3) 'The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow' And Other Lies Showtunes Tell You

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3) 'The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow' And Other Lies Showtunes Tell You


The door on the other end of the hall was closed. The question was if that meant that Benjamin could take his morning leak or not, because he couldn't see if it was locked. Not from where he was, at least.

He had no choice but to walk over to it to check himself. He softly closed his bedroom door behind him and tip-toed to the closed door to find it was indeed locked. Darn.

As he debated going to another hall, the lock clicked open and Dutch boy emerged from the bathroom. Well, was it really allowed to call him a boy? He looked like a man. Benjamin didn't know what to do as the half-dressed delinquent stood before him. He surely couldn't keep staring at the perfectly flat stomach that made Benjamin feel all kinds of jealous.

Benjamin wasn't even remotely fat. His size wouldn't even classify as 'overweight', however, through the years, his body had decided to give up pretty easily when it came to putting extra skin in the right places.

And, he enjoyed eating. It wasn't his own fault; he had been raised in a home where it was rude not to ask for seconds when having Sunday dinners at a family friend's house, and serving less than three courses during any special event was classified as inelegant. Where the only sport played was golf. Where watching Game Of Thrones was the most intense family activity.

Benjamin was destined to look the way he did.

"Interesting choice of sleepwear," the Dutch murmured.

Benjamin snatched his gaze away from the other person's body and looked down at his own instead. Right. He was wearing the t-shirt that said "I am the god of tits and wine" on it. He could only blame Tyrion Lannister.

He didn't know what he could possibly reply—should he explain it?—so he simply said, or more like asked, "Thanks?"

Dutch boy didn't say anything to that, but stepped aside so Benjamin could enter the bathroom. He walked towards his bedroom and Benjamin caught himself staring after him. For what reason, he had no clue.

No, the delinquent's arrival really had messed up his entire... everything, really. Because now, it had even messed up his head.

He shook his head and pushed through the door of the bathroom to relieve his bladder. No need for details there. Morning routines in general were boring, really. Whenever Benjamin endured them for assigned reading in English, he pictured a dragon with polka-dotted underwear stalking after the characters.

Speaking of which, one of the more dreaded events of the day was about to occur— Benjamin had to go to the kitchen for breakfast. Not only did he dread having to discuss The Dutch Problem with his parents, but also any future encounter with Dutch Boy himself. The ones so far hadn't been successful, to say the least.

His parents were, as expected, seated at the kitchen table, reading the daily news and minding their own business.

They both looked up to stare at their son.

Benjamin's father opened his mouth slightly as if to say something, but quickly shut it as he spotted something behind Benjamin.

A problem. A big problem.

While he said nothing, technically not bothering the trio, Dutch boy changed up everything around him. As he, with no care in the world, poured up some coffee for himself, Benjamin's parents slowly swallowed their whole 'Feel at home' act with a big glass of regret.

With his bothered soul somewhat intact, Benjamin took a seat.

In a very there-is-a-former-criminal-in-our-house sort of voice, his mother said, "Should we... should we offer him some breakfast?"

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