Chapter Text
I gotta say, It’s been 7 crazy months for us. For Rigby and me. I honestly, for the life of me, questioned “How the hell did I even keep my sanity?” And then I remember always falling back to the same answer, “Oh yeah, by remembering that Rigby and I ,were a couple of nonchalant, curious, dumbasses that'll take anything we could get with the job.” Even if it meant getting out of Dumptown, helping out Benson’s cat spiral, MM and HFG relit their friendship, The Dome Experiment, Racing for Sleep, and then Party Horse. After all that, we take the peak of most of our problems at the one place that makes us feel better: Wing Kingdom.
Yep, that’s the one. With their oh-so awesome kinds of wings, drinks, but mostly their wing sauces. It gets pretty wild in there, though, whenever we bring Muscle Man around. He’d either cry out from the top of his lungs or munch down on a chicken-eating contest, with anyone who dares to challenge him. A few times, he’d be successful. Other times however….well…let’s just say we keep a trash can close at times now. Luckily, tonight wasn’t one of those nights. With something else being the main attraction now.
Benson. Our park boss. As it’s tonight's football game, MM and Fives are already making bets, and he’s the one giving the treats, due to tonight’s discount on wings. Most on his tab.
As I’m sitting across from him, I can’t help but enjoy times like this. Where we get to see him get loose and free to be. All in good spirits. In a way, he needs it. The crew and I always try to push for Benson to try to relax and just….let go of all today’s stress. Well, okay, it’ll mostly be weeks or months, but…
He really does deserve to have time for himself and have fun around those who care about him all. You know, for him to be happy. It’s hard not to see him like that.
But then again, when you’re dealing with Park anomalies and 2 idiotic employees who're probably giving you grey hair, even though you don’t even have any. Luckily, he does, but only when you can get a glimpse of it through his maroon, dyed short hair. It’s understandable sometimes why he’d tweak out. Though I kinda wish he’d tone it down or at least keep his word every time he threatens to fire us. Hmm, yeah, right. Like any formidable duo who can ‘hang’ with the chaotic energy that’d disperse when we’re around.
But then you have a side to him where he can… actually be a really, cool, good guy. I mean, yeah, he can be rough around the edges, harsh, unnecessarily pushy, OCD-ish, and loud to a fault. But when he’s there, he can be there.
Like carrying Rigby and me during the trust exercise, the help with his drums against a sentient tape, the Eggcellent challenge, picking up ungrateful kids, Going on a Hot Pepper High, getting the cart fixed, fighting for Best Boss, etc, etc.
Hmph. I guess the same question from earlier should be asked for him, but differently. “How the hell could one boss like that deal with those things”?, “How was he ever able to deal with us”? Hmm, I guess having grit, toughness, and unwavering patience. The kind that I’m actually grateful for, that hasn't gotten us fired yet.
Even more grateful when, during those early months, after my breakup with CJ, he’d….often at times started to check on me more. Ever since Dumptown. A few time would sit with me at the benches, hand me a soda, talk to me about his rough patches with love, or take me out for fishing, to clear my head. Well, both our heads. It surprised me at first why he suddenly cared so much about me being down in the dumps.
But over time, we’re actually, somewhat, getting along. Aside from Rigby being weirded out, as long as I'm still not in my depression phase, it’s nice that I'm back in the swing of things. Working more, being in the mood for gaming, enjoying more otherworldly adventures, still taking in Benson's usual bullshit.
Overall, his presence can sometimes ground me in a way.
Even more ways than one as the months passed by. Like, for instance, whenever it’s trash pickup, I’d see him jogging away, with a matching dark red T and compression shorts with black socks and running shoes. M.M of course would run along as well, looking like they’re racing.
Yet I could up but…admire the way his leg would move with such grace and…Aliveness. Even up to his backsi- I’d immediately turn away. Or you know that time when I was helping him with fixing underneath the cart. I couldn’t help but..noticed how amazing his abs look from his slightly raised up tank top exposing him. Despite how small he is, it’s impressive how toned he was under that shirt. Definitely thought there’d be a dad bod from all that wing eating.
