Awkward

It was strange to Benny, waking up in her own bed. Almost disquieting, blinking at the light-painted wall and allowing her gaze to travel over her guitars leaning against the side of the bed, and the small pile of clothing sitting next to the closet. It was even more unsettling, she felt, the feeling of her room; like it was really her’s, and not simply a spare guest bedroom that she was occupying for however short a time. Familiarity was slowly replacing that alien feeling in her world, and though it wasn’t entirely unwelcome to her, it was still something she decided she needed to be wary of.

Even more to unnerve her in those first few seconds of bleary consciousness: the thought that she didn’t remember falling asleep here the night before. She remembered the couch, and with a slight sinking feeling remembered Tré. What time was it? She was under the covers, and with a sigh she threw them away from her thin body, inspecting her clothing. The same as last night, minus her shoes (which, after another quick glance around the room, she discovered to be set neatly next to the door).

“Well,” she mumbled quietly, sitting up in the soft bed and sweeping a large chunk of knotted hair out of her eyes, “I guess it was nice of him to leave me clothed, anyway…”

The moment that she forced her eyes fully open, abandoning their slit-like forms, she just as quickly closed them again. The bright morning sunlight streaming through the windows was unbearable and the small pounding in the back of her skull that she had awakened with was suddenly a throbbing pain that even made her eyeballs ache. She groaned once softly, petulantly, and fell back on her pillow, drawing the sheets over herself to help block out the light again. Too much. It was just too much. Rum, she thought, had never been a particularly kind friend to her…

She felt as though she’d probably fallen asleep again when next she was aware of another presence in the room; a series of padded footfalls leading up to her bed and a gentle but large hand patting along the covers until they found her shoulder.

“Benny.” Tré’s voice was quiet in an eerily cautious sort of way, perhaps mindful of her hangover. “Hey. Wake up.”

“I will when the desire to die goes away,” came her muffled response from somewhere beneath the fabric.

“With as much as you drank last night, that’ll probably take days. C’mon, get up. It’s past two.”

“Wake me up when the next two o’clock gets here.”

Tré sighed. Had he ever been like this when he was her age? Probably. Of course, when he thought about it…he was still kind of like that now, to be fair. She was a very small girl and she’d had quite a bit to drink the night before…he had to assume that she was feeling rather awful, but there just wasn’t time for it right now.

“C’mon,” he said again, bending down and throwing his arms around the lumpy bits of the covers, where he assumed her to be lying. She screamed quite loudly when he lifted her up and hefted her, bed sheets and all, over his shoulder and marched her across the room. He caught a glimpse of the scene in the mirror and it amused him that she looked a bit like a cocoon – amongst the crisp white sheets was only a sudden splash of red; her hair pouring out of one end and bouncing along his back even as she struggled and kicked and swore.

He set her down again in front of her closet, keeping a hand on her shoulder as the sheets fell down to her neck and left her there like a particularly confined mummy, red-faced and still swearing and glaring at him as though he was the most awful human being on the planet. Her eyes were rather bloodshot, her hair mussed in a way that wasn’t particularly complimentary, and she was trembling ever so slightly.

“—such an asshole…”

“My house, my rules,” he said with far too much cheer. “And rule number one is that you get up now.”

“I hate you so much.”

“Yeah, well…” The smile faded a bit from his lips, and he sighed. “You’re going to love me, in a minute. I got a call earlier…friend’s coming soon, and he’s going to be staying the night. I know how much you hate waking up and finding my friends randomly in the house, so this is your warning.”

“Oh…” She was oddly touched by this, she thought. She still felt a little violated, torn from her warm and comfortable bed very much against her will, but that he’d thought of her at all was still kind of nice. “Um. Okay, cool. I’ll get dressed…”

“Or you can wear the sheet,” Tré said loftily, already sauntering out the door. “But rule number two in this house is that if you wear bed sheets as clothing, you’re not allowed to wear anything under them.”

“Perv.”

--

Tré’s friend arrived a little over an hour later, just as the pair had set themselves to preparing lunch in the kitchen. Humphrey alerted them to the guest’s arrival; before he’d been sitting patiently beside the island counter, waiting for scraps of food to “accidentally” find their way to the floor and then his mouth. Without any warning his ears perked up and he was up and running, sliding across the linoleum and out of the room with only his barks echoing back to them.

