Shanks used the time between the visit of the archery and dinner to have a talk with Professor Clover. The news about Robin worried him, even though he had no idea what to do about it. Those commotions could be caused due to Robin showing herself in public, or maybe she had just been spotted by accident. Both versions were possible, and there could very well be a whole lot more reasons for the uproar. The problem was that nothing of it had happened in Shanks' territory, and therefore open investigation was not permitted. He couldn't risk a war, and Kaidou had always had an aggressive attitude. Buying and freeing the slaves had been risky enough - Shanks knew he would better not set a foot on the other Yonko's land for a while.

"I'll promise to send someone to check things out, but it needs to be undercover," he said, a frown on his face, as he sat on an armchair in the library. "You're sure the commotion has been in Nanohana?"

He got a resolute nod from the professor, who had looked the place up again to be sure as he had forgotten the name earlier during his discussion with Roo. Nanohana was the harbor city where Shanks had anchored the Red Force while they had been in Alubarna to free all those people… Benn. To think he had been so close to Robin but missed her managed to form a lump in his throat. His heart felt like a stone, becoming heavier with each passing second. For years the girl had been on her own, and Shanks hated that he hadn't managed to convince her she was safe with him. Damn those government dogs, damn those Warlords who judged people with no consideration of their age, character or their circumstances. He knew Robin was no bad person, he knew the girl needed someone to care for her, but the world didn't allow her to live freely. If he had just been a little older back then, a little more powerful... It was just another example of how wrong it was for him to be a Yonko. He couldn't free Benn. He couldn't protect a person who needed protection. He wanted to scream, but refrained from it - the surprise would probably cause the old professor to have a heart attack, and he didn't need that on his conscience together with everything else already weighing him down.

"I'll see who can ride there early in the morning tomorrow," Shanks finally said, forcing himself to stop brooding and to concentrate on the present instead. Light was playing on the floor, coming from above. Some golden sunrays sneaked their way into the library and played with the shadows, lost in their eternal dance. Suddenly he realized that the professor was watching him with a peculiar expression. He had tilted his head a little, as if he wanted to have a better look at his superior.

"You were in Sabaody, visiting Master Rayleigh, right?" Professor Clover asked and the unexpected statement made Shanks jump a little. His head snapped up and his back straightened. How did the man know? He had only told a few people why he had been away from the palace, and he knew they would not gossip about his whereabouts or reasons. But Clover had always been a very thoughtful and wise man, so Shanks shouldn't be surprised he had guessed his destination right.

His eyes wandered over the older man. His phrasing alone told Shanks the professor had been at the palace for a long time. Only those who had lived under the reign of Roger and had known how life had been in this palace during the times of the High King called Rayleigh master. Not out of fear or because a necklace forced them to do so, but out of respect towards a man who combined wisdom with strength… and sometimes recklessness. Roger had never wanted to be addressed so formally, but Rayleigh had allowed some people to use his title in order to rise and lead as the first minister and right hand of the highest king. Shanks had had to call Ray 'master', too, or else he would have never learned how to be respectful and would still be the insolent brat he used to be.

"Yes, I was there," Shanks answered carefully, absently plucking at some strands of his hair. Realizing what he was doing, he lowered his hand. Unconscious movements always betrayed his nervousness.

"Have you possibly been talking about that new young man, Benn?"

Shanks tensed, his suspicions roused. Magic twirled in his soul, the memory of what had happened still fresh in his mind. He knew the professor had met Benn while he had been gone; maybe that was the reason they were suddenly discussing Benn instead of Robin. Or had Roo let something slip about Shanks' reason to visit Rayleigh?

"I take your silence as a yes… has something, well, happened?" Immediately his loss of control came to Shanks' mind, but when Clover went on speaking, only confusion remained. "Has Master Rayleigh behaved strangely when you told him about Benn?"

Unlike Shanks, Rayleigh had been his usual self. Sure, he had been surprised to see Shanks wearing an owner's ring, and even appalled when he discovered the black magic clinging to it, but other than that there hadn't been a moment his old teacher had acted odd. Only he, only Shanks hadn't been himself.

"No. Nothing out of order has happened with Ray," Shanks answered truthfully, relieved he hadn't had to admit his outburst. Worrying his people wasn't something he wished to do, and nothing bad had happened anyway, hadn't it? After all, no one had been hurt… "Why?"

The question hung in the air, wavering like a balloon, ready to pop. But the bang didn't come - instead, the tension slowly subsided due to a mumbling from the old professor.

"Not important, not at all. I guess I was just mistaken. I never knew them well enough anyway."

