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Regular guy dines with, then comforts Eva Green.
Just crossing the street can kill you."
"That's right, it can," Benny responded calmly after a few seconds. He was rather pleased by how normal his voice had sounded. After all, people said stuff like that all the time.
"Ben? What is it?"
Matt had twisted around to look at him, and Benny saw the concern in his eyes, but didn't understand it.
"What do you mean? Nothing." He tried to smile. "Everything's fine."
"Are you sure? You look..." Matt shrugged one shoulder, as if unable to find the right word to describe how Benny looked.
"I'm fine," Benny repeated.
He hadn't realized he was rubbing his chest until Matt's fingers touched his knuckles lightly.
"Are you in pain?"
Benny shook his hand off, and stood up. "I said I'm fine," he snapped. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and looked around, as if he could find the excuse he needed to stop the movie and get Matt to leave hiding somewhere in the room.
He didn't have to think very long. Matt reached for the remote control himself, then stood up and came to stand in front of Benny. Hands in pockets, he mirrored Benny's stance, only his shoulders were relaxed and not hunched up around his ears, like Benny's.
"Ben, how did your partner die?"
"Listen, I think it's time y-"
Benny sighed. "Crossing the street," he said, his lips stretching into a grin that he somehow couldn't suppress, even though nothing struck him as even remotely funny. He gave a short laugh. "Crossing the fucking street."
Matt sucked in his breath.
"Jesus, Ben, I'm sorry. I had no idea. I wouldn't have-"
"Why do you call me Ben? Nobody calls me that," Benny interrupted tiredly, turning away from Matt.
They'd finished the bottle of wine, and opening another one suddenly seemed like a great idea. He wandered into the kitchen and pulled a bottle out of the rack, then decided that taking the cork out was too much damn work, so he opened the fridge and got himself a beer instead. He popped the tin open and drank deeply.
"I guess I thought only the people who knew you when you were a kid called you Benny. And Carrie, because of Roger." Matt had followed him into the kitchen and was leaning against the door frame, hands still in his pockets.
Benny propped a hip against the counter. "You're right. The rest call me Benjamin." Why was he even having this fucking inane discussion? "Would you like a beer?"
"No, thanks. I probably should get going."
They stared at each other across the kitchen, and Benny felt a slight stirring, a faint echo of how he'd felt before, when he'd been lying on the couch and touching Matt's hair, but mostly he just felt exhausted, like he had when he'd been fresh from the hospital.
"It's late," he agreed.
He walked Matt to the door and waited while he put on his jacket and wound a brightly colored scarf that clashed with his hair around his neck, then opened the door to let him out. Matt hesitated, then turned to face Benny and covered Benny's hand on the door handle with one of his own.
"I'm sorry about what I said. It was thoughtless."
Benny shrugged. "It's alright. You couldn't have known," he assured Matt woodenly.
Matt's breast rose and fell in a soundless sigh. He leaned over and kissed Benny lightly on the lips. "Goodnight, Benjamin," he murmured, then kissed him again and walked out.
Benny watched him until the elevator dinged and its door slid open, but Matt only looked back once he was inside, and he gave Benny a small wave right before the door shut again.
"If the Jets blow this, I'm getting me to a nunnery," Roger proclaimed dramatically, rubbing the bill of his cap.
"Roger, will you please take that stupid cap off? And maybe, I don't know, burn it?"
"Hey, this cap got us to the AFC East playoffs twice in the last four years. Where are the snacks?"
Benny shook his head in exasperation. "Right in front of you."
"Carrot and celery sticks? And what the fuck is this? Plain popcorn? You're shitting me, right?"
"This is all healthy stuff.