Ryan licked the oil off of his fingers as he sat the empty paper plate back on the floor.  He hadn't eaten as much food as he'd eaten today in over a month.  And now he felt bloated.  It wasn't an unpleasant feeling.

            "It's getting to be the witching hour.  I really need to call my dad," Seth was saying, still babbling away from the couch, where he'd perched himself to sip his Pepsi.  "Can you try and keep it down for a couple of minutes?"
            Ryan closed his eyes at the ribbing.  "I'll see what I can do," he promised dryly.

            He opened his eyes again and let them rest on the TV blindly.  He really didn't care what they watched.  But if Seth was going to be so insistent about it, it wasn't worth arguing about.

            "Hi Mom," Seth said, and Ryan glanced over to see his resigned expression.  He turned back to the TV.  "Yeah.  Uh huh, I'm at the hotel now.  Oh, tons of fun, I'm sure, but I didn't go over tonight.  I'm just tired.  I'll see everything tomorrow, tonight's events aren't that great.  Yeah."  He rolled his eyes at Ryan and lifted his hand, miming his mother's chattering.  If Seth's mother was anything like Seth, Ryan could only imagine.  Then again, maybe he got his overzealous talking from his father.  Sandy Cohen was a bit on the pushy side himself. 

            "In fact, I'm really tired, and my pizza's here."  He raised a conspiratorial eyebrow in Ryan's direction.  "So do you mind if I go?  Okay, Mom.  Yeah, Mom.  Would you just stop already?  I'm.  Fine.  There.  I'm a big boy now – uh huh."  He ran his free hand through his hair and grimaced up at the ceiling.  "Tell Dad I called, so he doesn't pester me, would ya?  Fine.  Sure.  Bye, Mom." 

He clicked off the phone, but not before Ryan heard the telltale feminine "Love you," echoing across the room over Seth's silent response.

            Ryan bit his lip.  "Hey," he said hesitantly, "do you have free long distance on that thing?"
            "On weekends, yeah.  I have an unlimited plan.  Why?"
            "Maybe I could call Benny?" Ryan suggested.  "My... friend," he amended.  He raised his eyebrows.

            "Sure, god knows I have enough minutes.  Here."  Seth tossed the phone across the room and Ryan caught it with one hand.  He was getting better at anticipating Seth's random tosses.  He didn't have Benny's number on a card in his pocket like Sandy's because he'd memorized it when he got it in the first place.  Ryan had a good memory for numbers, and the number that Benny had given him that awful night in Chino had been seared into his brain.  He'd never written it down, he'd been afraid of what would happen if someone... if anyone had found it...

            "Thanks," Ryan said.  He tucked the phone beside him on the floor and reached for his shoes.  "I'm gonna... go for a walk?"
            "Whatever you want.  Me and Ashton, we've got a party here all by ourselves," Seth said, reaching for another slice of mushroom pizza.

            Ryan tugged his boots on and grabbed the phone and the key from the dresser before making his way out into the hallway.  He walked down to the vending machines before finally entering the numbers into the phone.  He stared at them for a long while, the number he'd burned into his brain finally entered for him to look at, before hitting the 'SEND' button.

            He held his breath and listened at the first ring.  And the second.  And the-

            "'Lo?"
            Ryan felt his heartrate skyrocketing. 

            "Hello?" the voice asked again.

            "...Benny?" he asked.  He heard how timid and pathetic his own voice sounded and he hated himself.

            "No, who's this?"
            "This... this is a friend of Benny's," Ryan said.  "Is he there?"
            "I don't know no Benny."
            The words ground his systems to a halt.  "No Benny?" he asked.  "Isn't this-"

            "Wrong number."
            The phone went dead in his ear.  Ryan lowered it, staring at it.  It was impossible.  He must have dialed wrong.

            He entered the numbers again, frantically this time.  He read them over and over.  It was the number Benny had given him.  It was.

            "'Lo?"
            No.

            "There's no Ben Mariner there?" he asked again.

            "No."

            "Maybe this used to be his number?" he asked, desperately.

            "Maybe.  I dunno."
            "Maybe we can find his new number?" Ryan begged.  "Please-"

            "Can't help you.  Sorry."  The phone went dead again.

            He felt the air whistling in through his open mouth as he gaped at the phone.  He felt light-headed.  He moved to the wall and slowly lowered himself to a seat, where he buried his head between his arms, still clutching Seth Cohen's cell phone. 

            Breathe.  Keep the oxygen coming.  Air, stupid.  He repeated the words silently to himself.  Must keep breathing.  Must keep fighting.  But what was there left to fight?  Had Benny given him a wrong number?  Ryan would never have remembered it wrong.  Benny had moved?  Benny was gone? 

            He had lost Benny.  That was no longer an option.  It was time to deal.

            He had one phone number left, and the son of that phone number was sitting not forty feet away, waiting patiently for Ryan to come back with his cell phone.  But it was too late.  He couldn't go back to Sandy Cohen now.  Not after he'd vanished, not after he'd skipped out on his probation.  Not after he'd lost everything.  Not the way he was now.

            He lifted his head and glanced up at the vending machine, but the sight of it made him feel nauseous after all the food he'd eaten today, the food that Seth, Sandy's son, had given him.  He buried his head again, this time in his arms, the worlds whirling and closing in on him.

            He'd figure something out. 

He just didn't know what.

            Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet and made his way back down the hall.  His footsteps sounded unusually loud and clunky in the hallway.  The pattern of the carpet spun before his eyes.  He keyed open the door and found Seth stretched out on the sofa.

            "Hey," Seth said, looking up.  "Did you get ahold of him?"
            "Yeah," Ryan said absently.  "Yeah, it's all good."
            "Well, cool," Seth said softly.

            Ryan stood in the middle of the room, not quite sure what was left to say.  But he knew if he was quiet long enough, he could count on Seth to come up with something.  And he did.

            "I'm beat, I don't know about you," Seth said. "I think I'm just gonna crash right here, actually."
            "No, you take the bed," Ryan said.  "It's your room."

            "Uh uh," Seth protested, "I am not moving."

            "Fine," Ryan said.  He didn't feel like arguing.  He never felt like arguing.  Agree or run away, that was what Ryan liked to do.  That was the best thing to do.  Arguing would get you nowhere.  He knew that from experience.  Arguing made things worse, and right now, even though it seemed like things couldn't get worse, he'd thought as much before.  And been proven wrong. 

            Ryan slowly kicked his shoes off, and arranged them beside Seth's shoes in the corner between the dresser and the trashcan, which was almost full with junk food wrappers and the packaging from the toiletries Seth had bought for him.  He clambered towards the bed, moving in a haze of disbelief.

            "You mind if we leave the TV on?" Seth asked.  "Sometimes I sleep better..."
            "It's fine," Ryan said absent-mindedly.

            "You sure?"
            He took a deep breath as he collapsed across the bed, diving beneath the heavy comforter and the soft sheets.  "Yeah, everything... it's all fine."