"Who?" Shanks asked, now curious rather than concerned. It felt like, for a moment, the professor had been lost in memories of times long before Shanks had known Roger. He loved hearing those stories, they always were entertaining and often promised a good laugh. Before Roger had become High King, the duo of his adoptive father and Rayleigh had always been up to adventures and crazy stunts. Sure, Shanks had witnessed that behavior for quite a long time while he lived with Roger, but he knew there had been a time before him, and he longed to know more about it to get a better image of the two men who raised him.

He was disappointed when Professor Clover shook his head and smiled with forced politeness. "No one important, Shanks. No one Rayleigh needs to be remembered of. We should probably go to get some dinner."

With those words, the old man got up from his seat and headed through the large room towards the exit. When he crossed a fading beam of light, his shadow fell on the ground and Shanks wondered what sad memory lay hidden behind those words. He refrained from asking, he knew there wouldn't be an answer. It had to be quite gloomy, Shanks thought, to drive the librarian out of his familiar surroundings into the arms of a large group of people out of his own free will. He usually avoided showing up for a meal too early.

Despite the few days Benn had now lived in the palace since he had arrived, he still was amazed by the small things rather than those people would call impressive. He didn't pay attention to the large pillars holding up the ceiling of the dining room, but noticed all the scents that filled the hall at dinner time. The cheery laughter surrounding him amazed him. Roo was a brilliant cook and the atmosphere during the meals was never hostile, as he had experienced it many times before in other households. There was no fear of getting too little food and leaving hungry. For slaves, it wasn't uncommon to go with very little food - not particularly for pleasure slaves like him who were kept in good shape because they were expensive and had to look attractive and vital, but the maids, the kids, the old and weak ones were pushed even further into misery as they wouldn't make high prices even if they were properly nourished and healthy. But here… Roo would rather cook something extra than allowing a single person to go hungry.

Working with the cooks and assistants was a hard but welcomed job. Benn wasn't used to working in a kitchen and didn't yet know how to do things properly. He never had learned how to cook but no one had gotten angry at his mistakes and he was a fast learner. After his training with Yasopp, he had hastened to the kitchen and while he had been able to occupy his mind during work, it was hard to continue doing so while he sat at one of the long tables, a plate of the food he had helped to prepare in front of him. His eyes drifted around the hall aimlessly until he caught a sight of red hair.

Benn suddenly felt sick. He picked at the sweet potatoes on his plate, but couldn't force himself to eat anymore. Instead, his thoughts wandered back to that awkward moment at the archery when Shanks had asked to meet him in the evening. To Benn, it was quite clear what the Yonko wanted. No matter how nice he was treated here, no matter he was allowed to wear a scarf to cover his necklace, he still was and would stay a slave. A pleasure slave. Bought to be used and discarded like an old worn-out shirt.

Shanks isn't like that…

He wanted to believe the voice that whispered to him from the back of his mind, wished he could believe in Shanks' friendliness, in the strange connection which always formed when their gazes met, but that would be naïve. Benn knew his place and yet he hated it, hated everything about it. The more people were friendly to him, the harder it got to lock his feelings away.

He rubbed his face with his hands which got him a strange glance from Roo who was sitting next to him, but who thankfully was chatting with one of the other chefs. Benn shrugged casually, a gesture meant to tell the other man not to worry. And why should he? What was about to happen wasn't new to Benn – he knew his place – and Roo had been with the Yonko when Shanks bought him, so he should be aware of what would come to pass eventually.

"I have to excuse myself. I should get ready," Benn said in a muted voice and reached for his still full plate, but Roo stopped him. The cook's hand softly touched his arm, but the brief feeling of warmth didn't make the situation any better. Neither was that sad look on Roo's face.

"You haven't eaten at all. I'll put it away so you can have it later when you get hungry."

Doubting his appetite would return after the meeting with Shanks, Benn nodded nevertheless, thanked Roo and left the room. He felt eyes following his steps, but he refrained from turning to see who was watching him. He could guess. It didn't matter.

A last glance into the mirror showed Benn he was almost ready to go over and knock at Shanks' door. He had showered, changed clothes and was now wearing a button up shirt and a simple trousers. The fabric was dark and airy but the fit was rather tight and emphasized his muscular body. Though he didn't own much clothes, just those he had been given at his arrival, it had taken him a while to decide what he wanted to wear. He knew he wouldn't wear what he had picked now on a daily basis, only for … occasions like this.

With each part of clothing he had stripped off, he had locked parts of himself away and when he had stepped into the new pair of trousers and put on the shirt, thick walls protected his self. Walls that would ensure he wouldn't give away his pain, disgust and misery. Walls that distanced him from what he knew could take parts of himself and just crush them.