But no. It was far from what I’d expected that, I almost dropped a big wrench on his leg, causing him to get started and yell out “Wha-what the HELL, MOREDACAI, WATCH HOW YOU HOLD THAT THING! I WILL NOT BE THE ONE TO SUFFER MR. MALLERARD’S LIABILITY CLAUSE. WE ALL KNOW HOW BULLSHIT IT IS”.
I took that into consideration and was careful next time. Only for it to happen again, but this time, no accidents. Just now and then, I’d started to take in more and more of his yells. Steal a few glances. The wiping of his head after a hard day's work. There’s just something about him that draws me to him. In someway.
Christ, what’s wrong with me? Get it together, Mordecai. You're only like this due to… pent-up tension and not some stupid, lingering, pining, confused crush on your boss. Yeah yeah. I’m into girls, I’m not gay, I’m not gay. I just really admire my older, pretty cool, good-looking boss, who can’t help but bitch at Rigby and me. Yeah. I need to focus on that. Do not think of the impossible. But is it really?
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A few hours, as the place started to die down, and the place was littered with discarded bones and empty pitchers. Skips had headed out an hour ago, then Muscle Man, Rigby, and High-Five Ghost had moved the party to an arcade down the street. Now, it was just me and…Benson, in a corner booth, the air smelling of all types of sauces and floor wax. Great
Benson slammed a hand on the sticky table, a goofy, wide-eyed grin on his face. His face was flushed a deep, beet-red, his tie loosened, and so was his out-of-place, burgundy shirt.
“I’m-I’m telling you, Mordecai,” Benson slurred, pointing a half-eaten wing at me. “Tonight? Good night. Best night ever. I didn’t even think about the golf carts, the grass, Mr. Mallerard’s shitty limo, once. Not once! Haha! You guys...you-you know, despite everything you both put me through, being a bunch of slackers, you’re my slackers.”
I leaned back, spinning a glass between my hands, a tired but genuine smirk on my face. “Yeah, yeah, don't get sentimental on us, Benson. You'll just double our chores tomorrow anyway.”
“I might!” Benson laughed, a loud, barking sound that echoed in the empty bar. “I might make-make you rake the whole forest! With forks”!
The laughter died down, and the silence of the bar settled in. Benson’s grin didn't just drop. It melted. He stared into his dark red-colored wings, his shoulders slumping. His boss's mask was gone. Now he’s just a tired man in a wrinkled dress shirt. At times like that, I’d wonder what’s eating at him?
"I…I uh… used to have a lot of friends, you know?" Benson whispered, his voice suddenly thin. "Before the Park. Before the *blech* gray hairs. Cuse me. Now, I just... I go home to an-an apartment that smells like microwave dinner, shattered dreams, and silence. I yel-yell at you guys because well… It’s not just that I expect better for you *blech* guys, but also if I don't, I th-think I'd just start screaming at the walls instead."
Which made me stunned, but I also felt empathetic. “Wow, Benson. I…didn’t think you’d be so down about it. Usually you’d just keep it to yourself”. “Well, I guess I feel comfortable enough with you to change that tonight”. He looks back at his 2 wings, leaving me with a whirl of thoughts. Why would he feel comfortable with me? I mean, yeah, I do listen and whatever when people talk, but…
I’d never thought I would see the day where Benson would rely on talking to me about sad stuff. It’d be nice to see this side of him, once and awhile. We sat there in silence for a bit, listening in absentmindedly with the T.V. Not really awkward. For once, it felt…comfortable. He then looked up at me, his eyes glassy. "Do you think I'm a jerk, Mordecai? Be honest. I'm just a guy in a suit, nearly grey hairs, who forgot how to be happy, right?"
I opened my mouth to speak. Something soft, something real, reaching a hand out toward Benson’s arm. "Hey, man, look... you're not a full-on jerk. You're just…Alone, understandably stressed out, and having a lot to deal with, man."
