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Benrey was, as usual, in Gordon’s way.
Well, not really. Benrey sat on the couch, unmoving, the outline of his thick hair silhouetted against the shifting light of the TV. But in Gordon’s experience, if he was around, he was in the way.
And Gordon could not be interrupted. Not now.
He gritted his teeth against the pain in his stomach and crouched low. Maybe if he could get to the kitchen without Benrey noticing him, he could make his food in the dark and eat it in a peaceful, shadowy corner like a fucking raccoon. God, he had lost his dignity so long ago. He’d fallen so far.
He slid onto his stomach and began to army crawl to the kitchen. Just pretend there are lasers above you again, he told himself, mouthing the Mission Impossible theme and grateful for once that Benrey always kept the TV so loud when he played video games. Or barbed wire, or some kind of eldritch creature. Oh wait. There is an eldritch creature. He stopped mouthing the theme. Not out of fear, no. Just a safety thing.
He made it to the kitchen without a hitch, thank god. It would have been pitch black in there save for the light of the full moon through the one window in the apartment they hadn’t gotten curtains for (Bubby and Coomer had disagreed on what aesthetic the kitchen should have, so they’d held off for now); his eyes quickly adjusted enough for him to locate his target.
The last box of mac and cheese in the cabinet.
He grabbed it almost greedily and held it to his chest as he opened the fridge for milk and butter.
“You making enough for two?”
“FUCK.”
The box fell to the ground with a rattle. When Gordon turned to look behind him, Benrey’s eyes shone in the moonlight between the sheets of his untamed hair.
“Jesus Christ, Benrey—”
“Feetman could smell you, you stinky boy,” he said, letting the three-legged hairless cat in his arms down on the floor. Feetman sniffed at the box.
“You’ve got to change that name.”
“Nah.”
“Change it!”
“Yeah, I’ll change it.”
“…You will?”
“Gimme some food and I’ll change it to, uh, Feetman 2: The Feetening.”
Gordon picked the box off the ground and pulled the rest of the ingredients out of the fridge. “You are literally my least favorite person in the world.”
“Aw, thanks! I love you.”
“Ugh.” He picked a pot from the rack it hung on and stuck it under the faucet, fighting the yawn that rose in his throat. “Go back to whatever video game you were playing. Or maybe go the fuck to bed, it’s three in the morning.”
“Don’t be disrespectful. It’s James Cameron’s Avatar: The Game. Call it by its name.”
Gordon took a step back, careful not to step on Feetman, who was rubbing against his legs. “No it’s not. You’re not playing that.”
“You’re just mad cuz you’re not blue, aren’t cha?”
Benrey opened his mouth just as Gordon lost his battle with his yawn and, with a tone that rang clear and beautiful throughout the apartment, he lit up the kitchen with the blue glowing orbs that shot directly down Gordon’s throat.
Gordon sputtered and narrowly missed Feetman’s tail as he reflexively recoiled from the Sweet Voice. The flavor filled his throat and mouth and then, immediately, he forgot the taste, like every fucking time Benrey used it on him.
He choked out, “You’re gonna wake the—”
Too late. Sunkist’s barks—a bit like a dog’s and a bit like a computer’s, too even to sound natural but clearly dog-adjacent—were muffled from the other side of the apartment.
Gordon sighed and hung his head. He’d just wanted some food. That was all. He’d wanted to eat some food and go right back to bed without any problems for once in his god damn life.
“Why does everything I do need to involve everyone else in the apartment?” he groaned.
Benrey just stared at him and grinned. Of course.
“Go get ‘em, Sunkist!” came Tommy’s voice, high-pitched and slow, followed by the strangely flat Golden Retriever bounding around the corner.
Doors opened down the hall. Gordon let it happen.
“Oh,” said Tommy after making his way into the kitchen, wearing only his hat and a pair of boxer shorts. “It’s just you, Mister Freeman.”
Bubby’s balding head popped around the corner. “What are you and Benrey doing in the dark?”
“Kissing,” said Benrey.
Gordon set the pot of water on the stove. “No, we’re not kissing.”
“It looked like you were kissing,” said Bubby, squinting. He switched on the kitchen light, and both Benrey and Gordon hissed at the sudden brightness.
“Now Gordon,” said Doctor Coomer from down the hall, “there is no shame in kissing other men. I do it all the time.”
“He does,” Bubby nodded.
“We weren’t kissing,” insisted Gordon. “I was just trying to make mac and cheese and then go back to sleep, and Benrey thought that warranted stupid Sweet Voice balls.”
“Sweet Voice isn’t stupid, you’re stupid,” said Benrey.
Tommy had wandered into the living room along with Sunkist and Feetman. “Benrey, are you playing James Cameron’s Avatar: The Game?”
“Yeah, man.”
“Oh, I love that game! Can I play?”
“Sure dude, go ahead.” He left the kitchen to supervise.
“Awesome!”
Bubby surveyed the ingredients Gordon had out on the counter and put his hands on his hips. “Gordon, where is the hot sauce?”
“What are you talking about.”
“Hot sauce,” said Doctor Coomer as he came up behind Bubby, “also known as chili sauce or pepper sauce, is any condiment, seasoning, or salsa made from chili peppers and other ingredients. Many commercial varieties of mass-produced chili sauce exist. Some commercially produced chili sauces are canned, with red tomato that is processed into a pulp used as the primary ingredient. In the United States, commercially produced chili sauces are assigned various grades per their quality. These grades include—”
Gordon held out his hand.
“Mac and cheese is better when you put, like, so much hot sauce on it,” said Bubby matter-of-factly.
“I’m not putting hot sauce on it.”
“No balls at all, Gordon.”
“No balls, Gordon,” echoed Doctor Coomer.
“Fine, I’ll put hot sauce on it if you will just shut up and let me cook,” Gordon snapped at him.
Bubby nodded. He and Doctor Coomer went together into the living room, and Gordon was left alone.
He gathered his thoughts as the pasta boiled, his eyes closed and his hands on the counter, listening to the sounds of conversation and video game background music wafting into the kitchen. Someone yelled as a character died, and the rest of them either laughed or yelled with him, all good-naturedly. He poured the cheese powder, milk, and butter into the pot, and then (with a sigh) hot sauce for Bubby. Splitting the box five ways meant it didn’t amount to much mac and cheese per bowl, but it would suffice for a now 3:30am snack.
He brought their bowls out to them and nodded to each of their “thank you”s and grins. Benrey picked up a noodle and flicked it at him, and he cursed when it hit him in the face, but couldn’t help smiling. It was pretty funny.
As he went back into the kitchen to grab his bowl, he was struck with how much love he felt for each of them.