going to need to sit down for this.”
Benji clucked his tongue. “You’re really going for that trope? Are you going to ask how my heart is next?”
“You don’t have one anymore,” Patrick said as he plopped into the chair next to him.
“What?”
“You’re dead.”
The silence swallowed them. Overhead the fine musical stylings of Italian pop filtered through the showroom.
“I’m what?” Benji asked, his voice soft.
“Was I mumbling?” Patrick folded his arms behind his head and leaned his chair back on two legs. “I could have mumbled. Did you hear me say you’re dead?”
“I got that.”
“Awesome.” Patrick let the chair slam back into place. He patted Benji on the shoulder. “Good chatting with you.” He pushed up from the chair and turned to go, his good deed done for the day. That sob story in the entertainment showroom was a more pressing matter.
“Wait,” Benji ordered him.
Patrick grunted under his breath as he slowly turned with a pivot of the heel. His Nike squeaked on the tiles. “May I help you?”
“You tell me I’m dead and you leave it at that?” The words were resigned and barely audible. It cut through Patrick’s defenses much easier than anger or accusations would. He had a feeling Benji’s angry face would be about as threatening as a fluffy kitten after his first bath. But right now he just looked confused and more than a little betrayed, and it came off as impossibly charming. Patrick wanted to cuddle him. What the hell.
Patrick shrugged. “Well. Yeah.”
“There’s more.”
“What do you mean more? There isn’t any more,” Patrick said, bewildered by Benji’s resistance.
“Of course there’s more.” Benji scowled, and his adorable factor skyrocketed. “We’re in Hell, right?”
Patrick clapped his hands in laughter but more in an effort to silence all argument. “Hell? Fuck no. That’s Wallville.”
“So, this is heaven.”
“Nope.”
“What, then? We’re just ghosts? There is no afterlife?” Benji swallowed. “Wait. That can’t be—you said there was a hell.”
Patrick kept his lips sealed, enjoying watching Benji puzzle it out.
“CASA is purgatory?”
Patrick pointed at him with a nod. “We’ve got a winner.”
Benji blew out a breath and shook his head. “Unbelievable. How is this my life?” He barked out a short, harsh laugh. “Or I guess the point is that it isn’t my life, right? Good to know my afterlife is going to suck as much as my real life did.”
Patrick put a hand to his heart. “I’m wounded. Are you saying spending the rest of eternity here with me is a hardship?”
Benji glared at him. “I’m saying that I don’t even know how I died, let alone what I did to deserve to be here. If there’s a hell and a purgatory, that must mean there’s a heaven, right? So why am I here? What did I do to deserve this?”
This? This was why Patrick usually left the heavy stuff to Karin. It was a huge adjustment, he got that. Hell, he’d lived it himself. Or not-lived it himself. Whatever. The point was he understood, but that didn’t mean he wanted to stand here while Benji had an existential crisis. He had shit to do.
“I don’t know, sunshine. Serial jaywalking? Not sorting your recyclables before you put them out to the curb? The point is you are here, no matter what happened to get you here.”
Benji’s face crumpled, going from indignant to wounded in the blink of an eye. And that should not make Patrick feel guilty. It shouldn’t. He didn’t do guilt. Maybe the swooping feeling in his stomach was indigestion.
“But—”
Patrick held up a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. You think you shouldn’t be here? Fine. That’s a staffing issue, and you’re going to have to take it up with Karin in HR.”
For a second he didn’t think Benji was going to fall for the dismissal, but he did. “Fine,” he said, his lower lip trembling ever so slightly.
Ah, hell. Benji didn’t strike him as
Benji clucked his tongue. “You’re really going for that trope? Are you going to ask how my heart is next?”
“You don’t have one anymore,” Patrick said as he plopped into the chair next to him.
“What?”
“You’re dead.”
The silence swallowed them. Overhead the fine musical stylings of Italian pop filtered through the showroom.
“I’m what?” Benji asked, his voice soft.
“Was I mumbling?” Patrick folded his arms behind his head and leaned his chair back on two legs. “I could have mumbled. Did you hear me say you’re dead?”
“I got that.”
“Awesome.” Patrick let the chair slam back into place. He patted Benji on the shoulder. “Good chatting with you.” He pushed up from the chair and turned to go, his good deed done for the day. That sob story in the entertainment showroom was a more pressing matter.
“Wait,” Benji ordered him.
Patrick grunted under his breath as he slowly turned with a pivot of the heel. His Nike squeaked on the tiles. “May I help you?”
“You tell me I’m dead and you leave it at that?” The words were resigned and barely audible. It cut through Patrick’s defenses much easier than anger or accusations would. He had a feeling Benji’s angry face would be about as threatening as a fluffy kitten after his first bath. But right now he just looked confused and more than a little betrayed, and it came off as impossibly charming. Patrick wanted to cuddle him. What the hell.
Patrick shrugged. “Well. Yeah.”
“There’s more.”
“What do you mean more? There isn’t any more,” Patrick said, bewildered by Benji’s resistance.
“Of course there’s more.” Benji scowled, and his adorable factor skyrocketed. “We’re in Hell, right?”
Patrick clapped his hands in laughter but more in an effort to silence all argument. “Hell? Fuck no. That’s Wallville.”
“So, this is heaven.”
“Nope.”
“What, then? We’re just ghosts? There is no afterlife?” Benji swallowed. “Wait. That can’t be—you said there was a hell.”
Patrick kept his lips sealed, enjoying watching Benji puzzle it out.
“CASA is purgatory?”
Patrick pointed at him with a nod. “We’ve got a winner.”
Benji blew out a breath and shook his head. “Unbelievable. How is this my life?” He barked out a short, harsh laugh. “Or I guess the point is that it isn’t my life, right? Good to know my afterlife is going to suck as much as my real life did.”
Patrick put a hand to his heart. “I’m wounded. Are you saying spending the rest of eternity here with me is a hardship?”
Benji glared at him. “I’m saying that I don’t even know how I died, let alone what I did to deserve to be here. If there’s a hell and a purgatory, that must mean there’s a heaven, right? So why am I here? What did I do to deserve this?”
This? This was why Patrick usually left the heavy stuff to Karin. It was a huge adjustment, he got that. Hell, he’d lived it himself. Or not-lived it himself. Whatever. The point was he understood, but that didn’t mean he wanted to stand here while Benji had an existential crisis. He had shit to do.
“I don’t know, sunshine. Serial jaywalking? Not sorting your recyclables before you put them out to the curb? The point is you are here, no matter what happened to get you here.”
Benji’s face crumpled, going from indignant to wounded in the blink of an eye. And that should not make Patrick feel guilty. It shouldn’t. He didn’t do guilt. Maybe the swooping feeling in his stomach was indigestion.
“But—”
Patrick held up a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. You think you shouldn’t be here? Fine. That’s a staffing issue, and you’re going to have to take it up with Karin in HR.”
For a second he didn’t think Benji was going to fall for the dismissal, but he did. “Fine,” he said, his lower lip trembling ever so slightly.
Ah, hell. Benji didn’t strike him as
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