“Door’s unlocked!” Tré yelled, though he didn’t bother to leave his spot in front of the stove. “Just leave your stuff in the foyer!”

“Fuckin’ mutt!” was the only verbal response that managed to reach them. After another moment or two the barks faded and Humphrey ran back into the kitchen, tail wagging happily and a large rawhide bone clutched between his teeth. Tré laughed and gave the dog a pat on the head. The bone was still partially wrapped in plastic, and as the dog held it he gently tore the last of it away for him.

“I’m glad you finally figured out a way to keep Humphrey distracted enough to not jump all over you,” Tré sighed, making his voice loud enough to carry out of the room, “but do you really have to almost make him choke on plastic while you’re at it?”

“Fuckin’ mutt ate my shoe last time I was here,” was the breezy response. A moment later a short, glaring man in a crisp brown suit walked into the room. He swept a matching fedora off his head and ran his hands through a mass of rather shaggy dark hair in irritation. He tossed the hat to Tré, who caught it with ease. “If that didn’t kill him, I don’t think anything will.”

“Fair point,” Tré laughed, tossing the hat right back to him. “You’re just in time for food, by the way.”

“So I can see.” Without any more prompting, the man pulled a long-legged chair from the kitchen counter and sat down upon it, smiling brightly at his friend as he folded his hands together in front of him. It seemed to take him a moment to realize that Benny was even there, sitting right next to him. His glance slid sideways, eyes just as brown as his hair peering at her curiously from behind rectangle-shaped, frameless glasses. She didn’t really care for the expression that crossed his face when he took in her bright-colored hair, or her tattoos—one eyebrow rose up toward his hairline dangerously, and a smirk slid its way upon thin, slightly chapped lips.

“Why hello there…” His voice was distinctly foreign; English, she thought, though she’d never really had an ear for accents.

“Sibley…” Tré’s voice suddenly had a warning tone to it. When Benny looked to him in surprise, she saw that he had been trying to hide a glare from her; it melted from his features the moment he realized that she’d turned around, but the look he now had to offer to the other man was still somewhat stern.

It was a funny thing, though, she thought. Tré had never really given the impression to Benny that he could ever appear terribly threatening to anyone, but he was certainly giving it his best. Still, it was hard for him to even begin approaching it as he wore a frilly pink apron…his usually “cooking apron,” as she knew it, though she suspected that he wore it less for practicality and more because he looked rather funny in it. He was still cooking even as he spoke, flipping over the meat he was using to make them some philly cheesesteaks as it sizzled in its pan, and he then wielded his spatula threateningly.

“Be good,” he said to the man, and he smiled at Benny. “Benny, this is Sibley Scott. Sibley, Benny. She’s staying here for a while.”

“Nice to meet you, Benny,” Sibley said. His genuine smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s an interesting name, isn’t it?”

Benny didn’t answer. She had already decided that she probably wasn’t going to end up being very fond of this man.

“You didn’t tell me you had a houseguest, Tré,” Sibley said, sounding almost accusing as he turned back to the drummer. “If I would have known, I might’ve groomed a little more before coming over…haven’t shaved in days…”

“Dude, you’ve spent the last three days on planes and in airports,” Tré said, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure no one would fault you for looking like a hobo. Sibley’s a photographer,” he added to Benny, grinning at her from over his shoulder. “He’s been shooting overseas for a few projects, and just came back from…Russia, I think?”

“I was there too, but I came here from China.”

“Right. He’s just here for the night, until his flight in the morning. Anyway, he does a lot of work with bands…it’s how we met him, anyway. God, like…ten years ago. Shit, I’m getting old.”

“Oh yes…” Sibley drummed his fingertips along the finished granite surface of the countertop, winking once at a very uncomfortable Benny. “The good old days. Your wife gave me a concussion and Dirnt drove me to the hospital. A great start to any friendship, I’d wager.”

