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I'm acquainted with your suffering
And all your weight
It falls on me.
It brings me down.


Benji couldn't help but bristle a bit at Will's touch; He didn't generally respond well to physical contact, unless it was initiated by him. People like Will got away with it more often than others, but Benji was bordering on insane this particular morning. He really didn't like being pushed.

"Then go ******** see it," he hissed, grabbing Will by the front of the shirt and throwing him toward the stairs. It wasn't a particularly violent move, but it had enough force behind it to make the other boy stumble.

"Ben!" Keith cried under his breath, frowning defiantly when Benji turned his furious gaze to him. "Get a grip, man," he said, shoving Benji against the wall and, stepping around Will, starting up the stairs.

Benji was furious. Humiliated, defied, and too god damn tired to deal with any of this. His temper was naturally short, and his tolerance for insubordination was nil, but when he was hung over, his tantrums were infamous. At the moment, his internal angst over the situation was paramount, mostly attributed to his confusion, and lack of control over his surroundings. He was forced to be respectful to those around him (as his life hung in the balance), something he was not used to, and he felt sick as hell and stupid in that early-morning, dried-up-brain-capillaries kind of way. He knew he was more of an adult than this, but his immense, unspoken terror and his all-around physical illness was terrorizing his maturity.

And if he was going to be honest, he just didn't want any ******** proof that everybody really was dead. That he could be dead soon. That everything he'd spent his entire life working toward, or working to get away from, didn't matter anymore. He didn't need any proof that he really was as insignificant and unimportant as he'd always philosophically suspected. Not this early in the morning.