Shanks hadn't given any orders about how he was supposed to look. Different owners had different preferences. While some liked to strip off his clothes, others enjoyed pure nakedness right at the beginning. There had been wishes concerning almost every detail, from the way he had to keep his hair to the position he had to take when his owner entered the room. But as Shanks had just kept quiet, Benn went with what he knew people usually liked. Hence the body-hugging clothes.

He ran a hand through his hair and pulled the band holding it together off. Strands, black like the night and still slightly wet, spilled over his back and framed his face. He had bound them up while he had changed, but he knew the long hair suited him, especially when he wore it open. The better he was the sooner it would be over… or so he hoped.

Next, he opened the first three buttons of his shirt, giving a glimpse of the smooth defined muscles underneath. He tried to swallow his nervousness, but his throat suddenly felt parched. Soft gray went dark, his eyes losing their shimmer. His left hand rubbed over the edges of his jawline, the pale skin a stark contrast to his lips. Dark lashes blinked away the wariness, and he straightened. There were steps sounding through the wall from the neighboring room. Shanks was walking up and down, probably waiting for him, so Benn closed the door of his wardrobe, shut away the mirror and left his self behind when he walked out of his room.

A longer distance would have granted Benn a little time to prepare himself for what was coming, but as Shanks' bedroom was directly next to his there was no chance of a delay. Shimmering red wood decorated with ornaments and carvings invited him to enter and after a deep breath Benn raised his hand and knocked once. The sound echoed through the wood and into the room. In this moment Benn realized he still wore the red scarf. He had gotten used to it by now, even though it had been just two days since he had found it freshly washed among the rest of the clothes he had been given. Somehow covering his necklace now when he would soon be used like the slave he still was, felt like a self-delusion, so he reached for the silk, unwrapped it from his throat carefully and clutched it in a tight fist.

Just when the red fabric revealed the gold underneath, the door opened and he found himself facing wonderful bright, brown eyes that seemed to devour him.

With every step Benn took out of the dining room, Shanks felt guiltier. Even though the other man's stance was upright, it felt like he was fleeing from the hall, fleeing from what he assumed would happen despite Shanks having no intention of fulfilling those nightmares. They would stay just that; images conjured by a past he could do nothing to erase. But he would try to save Benn from adding another bad memory to his collection.

His glance met Roo's who subtly indicated he should wait for another few minutes. Benn would need the time to prepare, Shanks thought to himself. But still the desire was there to just follow the man and to tell him, show him, that he was safe.

Hunger suddenly gone, he pushed his half-eaten meal aside. A risen eyebrow from the Professor, who sat across him, reminded Shanks that very few knew of Benn's former occupation, and even less could probably guess what bothered Shanks so much.

Before the librarian could say anything, Shanks picked up his fork and forced another bite down his throat. He wasn't tasting anything and he knew he wouldn't be able to empty his plate. Roo seemed to have realized as much. He got up from his spot, a full plate that probably wasn't his own – Roo would never leave leftovers on his plate – in his hand. When he reached his friend and superior, he smiled. "I assume you want to prepare yourself, so I'll put your dish away. Come down again when you get hungry, okay?"

Shanks nodded gratefully and pushed his chair back. Nothing in him indicated he would ever feel hunger again, but the thought was as foolish as it was unrealistic. When he would be lying in bed, tossing and turning because sleep wouldn't come, his hunger would probably return, since he hadn't eaten enough to keep it at bay the whole, restless night. And there was no way he would find sleep tonight.

"Thank you. I'll see you all later." With this words he rushed out of the hall, to wait for Benn to show up at his door.

Usually Shanks wasn't an impatient person, but as he waited for Benn he realized that this trait only applied to matters he didn't really care about. He cared for Benn, and with each step he took pacing in his room, his anxiety rose. He wanted Benn to feel at home in his palace, to live without the constant reminder of his past and finally realize he had the freedom to choose his own actions and that only he owned his body. But Shanks had the feeling none of this would happen until that necklace came off.

When the knock sounded, he halted in his movement, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. This would be just a simple talk, he told himself, but still he felt like it could decide the course of the whole relationship he would have with Benn. The thought had been planted in his mind by his own fears, and he hoped he wouldn't damage what little trust had grown between them.

Sighing, Shanks moved to the door. Letting Benn wait was both not polite and wouldn't do either of them any good.

