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Everything starts with a nightmare.
Well, Gordon isn’t sure if he can really say that, now. Maybe everything started way before, when he’d caught Benrey tucking Joshie goodnight for the first time. Or when Benrey had made that stupid joke to make him feel better about his shitty day at work. Or when Benrey—well, you get the gist of it.
But the thing is: things have changed a lot since their days at Black Mesa. Hell, even from the first days Benrey stayed in Gordon’s apartment. They used to be at each other’s throats—admittedly, Gordon more than anyone—but many sleepless nights and awkward talks later, they’d started making progress. Gordon is closer now to understanding how Benrey clicks, and Benrey himself knows where Gordon’s boundaries lie. And this mutual understanding helped them get along much better.
Not only that: Gordon can say, with all certainty, that they’re friends now. They started relying on each other in both the little things—“Uhhh Feetman, pass me the Montain Dew”—and the bigger things—“Sometimes I’m afraid I won’t be allowed to see Joshie anymore.” They spend the evenings—and sometimes part of the night—playing in Benrey’s PS3, kicking each other to make the other lose like absolute children. And every night, when Gordon parts to his room, he can feel himself linger, wanting for the moment to last, for that small sliver of happiness not to end. Waiting for either of them to say, “Stay.”
He wonders if it’s odd, seeking for excuses to put a hand on your buddy’s shoulder, to lean close to reach the remote; to constantly seek that proximity and relish on the contact, however brief it is. He wonders if it’s odd to want to be so close.
He wonders if Benrey feels the same.
Which lead to where they are now.
Gordon hasn’t been able to sleep yet. He’s been rolling and turning, trying to get himself comfortable, but he can’t help but feel there’s something missing. The empty side of the bed feels particularly cold that night. He shivers, once again, trying to make himself comfortable enough to ignore the stupid voice in his head that told him to stop fucking around and find Benrey, for God’s sake. And just when he’s thinking to himself, “What the fuck?!,” the door of his bedroom opens.
He can make out Benrey’s silhouette from there, albeit somewhat blurry because of his lack of glasses. But it doesn’t stay there for long: uncharacteristically silently, Benrey walks to his bed and crawls onto it, reaching for him. Gordon’s heart stutters in surprise and—although he won’t admit it, no, sir—delight as Benrey wraps his arms around his waist, fits himself against Gordon’s back. His gladness turns into concern as he feels Benrey shiver against him.
“What’s up, man?”
Benrey holds him tighter. “Nightmare,” he replies softly.
Gordon feels a pang of sadness. He can totally understand. He’s had his own share of nightmares, and he knows Benrey’s aren’t as uncommon as he plays them off—God knows the experience of actually dying can do a number on you. So he puts a hand on Benrey’s and holds them tight against his stomach.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m here. I won’t do anything to you. We’re home. We’re safe.”
Benrey tucks his head against his neck.
Gordon caresses the back of his hands until he can feel Benrey relax. He starts tracing his fingers, humming softly, and soon, he feels Benrey go lax. He relishes in the warmth of the body next to him and, his sleep-addled mind supplies, on the knowledge it’s Benrey’s, and not long after, he’s long asleep.
-----
The next night, Gordon is surprised to find Benrey waiting for him in his bedroom.
They haven’t talked about it at any point in the day. That morning, Gordon had extricated himself from Benrey’s grasp and gone to brush his teeth, and when he’d entered the kitchen to prepare breakfast, he’d found Benrey trying to reach the cereal and almost dropping all the dishes over himself, which made him step up with a shout to diffuse the situation. The day had gone smoothly afterwards, almost normal. Benrey didn’t acknowledge what happened, so he figured he didn’t have a reason to do it either.
But he’s just left Benrey sitting in front of the turned-off TV and now he’s staring at him, while he’s sure he didn’t use the door before him.
He’s holding a pillow in his hand.
Gordon could question it. He could mention the nightmares; he could crack a joke about needing some cuddles from him; he could tell him to go back to the couch. But last night he’s slept better than he’s had for quite a long time, and he’s got to admit it, he really enjoyed it.
So, without further ado, he flops onto the bed and pats the space next to him.
“Coming?”
Benrey grins.
-----
It’s become routine for them.
Every night, Gordon either finds Benrey already in the bed, or he waits for him to arrive. He never goes to sleep without him at his side. Benrey’s embrace does numbers on his insomnia; every time, Gordon melts into the touch, repressing a happy sigh, and grasps Benrey’s hands, falling asleep soon after. Shrugging off the arms wrapped around him in the mornings is a monumental, reluctant task.
They still haven’t talked about it.
What catches Gordon off-guard, though, is his own reaction. He believed that being embraced by Benrey at night would shrug off his constant need for contact. However, on the contrary, now he catches himself reaching even more for Benrey. It’s like a dam has burst. He now is not afraid to lean onto his friend when they’re watching some shitty Netflix rom-com, or to grab his hand when he needs to ask him something.
Benrey doesn’t fall short, either.
“Bro, get me those,” he says, leaning his head onto his shoulder and pointing at the Doritos.
