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As frustrating as his attitude is, it’s hot.

But now is not an appropriate time for that kind of thinking. We can play around with his sassing later.

“So,” I begin again, still calm and patient, squeezing his thigh reassuringly, “what makes you too much work?”

He flounders for a bit. “I’m abrasive.”

“Not always, and, let’s be honest, everyone can be abrasive at times. It’s called being human.”

“I’m whiny.”

“Same thing.”

Scowling, Benji says, “I pee my pants on purpose because it’s fun.”

“Ignoring the fact that I’m into that, with the exception of the camp —whereaccidentswere expected— have you ever done that with someone you didn’t know would be interested in playing along? Where it wasn’t pre-discussed or at worst insinuated?”

He goes silent. It drags on for a few long moments, then he looks away and shrugs. “No.”

I let that sit for a few seconds longer. “So far, you haven’t convinced me, Benji.”

The fight has left him, but as his shoulders sag, he still says, “People always get sick of me. I’m too blunt. I’m picky. I’m moody. I’m bitchy and opinionated and performative.”

“You’rehuman,” I repeat, practically underlining the word six times with my voice. “You’re allowed to be moody and picky and blunt and…whatever other flaws you’ve invented for yourself. I met bratty, sassy Benji at camp and I liked him a hell of a lot, you realize.”

“You won’t always like me.”

“I might not always like your behavior, no. But you won’t always like the way I act or the things I do, either.”

Finally out of arguments, he sighs. “I’m just not used to anyone wanting me to stick around long-term.”

It’s all I can do not to snort. “Yeah, I’ve kind of picked up on that.”

Benji’s quiet again, but he’s not combative or tense anymore, so I count that as a win. “It’s not healthy, I know,” he admits after a beat. “I’m messed up.”

“You’re not.”

“Iam,” he insistsforcefully, then slumps back against the couch and cringes. “I probably need to get help. I just…I’ve been managing fine on my own, you know?”

“Mmm,” I hum my acknowledgement, even though I’m not sure our definitions of ‘managing fine’ match up. “Getting help —talking to a therapist or whatever— that’s not a sign that you’re not managing.”

“No, I know that. I just…ugh, I can’t explain it. I didn’t think I needed a relationship or a Daddy, and then you come along and you’re kind of perfect for me and suddenly I’m wanting all the things I’ve never needed before…”

“Wanting and needing are different things. You don’tneeda Daddy. That doesn't make enjoying having one a bad thing.”

Drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch, Benji nods. “Logically, yeah, I know that. But…” He trails off, shaking his head. The look he gives me is somehow both plaintive and apologetic. “I really like you, Kris. More than I’ve liked anyone ever. But I’m not comfortable getting into a relationship that’s so…imbalanced…because I’m not in the right place mentally, I guess.Thatis what’s not fair to you.”

I want to fight him on that point, too. Because nobody is perfect, and this idea that you have to love yourself before someone else can love you makes for a fantastic catchphrase but is ultimately wrong. But at the same time, I can see a sense ofsomething—realization, or calmness, or resolve, or some measure of all three— coming over him. Plus, I’m not a monster. No means no, even if I don’t want to hear it.

So instead of continuing to push, I give his knee another squeeze. “Can we at leaststay friends?”

A small, but genuine smile pulls the corner of his lips up. “I’d like that.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Me

Remind me again why I thought whining about my personal drama with some random was a good idea.