voice, and Benson’s legs almost went out from under him. “New developments in the recent murder of local Vice Principal, Elliot Sheppard. Several police officers were spotted today removing from the home what appeared to be boxes of possible evidence.” Footage of that, of cars driving down a street. That was what the guy’s house looked like, apparently. Benson wanted to find it and burn it down. He focused on how his hands braced on the countertop, cold under his fingers, and where his feet were warming the tile underneath. Randy nudged Benson’s ankle with his toe. 

At the end of the segment, anyone with any information was encouraged to contact the police tip line. Yeah. Sure they were. Because killing people was automatically bad for some reason, no matter what they did. 

“Crazy that we saw him right before,” Benson said carefully. 

Randy shot him a panicked look and a nervous laugh. “Yeah, what are the odds?” 

Shit. If Benson heard the tension there, Naomi definitely did. Worse that she didn’t react right away, too. She waited a couple seconds before agreeing the situation was unlikely. “Remind me, you said you knew him?” she added to Benson. 

“Long time ago. Yeah.” The edge of his vision was vibrating. He needed to clear his throat. “Taught third grade at Central.”

“Taught you?” 

Normal question. Benson did his best. “Yeah. Nice guy.” He caught Naomi giving her own son a look when he said that, but Randy just responded with one of his tense, helpless gestures. Sorry, lady. Randy couldn’t help when he didn’t know shit. 

Shit. Benson blinked, and Naomi was right in front of him. She touched his arm, hand cold from the dishes she’d been doing. The other hand was holding a dishcloth, dark spots of water still spreading. The air was ringing with something she’d just said. “Sorry, what?” Benson made himself say. 

“I just said it must be hard. And I’m sorry.” 

Benson nodded, put his head down, and didn’t fucking cry. Hard. That was one word for it. He bit his lip until he knew that he could open his mouth without saying everything on his mind. “Thanks.” 

The pasta was done. Randy’s mom drained it and took to the stove to mix in with the sauce, and Randy closed Benson in against the wall. He was a little taller, a lot taller the way Benson was leaned back, and for once in his goddamn life he used his size to intimidate. “Hey,” Randy whispered. “What the hell was that?” 

“You told me to practice.” 

“Yeah, but.” Randy couldn’t figure out what he wanted to say, apparently. He shut his mouth again, and came in even closer to plant one hand in the middle of Benson’s chest. He almost said something else. But then it was time for dinner. 

It was quiet at the table at first. All of them getting pasta and rolls on their plate and whatever. First bites. “You think your mother might want to come over for dinner sometime, Benson?” Naomi asked. 

“She’s not big on leaving home,” Benson answered, and stuffed his mouth. 

Naomi flicked her eyes up to him, and then back down. “We could take the dinner to her.” Her turn to try and sound casual now. 

“Mom, stop,” Randy cut in. “He doesn’t like people going in his house.” 

Benson whacked Randy’s arm with the back of his hand. “Randy, what the fuck.” 

“You don’t!” 

“I don’t give a shit,” Benson tried to assure them both, but he had the sinking suspicion that was even less convincing than him trying to say Sheppard was a nice guy. Naomi wasn’t buying it. But Randy’s mom was making an effort these days to not be such a overbearing hag, so she waited to follow up on it. 

They were watching TV. Randy got up to hit the head, and once the bathroom door closed Naomi said, “Benson, we don’t have to do any kind of dinner. I just thought it might be nice.” 

Benson nodded. The only problem with that was that his ma wasn’t nice. He wasn’t either, but at least he made the effort to pretend. 

Then Randy was back, and he sat almost on top of Benson like he belonged there. He set his head down on Benson’s shoulder too. Like his mom wasn’t right there, like they hadn’t been keeping a lid on all this shit when she was around. Randy may not have given a shit what his mom thought, but Benson wasn’t about to have somebody thinking he was a creep. That wasn’t what was happening here. He liked people his own age. Randy had snuck up on him. 

After a couple minutes, though, Naomi offered them a blanket. Got up to spread it over the two of them with nothing but a smile on her face. So Benson let himself move. Hauled Randy closer with an arm around him, and thanked Naomi for the blanket. Felt disrespectful, but if she didn’t give a shit he wasn’t going to either. 

When Randy couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, they decided it was bedtime. All three of them were walking down the hall to their rooms, the thin space full. Naomi asked Benson to come with her her. Into her room, which was still pretty unfamiliar. Floral wallpaper, neat bed. Ma hadn’t been in her room for probably a decade. 

No beating around the bush with Randy’s mom. “If you ever lay a hand on him and you’ll have to deal with me,” she said. Quiet, so Randy wouldn’t hear from his room. 

“Roger that.” Benson nodded once. 

“I hope you understand.” 

“No, of course. You’ve gotta protect your kid. I get it.” 

She came up to him where he was leaning on the doorframe, and Benson looked up from the carpet to meet her eyes. See her face. He’d been avoiding that. If she thought he shouldn’t be here, doing this, Benson wasn’t sure what he’d have to do. But her little face, thin like Randy’s, wasn’t mad. Fuck he didn’t know what it was. “Do I need to protect him from you?” Real question, too. She listened. 

“Never.” Benson tried to put all the sincerity he had into that so she’d know how much he meant it. He’d never hurt Randy. Looked like she even believed him, so he had to mean it. He wouldn’t do that. He never meant to. 

