The easy silence continued as Matt drove them back to his rented flat on the other side of town. Ben was content to stare out the window at the trees and pastures that became cobblestone streets teeming with buildings and people. Thank Christ I'm here, he thought, risking a glance in Matt's direction. He was rewarded with a wide, dimpled smile. Thank Christ I'm here. It took a bit of maneuvering to park -- and even more gymnastics for Ben to unfold his lanky, tall body from the car. His knees had practically touched his chin the entire time. "What?" he asked, catching Matt's chuckle. "Nothin', man. Just look like one of those clowns, y'know. That climb out of those tiny cars." "Very funny." But Ben smiled anyway. Was impossible not to smile when Matt smiled. "C'mon." Matt hefted Ben's overnight bag easily across his shoulder. "I'll buy you a Coke." "Your generosity, as ever, continues to amaze and delight me." "Hey, I didn't have to pick you up at the airport." Matt shut the front door behind them and set the bag on the floor. "But, I figured you'd just whine if I left your bony ass there." "I do not whine," Ben stated, stretching each hand out as far as they could go. He could almost touch the walls. "And I don't have a bony ass." "Your ass, my friend, is bonier than Calista Flockhart's," Matt replied, disappearing down the hallway. Ben followed and found himself in a very tiny, very neat kitchen. Matt was already seated at the small wooden table with two bottles of Coke. When Ben sat and picked one up, his fingers smeared cool condensation across the glass. "So." "Yeah." Ben shrugged, peered at Matt through partially lowered lashes. "So." "How long've I got you?" "Two weeks. Maybe a bit longer." Matt nodded and raked a hand across bristly, short hair. "Maybe we should just give this up, man." "I knew you were gonna say that." Ben pushed the bottle to the side -- wasn't really thirsty, anyway. He tapped a finger on the table. "We've talked about this. I'm not sharing you with the goddamn world." "You'd rather whore yourself out to the press?" "Fuck you." Matt leaned forward, so close Ben could count the flecks of green in his eyes. "This isn't healthy. What we're doing isn't healthy. At this point, I don't care who knows. Half the world already thinks we're a couple, anyway." Ben sighed and picked his bottle back up. He studied the dark liquid for a minute before speaking. "When I checked myself into rehab, it was the single hardest phone call I ever made." "Ben, you don't --" "Just let me finish, alright?" Matt nodded and slumped back in his chair. His eyes never left Ben's. "Alright." "I almost didn't do it." Ben swallowed a small mouthful of Coke, savoring the sweet/bitter bite on his tongue. Not what he truly craved, but he'd learned to live with what he could have. "Almost said, fuck it, I can do it without help. If I do this, press'll be all over me, I'll never live it down, it'll follow me the rest of my life. That I wasn't strong enough. But, you know what?" "No," Matt said, softly. "What?" Ben reached out and snagged Matt's hand, turning it palm up so he could slide rough, calloused fingers across a familiar, golden-hued palm. He could trace every line by memory -- knew every scar, every freckle. "I'd rather give them that. Give them every detail about the humiliation of going through rehab, of every supposed failed relationship, every movie that flops and becomes fodder for late night talk show hosts. I will give them everything. But you and me -- we're sacred, man." "Alright." Matt curled his fingers around Ben's. "You and me." Ben smiled -- his first real smile since landing. "This mean you'll let me have some rum to go with my Coke?" Matt grinned in response. "How about no. But I'll make it up to you." "Sounds like the best thing you've said since I got here."
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