A/N: some nsfw content, lol.

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-Bennett-

The weekend was a blur.

And though there was not much to recall, I still held onto hazy glimpses of it. Of carelessly tossing my phone into the nightstand drawer before crawling into bed, releasing a sigh of relief once I was finally back in the quiet comfort of my room. Of groaning out in utter exhaustion once my body could finally relax against the mattress, only for it to refuse rest. To outright reject it.

Of lying there, waiting for a solace that wouldn't come.

It was a specific kind of frustrating reprieve, to be able to shut my eyes and melt against the bed... only to evade sleep. I let my sore limbs go limp, unable to help the frustrated whine that left my chapped lips as I shifted about, all in a futile attempt to go numb. I didn't feel numb. I felt everything, my mind racing in remonstration.

I wanted to sob, though the feelings were merely simmering in response, my fingers slipping through them like sand. There wasn't enough anguish to cling onto. All I could do was ache.

I buried my face against the pillow, unable to shake off the unbearable restlessness. I felt the warmth of the fabric, rubbing my face against it while digging down... burrowing until I could hardly breath. Trying to suffocate the very thoughts as they flickered through my mind. But nothing.

I angrily wiped at the corners of my eyes while turning once again, feeling the dampness against the back of my shaky hands while shifting against the cold sheets. I was so far past the point of tiredness that all I could do was stare up at the ceiling, forced to contemplate every decision that my mind could conjure up in a childish bout of dissent.

"Maybe if I..." I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes.

I tried to coax my cock to hardness, languidly palming myself in a desperate search for the slightest glint of relief. Though, I initially found myself dozing off, my hands too tired to stroke in any form of efficient rhythm... my mind too busy to think of anything pleasing.

It wasn't until my traitorous mind chipped in, that I found myself invested. I grumbled in frustration, guiltily conjuring any memories of Mason I could get my greedy hands on. From the delectable shift of muscles and thick, hairy thighs, to how it might feel to be roughly held down, strapping arms manhandling me down against my bed... pushing my face down to muffle my moans.

I could almost hear his deep, rough voice against my ear, coaxing me to grip my cock a bit tighter. To be good.

I whined at the thought, turning and grinding down against the softness of the mattress, helplessly thrusting against it before realizing it wasn't enough. I gasped under my breath while wrapping my hand around my hard on once more, biting down on my mouth while chasing that searing, white flash of release.

I fucked into my hand with no sense of shame, whimpering until I felt raw and uncomfortable, adjusting my grip so that I could continue... irritated that I couldn't find release. I gasped while turning onto my back once more, biting down on my arm to muffle a moan, my eyes rolling back into my skull.

I finally came into my hands, gasping out for air before shakily wiping it over a pair of boxers that I'd lazily tossed beside my nightstand a few days ago. I wiped it all away just as the remorse creeped back up, drowsily basking in the ephemeral satisfaction of a shallow abeyance.

A truce, perhaps. But nothing resolute.

The only sign that I was sleeping at all was the fact that I'd wake up every so often, glaring about before closing my eyes once more. It was a fine line between consciousness and restless dormancy, neither one any less exhausting.

It was hell, but it was the kind of disquietude that I could begrudgingly withstand. I never wanted to leave that space, almost relishing in how long I could hold out before the urge to scream turned into something darker.

And so, I didn't leave.

Well, not for very long, anyways. I could recall waking up sporadically, only to drag myself to the bathroom and then straight back to bed. It was tedious and monotone, but it was also as much as I was willing to do... the absolute minimum.

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From what I could vaguely remember, my door was knocked on thrice. The first was when the afternoon sun was still peeking through, halfway through Saturday. It was soft and worried, incessant though composed. I grumbled out a complaint, and then another, relieved when it quieted down.

Next time I dragged myself to the restroom, I left my door unlocked... I hesitated to do so, yet it felt like the best option, all in all. If my father had been at the door, those hinges wouldn't have remained intact.

The second knocking was brief, almost accidental, and it was followed by the harsh, abrupt sound of a door being flung open. I peered up to meet a pair of conflicted, judgmental eyes. It was almost expected, though my own eyes were struggling to adjust to the light pouring in from the open door. There was a wrathful desire to argue present there, in his very stance, but I couldn't even bother to humor it.