“Yeah, well…” Tré had suddenly taken on a slightly more reserved tone. He kept his back to the other two, but it wasn’t beyond Benny to notice that his shoulders were hunched, his head bowed slightly. “You probably had it coming.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

Yes, there it was. Benny definitely didn’t like this man. It was strange, she thought, that he could really do nothing that directly insulted her and yet still have the ability to make her kind of hate him. It was Tré that really drove it into her. Something about his reactions to each word that Sibley said made goosebumps pop up along Benny’s arms, and she shivered. Tré had used the word “friend” to describe Sibley before, but now Benny was beginning to wonder…

She didn’t stick around for very long after that. Tré graciously offered her the first cheesesteak, and she scarfed it down before all but bolting out of the room. She gave no real reason for her sudden disappearance, other than a string of small mumbles about her guitar and that she would see them later.

“Yeah, she does that,” said Tré idly, sliding a plate across the counter to a curious-looking Sibley Scott. “You get used to it.”

“Teenagers, eh?”

The drummer cast a look that was part warning, part mild exasperation, but Sibley was not deterred. “What? You’re either kipping with her or you’re trying t’get with the mom. Either way, I’m assuming she’s at least eighteen. I know you’re not stupid.”

“I don’t even know her mother,” Tré mumbled into his dinner, not meeting Sibley’s eyes.

“Ah. So it is her. Good for you, I suppose. She’s a bit, you know, lacking—” He gestured to his chest, winking suggestively, “—but not bad. Didn’t peg you for the gold-digger type, though.”

“Jesus, Sibley,” Tré groaned. “Can’t you be here for more than ten minutes without being all…you know…”

“Me?”

“Exactly,” he sighed. “Benny’s not a gold-digger, anyway. Just a friend that’s staying here a little while.”

“How long is a ‘while?’”

“Open-ended invitation.” Tré shrugged. Secretly, he was still surprised when he awoke every morning and found that she still existed inside of his house. He kept waiting for the day that he would discover her suddenly missing, her car gone from the garage. That it hadn’t happened yet was nothing short of astounding, he thought.

“I see…” Sibley rested an elbow upon the counter, the fingertips of his other hand tapping against the granite contemplatively. “So…she’s available?”

“Sibley, don’t start.”

“I’m just asking. You don’t have a claim on her, do you? Dibs?”

“You can’t have dibs on a person. She’s an adult, she makes her own choices. It’s not…oh, fuck,” Tré groaned, the telling smile on Sibley’s lips alerting him to the trap. “Sibley, please. The last thing she needs is you creeping on her, okay?”

“But you’re not forbidding me, are you?” he wheedled. “After all, she’s an adult, she makes her own choices, right?”

“You’re such a whore.”

To Sibley’s credit, he didn’t protest against the word. He instead let his eyes slide across the room, and to the doorway that the girl had so recently exited through. Tré felt helpless. He should have told Sibley that Benny was off-limits, but the words were proving difficult to form since he didn’t really believe it. It was just sex. She’d made that clear to him time and time again, and he had to doubt she’d see much of a difference in things depending on who the other person was. Sex was just a fun means of distraction to her, and though he didn’t think of her as any sort of slut, if it was so easily presented to her during a time that she truly needed that distraction…

It was with a sort of sinking feeling that Tré suddenly realized how unimportant he really was to Benny. He truly believed that he was her friend, and she had shown time and time again how grateful she was for his hospitality, but beyond that what was there? An occasional fuck and a lot of free food?

He sighed. “Just eat your damn sandwich and put your stuff in one of the guest rooms, all right?”

--

It seemed to Tré that the day just couldn’t pass by quickly enough. He had found himself looking forward to Sibley’s arrival before, perhaps subconsciously a little desperate for some more male interaction going on in his house for once, but now it was only with minimal guilt that he just wished it was already the next morning and that the other man was gone.

It was like a game, almost. Keep Sibley Away from Benny. Benny, on her part, was a willing participant. She seemed to have decided that she’d rather not have much to do with the British man, but she did tolerate him, probably mostly for Tré’s sake. She was civil at least, which was honestly a little more than Tré had expected of her. Sibley was an active participant, as well, even if his attempts to woo the girl went completely over her head. Tré knew his tricks, and it was almost amusing to watch him pull out his cameras and show her the new lens for this one, and the “absolutely fantastic!” shot he’d managed to get with that one. She was interested but her attention span was, as always, rather short-lived.