I don’t know what got over me, but I continued. “I’ll admit, after having to deal with a lot of our bullshit for…some years now, we all grown an appreciation for you”. Äp-preciation for me”? “Yeah. Even though there were times you’d let out your flaws. Like the foot-long burrito, eating both our sandwiches TWICE”, “Ugh, yeah..I-I’m sorry for that”. “Being a dick with Rigby’s coma, hiring an eye creeper, nearly got the park swallowed up, bowing out our ears”, “Oh damn it, that bad”?
Benson whined, putting his head in his hands. “Among other things, you can have your moments. But overall, you’re still a very awesome boss, Benson”. He then looks up at me, his eyes looking at me with surprised awe in them, as he scoots closer. “I a-am…”? “Yeah, you are. Well, you can be. When you’re not screaming “you’re FIRED”! every minute”.
We both laughed at that, still holding hands. “Hahaha. Wow, I really do say t*blech* That every time, d-don’t I, huh”? “Hehehe, yeah you do. But…” I automatically scooted closer, looking at his dyed hair first. Then back at his dark-brown eyes.
Which really brings out the flustered, blush look he has right now. Really feeling like he’s reaching out for my soul. Wait, aren’t we both drunk? Why does it feel like I’m having this pull towards him?
“But what, Moredecai”? He asked me softly. I clear my throat. “But ummm..I’m pretty sure it’s so overrated at this point that we barely even pay attention to it. An asshole at times? Sure, but still, you’re a great guy all around, Benson. You really are. It’s a shame, though, that you don’t have anyone else around long enough to see that”.
I sip after saying that, only to stop mid when realizing how my words came off, and put down the glass cup. I sighed in cringe and looked at his glazed-over expression, looking down at his half-empty plate. “Shit. Um lo-look Benson, I…I didn’t meant for it to sound-”
“No, no It’s…fine. Not a…sigh…complete lie”. He said quietly, with a sad undertone, it seems. Ugh, way to let your mouth open before thinking, Mordecai. Way to go. Now the air has changed into pure, uncomfortable silence. The kind of tension I don’t always mean to cause.
Like that ever turns out well.
After what felt like forever, Benson started blinking rapidly, straightening up his spine like a bolt of electricity had hit him. He let out a sharp, forced chuckle and stood up, stumbling slightly as he grabbed his wallet and keys.
“Anyway”! Benson shouted, his voice suddenly booming and “cheerful”, in that way that feels like a physical shield. “Great talk! T-total blast! Don't be late tomorrow or YOU’RE FIRED! Hahaha, just kidding *blech*. See ya at the carts at 9:00 AM sharp, buddy!”
He gave me a simple, overly firm pat on the shoulder. One that lingered just a second too long to be… “just friends.” Wait, is he- and hurried toward the exit before I could see the look in his eyes much more.
I watched Benson stumble toward the heavy glass doors of the Wing Kingdom, letting it sink in that he put up his “boss” persona again, acting like it's a suit of armor he’d proudly showoff. Only after hearing him fully, it now looks like it didn't fit well anymore.
I felt the buzz in my own head. Not a bad one, but a fuzzy, warm weight. I don’t know why, but…. seeing Benson nearly trip over a decorative potted plant snapped me into focus. He really shouldn’t be leaving like this. Not if I had anything to do about it.
“Benson, wait!” I called out, sliding out of the boot, leaving the money on the table beforehand. I caught up to him in the parking lot where his car was, the cool night air hitting us like a bucket of water. “Dude, you can barely walk, let alone get your car home. I'm... well, I'm mostly good though. Here, I’ll drive you in your car and just crash on your couch, and maybe catch a bus back. Come on."
Benson looked like he wanted to argue, maybe bark out his usual stubbornness. But instead, he just let out a long, tired sigh and handed me the keys. I was thankful for his cooperation and relieved to assist in his safety. One night with the boss can’t hurt. Right?