I glared back, despite myself... my eyelids heavy.

There were words exchanged, though my mind couldn't quite settle on any of them. I recall complaining about not feeling well, only to be silenced by a brutish yell. I forced myself to stay awake for most of it, squinting up towards the voice as it screamed about me being a lazy fuck. I groaned weakly as rough arms wrapped around my arm, forcing me out of bed before another had to reach out to steady me.

I blinked up at my father, dazedly scowling before he suddenly let go. There was more yelling, though it wasn't quite as easy to make out. I fought to stay awake until he finally conceded, likely realizing he was speaking to an empty shell.

And then the door was slammed shut once again, leaving behind a bittersweet silence. I might've been surprised if I had processed it in that moment.

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The third time that I woke up to knocking, I felt rather disoriented. It was the middle of the night, and I could no longer make out what day it was. I cursed under my breath at the sound, peering up at the door in displeasure. Still, I pushed down those ugly feelings, recognizing the soft knocks for what they were.

"Bennett," my mom greeted once I finally made it to the door, huffing in disbelief while pushing past me into the warm, stuffy room.

I yawned while closing the door, trailing after her as she settled a plate of food down in the desk, setting it right over the ring of chipped paint in the corner.

"You need to eat."

I nodded my head in agreement, forcing a small smile before settling down on the chair. I couldn't force any words out, though she didn't seem to be expecting them either. I wondered if she'd just come back from work, or if she'd been downstairs, contemplating whether to try knocking again. I was grateful regardless, leaning against her shoulder and releasing a shaky sigh.

"Do you have any homework?" she asked, fussing over me while stroking the hair out of my sweaty face. "It's Monday tomorrow, y'know?"

Lying, I shook my head.

"Are you still feeling sick?"

I shook my head once more, lethargic as I felt. I couldn't miss class, let alone work. Though if the dimness of the room was anything to go by, I still had some hours left to piece myself back together.

"I was worried," she continued, sighing under her breath. "You don't usually stay cooped up like this."

I ignored the pang of guilt I felt in my chest, weakly shrugging in response. There was not much to say that she didn't understand already. I rubbed at my eyes in an attempt to stay awake, wearily glancing down at the aguadito. I followed the wisp of steam as it rose into the air and dissipated, feigning interest while reaching for the spoon.

"Thank you," I breathed out.

"Hmm?"

I stared at the pieces of chicken, picking one out and eating it after a few moments of contemplation, huddling closer to the desk while leaning against it to sleepily rest my chin on my hand, struggling to stay awake. "Thank you," I repeated, before consuming another spoonful.

"Is it good?"

I nodded my head. It was.

"What time is it?" I murmured after finishing half the bowl, glancing towards the clock above my desk, realizing it was almost two am.

Had my mom waited until he'd gone to bed to bring me food? I sighed while glancing down at the soup, wary of what he might do if he realized she'd brought me food up again. I tried to hurry and finish, for her sake.

It wasn't until she had finally left my room, empty bowl in hand, that I remembered my phone. I gazed at the nightstand, furrowing my eyebrows in faltering bemusement. Aside from contacting Eve, I couldn't think of a single reason why I might need to bother turning it on yet.

Thought, that was until I remembered Friday night.

I grew nervously still at the realizing, nearly buzzing from within. My hands instinctively reached into my short's pockets for the small piece of paper that Mason had handed me that night, my heart hammering harshly against my chest when I felt nothing there.

"Fuck," I hissed before recalling what else I'd worn.

My jacket. It had to be in there.

I jolted when I realized said jacket was conveniently hung over the back of my chair, almost reconsidering whether to search for it, lest I truly realize I'd managed to lose it. Mustering up the bits of courage I still ha left, I dug into the pockets with shaky hands, gasping when I found the crumpled piece of paper safely tucked within the left pocket.

I smoothed it over on the desk, counting the digits once, twice, thrice... skittish just thinking about what to do now that I could do something about the number. I furrowed my eyebrows, cringing at the needy urge that forcefully took hold: I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to hear his voice.

It felt so stupid, but part of me wondered if he'd pick up.

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A/N: Thank you for reading.