Early on in the evening Mike and Billie Joe showed up, the former with his wife in tow. It was Man Time, Benny soon found out, and she was only too willing to retreat into the kitchen with Brittney. (It was something that disturbed her, though, the more she thought about it; the men becoming loud and riotous in the living room, and the women taking refuge in the kitchen of all places – she chose to chalk it up to the kitchen being another one of the more comfortable rooms in the house because of its padded bar stools, though, and that made her feel a little better.)

“You’re looking pretty good for a girl who drank her weight in rum last night,” Brittney laughed, at once becoming Benny’s personal hero when she produced a deck of cards from her purse and began to deal them across the kitchen table.

“Good hangover genes, I guess,” said Benny. “Or…I have a lot of practice from high school. Whichever.”

Brittney laughed; a pleasant sound that, while rather high-pitched, Benny thought suited her. Everything about this woman normally would have told her to stay away if she hadn’t known any better – young and bubbly, blonde…the kind of girl Benny had learned to at least be wary of in high school, but didn’t seem to mind as much right now. She was genuinely nice, Benny decided, and it was a refreshing change from the most of Tré’s friends, who probably meant well but mostly just creeped her out because they were always staring at her and treating her like she was far younger than she actually was.

“Um,” she said, clearly not awkward at all, “thanks for coming over, by the way. I guess it either would’ve been this, or just me hiding upstairs all night. Guy time, you know.”

“Oh, please—trust me, it’s just nice to get out of the house sometimes.” Brittney shrugged. “‘Free time’ doesn’t happen so much anymore, not since Brixton. When the grandparents offer to watch the house for a few hours, you learn to take them up on it pretty quickly, even if the alternative is just hanging out at your husband’s friend’s house.” She lowered her voice, rolling her eyes, “and even if it involves Sibley Scott.”

“Not a fan, huh?”

“I don’t hate him,” said Brittney hastily, dealing the last card and then swooping up her hand, “he’s just…you know…Sibley. I mean, I know he goes way back with Mike and everyone, but he’s got some definite boundary issues and he’s really good at creeping people out. He’s not my favorite person in the world, I guess.”

“Yeah. Mine either.” Benny fell silent again, and the man’s voice actually managed to reach them from the living room. They were re-living old tour stories, it sounded like. Benny was just barely able to make out the words “possum” and “dildo,” and it was a mark as to how accustomed Benny probably was to the strange in that nothing about that surprised her anymore. “What’s his deal, anyway? I feel like Tré just kinda…puts up with him.”

“Everyone has that friend that they don’t mind having around, but don’t really want to take the responsibility for…” Brittney said it easily enough, but then automatically seemed to regret it. “Ew. That was harsh. I guess…I dunno. He’s just kind of a horndog, and it makes Tré uncomfortable. That’s what Mike says, anyway. When Tré was married, Sibley was always all over his wife—either one. That’s mostly why he’s here, and not staying with me and Mike, or Billie and his family.”

“He doesn’t have a wife for Sibley to be creepy around. Got it.”

“But, I mean…” Brittney’s face was going a little red. Benny honestly would have been a little amused by it, if she didn’t feel herself becoming equally embarrassed. “You know. It’s not that…I don’t really know what you and him…are…or whatever, but I don’t think anyone thought…it’d be a problem. You know…”

“It’s cool.” Benny kept her eyes on the cards in front of her. She was suddenly aware that they were just playing a simple game of War, and that she had yet to even draw her first card. She did, and Brittney’s nine of spades beat her three of hearts. “I get it.”

The two played in silence for a small while. Humphrey, eventually tired of the loud voices from the other room, sauntered into the kitchen and took his place at Benny’s feet, beneath the table. The women dealt a few more hands, and that was apparently as long as Brittney could make it before she could no longer help herself.

“So, like…what are you two, anyway? I mean, I guess he told Mike you’re a houseguest, but you’ve been here for a couple of weeks now…and…I mean, Mike mentioned other things, but I don’t think it’s anything Tré told him, just stuff he might have assumed…”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” said Benny bluntly. “I’m just…here, I guess.”

“Oh.” Perhaps noticing how closed-off the girl suddenly was, Brittney chose to drop it. For a few seconds, anyway. “So…you’re not like, together? I’m sorry!” she added, noting Benny’s beet-red cheeks, “It’s just, you literally came out of nowhere, and he really likes you…it’s just kind of weird.”