Naomi was still standing in front of him, examining every inch of his face, and Benson couldn’t resist the urge to ask a question of his own. “Can I ask you something? Why this now? Not…” 

“Not the first day?” she finished for him, a little smile on her face. “Well, you had a gun on you. And I could tell you’re not much of a talker.” 

She’d noticed the gun. It’d been three fucking weeks and she hadn’t said a damn thing. Benson didn’t know what to say. “Why’d you let me stay?” 

“Because my son has been terrified to make a decision since he was a toddler, and he told me you were staying.” She paused. Secret to tell. “Plus, I took the bullets the second day you were here.” 

Goddamn. Benson thought about being scared of this, but he decided against it. That was forever ago, and she was just saying all this to tell him why she liked him. Why she knew enough to wait until now to have this conversation, and how she’d balanced that patience with being smart. Yeah, he could’ve taken them all out. She’d had no reason to think he wouldn’t. 

Benson felt weird. Gruff, all of a sudden, and embarrassed. “I promised Randy nothing would happen to either of you, for the record.”

She smiled. “Well, then I know you keep your promises.” 

The cops didn’t end up questioning Benson, because they solved the case on their own. Turned out, in the course of investigating Sheppard’s death they just so happened to ask the school he’d been fired from why they let him go. Whatever they heard, it led to them searching his house. And from there, it was open and shut. There were dozens of people who could’ve wanted to kill him, and most of them lived in the area, and nobody saw anything. That was it. And that didn’t even make it on the TV or anything. The whole thing was kept quiet. Benson only heard about it because Naomi had a friend who worked in the office at Central Elementary who loved to eavesdrop. 

As for the other ones, the cops ended up announcing some drifter did it. That same night, thirty miles down the road some gas station attendant got blown away. Somebody saw a white car near both those incidents. Must be linked, they said, which meant they didn’t have any better ideas. 

Benson was pretty convinced that he was dreaming. 

Fucking Randy was taking it in stride. “Want to come look at an apartment?” he asked after work one day, and so they went to check out some shithole behind the Walmart. Not worth the rent. 

Next place they looked at was okay. Bigger, and two closets in the bedroom. Closer to the mall. Dining room area near the kitchen. “What do you think?” Randy asked after they’d walked through it and asked for a second alone. 

“Seems solid.” 

“We can sign the lease Friday.” 

Surprise ached. Benson’s heart hurt every time it pumped. He leaned against the wall. “We?” he repeated. 

“Well, yeah,” Randy said with a little smile over his shoulder, and went into the bedroom again to look around. God, he was good-looking. Hard to look at him when he was so happy. Hard to listen, too, because he couldn’t mean that. Dumb fucking idea, living together. Not the same as letting Benson crash with him for a cover story. This was bigger. 

Benson shook his head, nipped this in the bud. “No, babe. I can’t.” 

Randy came back in view. “You don’t want to live with me?” 

“I don’t have the cash to keep Ma going and go somewhere else.”

“Sure, but I could afford this on my own. We’ll figure out the money later. Whatever.” 

“Probably not gonna feel that way forever.” 

“Well I’m going to want to have you around forever, so I think we’d figure it out.” 

Seemed about right that Randy could figure out how to answer a question Benson didn’t know how to ask. Him and his fully-functioning brain. He was gonna get even smarter, too. Manager at the cell phone store was a waste of him, that was what Benson always said and he thought they were agreeing on that. 

Again, the feeling from the first night of being surprised by the mirror held back up to him. Shit, he should’ve remembered. Randy wasn’t just letting himself have a life, he was trying to give Benson one too. So clearly, he hadn’t thought it through. 

“You think this thing is going to last forever, huh,” Benson said. He watched Randy’s shoes come closer, bit by bit. Randy stopped a few feet away. Close enough to grab. Benson kept his arms crossed. 

“This is how you’re gonna do it, huh," Randy repeated back, copying his tone.

“I don’t know what you’re-“ 

“You can fight it all you want, but I’m asking you to move in with me.” 

His tone caught Benson’s ear. He had to look up at him even though he didn’t want to know what he’d see. It was all right there. How much Randy wanted him there, how firm he was willing to be. This was what it felt like to get exactly what he wanted. Randy was taking charge and somehow Benson was getting his dreams coming true. If that was really what he wanted too, then they would be something like destined. 

“I’m not fighting it,” Benson said.

“You are. It’s okay. You’re getting better at it, there’s no gun on me.” And then he laughed. God, he was something else. 

Benson itched his nose, and then the back of his neck. “There’s never gonna be a gun on you, ever again. You know that, right?” 

“I know, we’ve covered it.” 

They had. In the course of a couple weeks of fuck it and assuming he’d lose this soon, they really had been through most things about each other. They’d gotten here, and Randy still hadn’t found a reason not to do this. He was still asking, and Benson was fresh out of reasons to say no. 

In the still, dusty air of the empty apartment, Randy reached for Benson’s hand. He waited to make sure Benson would close the last half inch of space himself and then locked their fingers together. “Ben, I think you should sign this lease with me.”

“I need to know you’re sure.” One of the most honest statements Benson ever made. He was almost embarrassed by it. By telling Randy what he wanted. But hell, if they were both growing then maybe Benson needed to get a little better at it, too. 

Randy kissed him, the movement awkward at first. He got more sure the deeper his hands got in Benson’s hair. Fuck, they were on the edge of getting hot and heavy right here when he pulled back to reiterate his answer out loud. “I’m sure. Stay.” 

Well. Only because Randy told him to.