They’re at the supermarket. Gordon is having a hard time maneuvering the cart with how heavily Benrey sometimes leans over him. But he’s used to it; it’s not the first time it happens and it won’t be the last. He finds himself content with that knowledge.
He narrows his eyes.
“Man, I’m not buying those. Last time you spat them on my face and left the rest to rot.”
“But I need to win, bro. I won’t let some Doritos win. Uhh… I’ll be prepared this time.”
“No way. I’m not fighting cockroaches again just because you have a vendetta with some…” he squints. “Dinamita Chile Limón Doritos.”
“Pretty pleeease?” he says, blinking his eyes at him with the same deadpan expression he always wears. He leans more heavily against him, almost sending him rolling down the aisle.
“Shit! Alright, alright! But I don’t want any of that near my face, nor in the back of any cabinet, you get it?”
“Yes!” Benrey pumps his fist, and takes one bag of the infamous snack, throwing it in the cart and running away God knows where.
Gordon sighs. He’s getting soft, isn’t he?
On the walk home, Benrey insists on wandering off with his bag of groceries every ten seconds.
“There’s a Gamestop there; lemme see if they have uhh… Heavenly Sword 2—”
“For the last time, it never came out! God,” Gordon says, and grabs Benrey’s hands. “Keep walking on a straight line. Please. I need to get home.”
Benrey ‘s cheeks flush, and he starts babbling. “What, Gordon Feetman needs to pee? Gordon Pissman? Can’t hold a little pee for his friend Benrey and Heavenly Sword 2? Little baby Pissman?”
“Oh, shut up, Benrey, it’s not that!” He shifts the groceries in his hand. He’s getting used to carrying all the groceries’ weight in one hand, ever after the phantom/not-really-phantom pains in his right hand started. But still, they’ve gone a bit overboard today.
Benrey notices. And neither of them seems to want to let go of their intertwined hands.
“Alright, bro,” he concedes, and follows Gordon, who hurries his step a bit with a squeeze of his hand in thanks.
-----
Joshua is there when it happens.
“Dad! Can you pass me the milk?”
Benrey is closer to it, though, so he grabs the jug of milk and passes it to Joshua over Gordon’s shoulder.
“Thanks, uncle Benny!” he says, a happy grin in his face. God, how Gordon loves to see his son smile.
He’s about to give a heartfelt thank you to Benrey when he feels lips on his cheek.
He freezes. Holy shit.
He stands up. “One moment!” he almost squeaks, and runs away to the bathroom, to the confused gazes of his—oh, my God—his family.
He walks over to the mirror. He looks like a mess. His hair is still disheveled from waking up—he’d felt too lazy to fix it up that morning—his cheeks are red as fuck, and his eyes are wide. Happy. Dumbfounded. A bit scared.
Oh.
How did he not realize?
They have been dancing around each other for so long, he realizes now. All the casual touches, the leaning, the joking… The cuddling. Oh, God, the cuddling. ‘Gordon, you have to face it,’ he thinks. He attributed it all just to being touch-starved. But he can’t help but admit now that it also involved feelings of fondness, of care, of want. Of love. At least on his part.
But… He feels the ghost of Benrey’s lips on his cheek. He might not be so alone in this.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Uhh… Is everything alright?”
Gordon sighs. He readies himself. He knows what he must do. What he wants to do.
He opens the door to a worried-looking Benrey. He decides he needs to wipe that worry off his face, right now.
“Look, bro, I’m sor—”
Gordon shuts him up with a kiss on the lips.
Benrey’s eyes widen, then slowly close. He relaxes into the kiss, sighing happily, and returns it with enthusiasm. Gordon is more than happy with the developments, and turns his head in order to deepen the kiss.
“Dad?”
Shit! He forgot Joshie!
He separates from Benrey with an audible smack. They both look at Joshie, who’s standing there, arms behind his back.
“… Does that mean I can finally call you Papa Benny?” he asks Benrey timidly.
Benrey looks at Gordon, who smiles reassuringly at him. He looks as if he can’t believe his eyes. But soon he recovers, and smirks at Joshie.
“Totally, little Freeman.”
And as Joshie celebrates and Benrey cackles, Gordon looks at them and feels like the luckiest man alive.
-----
Gordon wakes up only to find Benrey already awake, for once. He doesn’t want to disentangle himself just yet, so he pretends to still be asleep.
He hears Benrey sing.
He recognizes the tones of the Sweet Voice. He’s always found it beautiful and fascinating, even when it supposed a danger to him. But now, he just lets it wash over him, watches the blurry orbs of color float around him. Pale purple, pink, blue… It’s a beautiful combination.
He sighs.
Benrey stops singing, caught off-guard.
“Don’t stop,” Gordon says, turning around. Benrey readjusts his grip, so they’re looking at each other.
“I can’t sing in front of your ugly face,” Benrey mutters, still flustered.
“Morning to you too,” Gordon says, and pecks him on the lips.
A few pale purple blobs escape his mouth. Gordon chuckles, and lets himself be smothered by a pillow.
He’ll have to ask Tommy what it means later.