“He really likes me?” Rather than seem particularly concerned about this, Benny just looked confused.

“Well…yeah. I mean, yeah, he pretty much likes everyone; he’s Tré, that comes with the territory along with the fauxhawk, but I kind of figure he wouldn’t let just anyone stay here as long as she wanted, just because. Plus, Mike says he likes you.” It was endearing, sort of, how willing Brittney was to accept the opinions of her husband as pure fact when it came to matters like that. Endearing, and a little irritating.

“I like Tré, too. A lot. He’s cool…wasn’t meant to be a pun, by the way. I dunno.” Benny shrugged one colorful shoulder awkwardly, brushing some of her hair away from her eyes. “He’s just being really nice to me right now.” She paused, and then decided to be daring: “Plus, the sex ain’t half-bad, either.”

If Brittney had been sipping at a drink right then, Benny thought she probably would have ended up spitting it out across the table. As it was, she actually seemed to choke on her own spit and then was reduced to a sharp, barking sort of laughter. Benny couldn’t help but grin. Was this what “girl talk” was like? She’d never actually had much of a reason to participate in such things before. It felt deliciously wicked, though probably a little ill-advised as well.

“Okay,” Brittney said, tossing down her cards; that ruse of the evening, no longer required now that they were getting down to it. “Spill.”

--

Tré had just begun to wonder what Benny and Brittney were up to when they made their appearance in the living room, all devious smirks and knowing giggles that instantly caused a sinking feeling to materialize in his stomach. They hadn’t even been alone together for more than twenty minutes, he surmised, what bonding had they actually managed to do in that time?

Quite a lot, he soon figured out. It took Brittney mere seconds to wheedle the car keys away from an only slightly hesitant Mike and then the two were gone like a shot, pulling their jackets on over their shoulders and slamming the front door behind them without hardly a “goodbye” between them to spare.

“I know I shouldn’t,” Tré said timidly, “but I have the worst feeling about those two being alone together and out among the general public.”

The longer they were gone together, the worse Tré felt about it—and the guiltier he felt about that. Were they talking about him? Benny had never struck him as the gossipy type, but he knew Brittney to be the sort of person that could bring out that quality in just about anyone. It was an unnerving talent of hers that he’d learned to be wary of.

He wasn’t ashamed of Benny, he didn’t think. If she wasn’t so against it, he liked to assume that he would feel almost proud to show her off to his friends, that cute—though admittedly young—redhead with the colorful tattoos and sharp tongue. He occasionally felt unnerved by her age, true, but sometimes wondered if he still would if she would just stop acting so weird about everything. She was the one who bowed her head and didn’t meet the eyes of his friends, and she was the one who bit at her nails and mumbled quietly about how there was no real “relationship” between them—like the idea was completely ridiculous. She liked him, he knew that, but though it might have been unintentional she did tend to treat what they were doing like it was something to be ashamed of. Because she felt that way, sometimes he felt that it also rubbed off on him. And Brittney told Mike everything…if there was some element of shame in what was going on between him and Benny, he wondered if that would leak into any conversation between the two women.

It was too much to think about right now, when he was around friends and just trying to have fun. A few more beers and he began to loosen up a bit, but he still worried. If he seemed at all closed off to anyone else, they at least did him the favor of not saying anything about it.

As they always did, the night did eventually come to a close. Billie and Mike left together, Brittney still being gone with the latter’s car, leaving Sibley alone with the drummer in the spacious living room (not counting the dog, who was asleep in front of the television anyway).

“S’pose I should go to bed,” Sibley surmised, eyes downcast on the solitary bottle he grasped loosely in one hand. “Need t’be up early, catch that flight to Chicago.”

Tré nodded his approval of this plan, but Sibley made no sign that he was actually planning on following through with it. The pair watched the television in silence, each pretending to be completely fascinated with the Colbert Report, a late night re-run of its earlier showing. They were waiting.

There came that sinking feeling in the pits of Tré’s stomach again. He fiddled around with his own beer bottle, then temporarily excusing himself so he could grab another from the fridge. When he came back, he was almost relieved to see that Benny still hadn’t come back in that small amount of time. He wanted to be there when she did, more than anything in the world.

“So,” Tré said finally, clearing his throat and then taking another swig of his drink before he allowed himself to continue, “what are you working on, after you finish up with this project?”

Sibley shrugged, not taking his eyes away from the television screen. “Oh, a few odds and ends, I suppose. Fun thing about being relatively freelance; I don’t always have to prepare so far ahead, sometimes.”

“Any bands book shoots with you that I’d know?”

“A couple. No Man’s Land? Weird four-piece band from Cleveland.”

“Heard of ‘em. Only met a couple, though,” said Tré, straining his memory. “I think I was really drunk once, and actually tried to buy their guitarist...”

“Yeah, that’s what he said. Can’t blame you, he tends to be adorable in a very…homeless-looking kind of way. Anyway, I might have something with them in a few weeks. I like shooting them, they don’t give me as much sass as some others.” He paused. “Well, they do, but they don’t really mean it like some others do.”

“Not like you don’t deserve it, most of the time.”

“Fair point, that.”

They sat in silence for a small while longer—until the nerve had built up enough within Tré for it to finally come blurting out: “Sibley—”

“Oh, here it comes.”

“—don’t…sleep with Benny, okay? I know it’s not exactly in your nature to…you know, not go after every female that crosses your path—”

“I resent that stereotype, since I routinely harass the menfolk just as much.”

“—but I’d really like this as a-a favor, okay? Besides, it’s the last thing she needs right now.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. She looks like she needs to loosen up, anyway.”

“Sibley.” Tré groaned, suddenly wishing that he had something stronger than a Budweiser in his hand. “I’m serious. Please don’t fuck her.”

“What happened to ‘She’s an adult and she can make her own decisions?’” asked Sibley defensively. “You’re no couple—you said yourself she’s just a ‘friend,’ so I really don’t think you can just forbid me from her.”

“I’m asking you this as a friend, Sibley. Please, please don’t fuck her. Or creep on her. Or…do anything to her.”

This finally seemed to get through to Sibley. He winced, perhaps for once feeling a little bit of guilt at being called out on his whorish ways. “You always try to pull the friend card,” he said darkly. He shook his head, finishing off his beer. He wasn’t nearly as tipsy as Tré was, having been a little more cautious with the number of bottles he’d downed earlier on in the evening, but Tré could still recognize the smallest of slurs in his otherwise sharp and clipped tone. Possibly, Tré thought, there wasn’t much use in trying to reason with the other man anymore. He was stubborn enough when he was sober, but notoriously pigheaded when at all intoxicated.

“Just friends with her, right,” Sibley eventually sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “That’s a load of bollocks.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you about this. It’s just…she has enough shit going on right now. She doesn’t need this. That’s all. Case closed.”

“Why don’t you let her make that decision?” asked Sibley shrewdly. “I don’t know, something about her kind of screams that she might be the to-the-heart feminist type that doesn’t like men making decisions for her…women her age are such clichés…who are you to hold her back?”

“I fucking hate you sometimes,” Tré sighed into the neck of his beer bottle. “Fucking ingrate.”

There were probably a few more names that Tré might have liked to vocalize, but he wasn’t given the chance. They both fell silent again as the room was suddenly alight in the few slitted bars of bright light seeping in through the far window, a sign that a car had just pulled around in the driveway. The light disappeared, and it wasn’t long before Humphrey was awake and scrambling to his feet, barking and skittering across the linoleum tiles of the foyer to greet the opening front door.

“Sshhh!” A very loud hush met Humphrey’s barks, punctured by a small giggle. “You’re so loud, Humphrey!”

“Jesus, Benny,” Tré groaned, getting to his feet and meeting her halfway. Sibley stayed seated, simply watching on in what seemed to be slight amusement. “You’re the only girl I know that would wake up that hungover in the morning, and then go out drinking in the same night.”

“Nothin’ cures a hangover like another one,” the girl said cheerily, dangerously swaying into the living room and casting a cheeky grin upon both of the men. She stooped down low to better pay attention to the excited dog, but her eyes didn’t leave Tré’s disapproving expression. “Brittney took me out and showed me some cool local spots. You have way better bars around here than that Spoons place—and dance floors! I haven’t danced in forever. I suck at it,” she laughed, “but it was fun. We should go sometime. She told me you’re awesome at the cabbage patch.”

“One—yes, I am. Two…jeez, go to bed, you drunk.”

“Pssht. Whatever. I was going, anyway.” She made a face, accompanied by the defiant gesture of her middle finger waving around in the air above her.

“Want some company?” Sibley challenged from the couch.

“Sure!” Benny laughed. Again, a feeling that Tré was quickly becoming accustomed to, he felt his heart give a small jump and then sink dejectedly. He wondered if she knew how easy it was to make him feel like absolute shit. But then—she turned her smile on the dog, instead. “C’mon, Humphrey. You can hang out and keep me company till I fall asleep.”

She clapped her hands together as she slowly backed out of the room. The dog hesitated, casting a glance to his master as though to ask permission, but then seemed to decide that he didn’t really need it after all; he happily ran after the girl as she started her awkward stumble up the stairway.

“Not exactly what I meant,” said Sibley sullenly, “but whatever…”

“She chose the dog over you,” said Tré, suppressing the urge to punch his fist into the air and proclaim his victory. “Nice.”

“Hmph. We’ll see about that.” And he was up in a flash, passing by Tré nearly before the other man even realized that he’d moved. “See you in the morning, Cool.”

“Sibley!” Tré followed after him furiously, fighting to keep his voice just barely above a loud whisper. “I swear to god, if you try anything—”

But there was no use in it. Sibley was rather fast on his feet despite his tipsiness, his wiry frame disappearing up the stairway and dodging down the corridor before Tré could even properly make his threat. There was no way to go after him without causing a noticeable scene, he didn’t think. A part of him knew that Sibley was right, anyway…Benny was an adult, she could make her own decisions, and she certainly wasn’t drunk enough that Sibley could take advantage of it, anyway.

Tré had never felt quite so helpless as he did now, and he had no idea what he could possibly do to change that.

--

Tré waited, instead. Waited to hear a scuffle upstairs that he had to break up, waited for one of them to come downstairs, either dejected or irritated, waited for Humphrey to come down the steps and join him, even. Nothing happened. Everything in the house was still, but for the remote in Tré’s hand and the ever-changing channels on the television screen.

He fell asleep that way, waking up in the morning only because of a sudden weight being dumped upon his stomach. He exhaled quickly, a hearty “oof!” rousing him back to consciousness, and was greeted first to a pair of watery brown eyes looking down at him in excitement and a large pink tongue licking at every inch of his face that it could possibly reach.

“Humphrey, down,” Tré groaned, grabbing the dog gently by his collar and forcing him from the couch.

The dog began to whine pitifully, resting his chin upon the edge of the cushion and looking up at his master with a sorrowful sort of gaze. ‘Why don’t you love me?’ he seemed to be asking, and Tré groaned again.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m up, I’m up…” He pushed himself off the couch and let the mutt out the side patio door. It must be nice to be a dog, Tré thought. The minute that Humphrey was allowed out into the morning sunshine it was as though he didn’t even know what misery was; like he existed for the sole purpose of tearing up the bright green grass and chasing after the squirrels and occasional bird. A nice existence, Tré thought, albeit a sort of mindless one. He left the door open just enough to allow the dog admittance into the house again, and stalked his way to the kitchen slowly.

It was a surprise to him, finding Benny already there and hunched over the kitchen counter, apparently at least trying to enjoy a bowl of cereal. He crept around her cautiously, prepared to duck down behind the other side of the counter if she showed any signs of irritation—though he didn’t exactly know Benny inside and out, he at least was well-aware that a hung-over Benny was usually an angry Benny.

“…Tré, what are you doing?” Her voice was a little low, gravelly, but otherwise more confused than it was irritated. He didn’t answer her at first, instead creeping his way to the dish drainer next to the sink and grabbing one of the few dishes left there overnight—a colander. Slowly, cautiously, he placed the silver dome over the top of his head and then spun around to face the girl, expression suggesting great wariness.

“I’m not doing anything.” He stared at her for a few seconds, blue eyes wide and alert, and then began his slow walk to the fridge.

“Quit being weird.” This time, she was definitely aggravated. Not having even reached the fridge yet, the man yelped and dove to the tiled flooring and out of sight.

“Tré!”

“What?” He was on his feet again in an instead, now holding a spatula rigidly in front of his chest as though prepared to strike with it. A blank gaze met his fearful eyes. She sighed and shook her head.

“Weirdo.”

“How hung-over are you?” He honestly hadn’t meant for it to come out as such an accusation, but she didn’t seem to take it as one anyway.

“I’ve had better days.” She cocked an eyebrow, dropping her spoon into her half-empty bowl. A dew droplets of milk splashed from within and landed on the shiny countertop, and the hemline of her long sleeve. He winced, and then when he realized she was still staring at him quickly pretended as though he hadn’t even noticed the sudden mess. “Um. Is that what the…armor…is for?”

“I never underestimate the mood of a female who might be under the weather, it has to be said.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Though she didn’t seem particularly convinced that this was the cause behind his weirdness, she seemed to decide that it would be better just to drop it. “Can you get me the milk while you’re in there?”

“Sure.” He handed it off to her, and made quick work of preparing his own bowl (only grumbling and glaring once when he discovered that she’d eaten the last of the Coco Puffs, therefore forcing him to settle for Fruity Pebbles). “So,” he said once he was settled next to her at the counter, “where’s Sibley at?”

“I dunno. Airport, I’d assume. He left a couple of hours ago.”

“Nice of him to wake me and say goodbye.”

“He said something about not wanting to get beat up.”

“Ah.”

She nodded, grinning at him through a mass of knotted hair that had escaped the ponytail she’d twisted together at the back of her head. He loved it when she did her hair like that; no hair bands necessary, as she usually just pulled everything together and then wound a single dread around the base to keep it there. The very tips of the longest dreads were pulled back and looped through the knot, then pulled upward, so that a small number of them stuck up like the spikes upon a dinosaur’s back and arced back down to her shoulder blades. It was so delightfully messy, yet completely contained, and it put emphasis on her thin neck and delicate collarbone.

“He’s kinda creepy, you know,” she said matter-of-factly, jutting her spoon toward Tré and nodding.

“You don’t say.”

“Yeah. He was, like…all over me last night. It was weird.”

“Yeah, well. He does that.” Tré forced his eyes to concentrate on the colorful contents of his cereal bowl. “He was a lil’ tipsy, too, and that never helps. Do I have to beat him up for you or something? I was thinking I’d probably end up doing it next time I see him, anyway; I can just do it in your name instead.”

“Nah.” And those next words, that almost sent him soaring: “I can take care of myself. I had to hit him to make him go back to his own room, though. And then he called me a ‘tease,’ which just made me hit him again…then he called me a few other names, but those were probably deserved because seriously, who wants to be nice to some chick who keeps hitting you, you know?”

“Wow. Sounds like you had an interesting night. Still, I can totally beat him up for you, if you want.”

“Hah.” She chuckled and shook her head, her loose dreads swinging about her pencil-thin neck almost haphazardly. “Nah. He chilled out, after that. We actually ended up playing poker in the hallway for a while.”

“You played poker with just two people?”

“Humphrey was our third.” She paused, suddenly appearing rather disturbed. “Man. I was drunk…”

Tré’s morning had just becoming so much more enjoyable, it seemed. He finished his cereal with cheer, gulping down the Fruity Pebbles and making quite a show of slurping the rest of his milk despite Benny’s disgusted look. (He, at least, didn’t spill anything on the countertop.) “Here,” she told him as he slid away from his barstool, bowl and spoon in hand, “take mine too, if you’re on your way to the sink.”

“Yeth mistwess,” was Tré’s raspy growl. He snatched the bowl from her with a claw-like hand, and slumped his way to the sink; dragging one foot behind him as the other pulled him along in a ragged limp.

“I can’t take you seriously when you’re wearing a colander on your head, you know,” she sighed. He laughed as he walked back around the counter, adjusting the dome so that his eyes weren’t so covered.

“Yeah, well…” He swept up behind her and pulled her into a tight one-armed hug—a surprise enough for the already naturally jumpy girl, but with an added gesture of affection when he allowed himself to kiss the top of her head sloppily before letting her go. He was already out of the kitchen and walking down the hall toward his bedroom before she had even realized what had happened, but his voice carried back to her as she sat stunned on her barstool: “I doubt you ever take me seriously any other time, anyway, so I’m not really worried about it.”