He had expected to find himself facing Benn the way he had been since their first encounter in the auction house. However, what was awaiting Shanks wasn't even close to it but breathing temptation. Grayish eyes looked at him out of a beautiful, angular face framed by long silky dark hair. It were those eyes that captured Shanks' gaze first, with all their hidden sadness and pain though his features seemed like an impenetrable mask, betraying no emotion at all. Next he let his gaze wander lower, and something in him stirred involuntarily as his body reacted to the man in front of him. The dark clothes emphasized Benn's pale skin, the cut of the button up shirt and his dark trousers showed enough to let Shanks guess how well-built the other was, but still left enough to his imagination. He had the sudden urge to undress this man just to discover if those pictures his mind threw at him – pictures of muscles and smooth skin and perfection - were real. Goddess, he was weak in regard of his own desires.

Shanks swallowed hard, tried to get his mind out of the gutter and cleared his throat. Then he stepped back to make enough room for Benn to come in. There was a flicker in his own eyes, the edges of his mouth pulled downwards while he watched Benn's graceful movements. Just then, as the man passed him, Shanks noticed the red scarf clutched in his hands. He realized once more that Benn would never believe himself to be a free man and put trust in him unless he managed to free him of the metal circling his neck. That thought quenched his passion like a bucket of icewater. He really had to get a grip on himself, otherwise he might do something he would regret forever.

Benn stood in the middle of the room like a statue that didn't seem to belong with the chaos that reigned in Shanks' quarters. His grey eyes regarded him warily which forced Shanks to act. Even though he was quite sure he knew what Benn expected to happen now, he couldn't think of a way to prove that he was not like all the other people who had abused the man in front of him. While Shanks sat down on his bed he gestured for Benn to take a seat on one of the chairs next to his desk.

"Sit down," he mumbled, feeling embarrassed and self-conscious – a great contrast to his usual boisterous behavior. "You make me feel nervous with expecting something that won't happen."

Benn had no idea what he had expected but surely not this kind of a mess. Clothes had been tossed everywhere. They were strewn all over the desk that stood by a window, lay crumpled on a massive bed and even formed heaps in the corners of the room. They were probably everywhere but in the simple wardrobe that stood next to the door through which he had just come in. Bottles of different kinds of alcohol, mostly rum but also sake, added up to the picture. Roo had explained to Benn that he had to keep his room clean by himself, something he didn't mind at all since it meant that no other person would enter his room without his permission. Faced with Shanks' chaos, he wondered whether this rule applied to the Yonko as well. But that would be ridiculous, right? A man as powerful as Shanks wouldn't be expected to clean by himself for he certainly had more important things to do, like running his country. But his chaotic surroundings seemed to attest to the fact that even if tidying up was Shanks' duty, he obviously didn't do it very often.

Unsure what he should think of it, Benn was standing in the middle of the room trying not to look too curious. Controlling his expressions usually was easy for him, but he wasn't sure what feelings his face betrayed at the moment. The urge to turn around and take a look at the rest of the room pulled at him, but he was neither allowed to do so, nor had he any idea why he was so interested in his current surroundings. Probably because despite all this mess it felt like Shanks was truly living here. On the nightstand was a picture of him in his younger years with two men that seemed familiar to Benn. He could only see it out of the corner of his eye so he wasn't too sure if he actually knew them. There were pictures and maps on the wall, and random personal belongings were placed across the room. But nothing in here gave away Shanks' status. The furniture wasn't any more elaborate than his own, the room was only slightly bigger. Only the bed was made for two. All in all, Shanks' quarters didn't fit Benn's preconceived notion of how the ruler of a whole part of the common land should live.

Shanks' words pulled Benn out of his thoughts and his gaze darted to the chairs, while he tried to wrap his mind around the others' words. What exactly would not happen?

Finding two chairs that weren't actually covered by something surprised Benn, so he obeyed the command – or was it just a request? – and sat down. His back was stiff, his nerves tense, but mostly because he couldn't figure out how things would evolve from now. Shanks hadn't yet shown any intention of just taking him, but if not for that, for what other reason was Benn here?

"Benn…"

Upon hearing his name, Benn raised his head. He had avoided looking into Shanks' eyes directly, fearing that strange connection more than he longed for it. He wouldn't allow himself to get attached. Not when he might be faced with rape, as it wasn't anything else. Now, though, making eye contact couldn't be avoided any longer. The sadness that shimmered in Shanks's gaze caused him to forget his own fears for just a moment, and for the first time this evening he truly looked at the redhead. The other man's posture didn't fit a powerful ruler, but rather showed his doubts and uncertainty. Hunched shoulders, bitten lips, fingers that kept picking at the blanket again and again – Benn was surprised at how self-conscious the other man acted. Even though he had seen Shanks wearing his current clothing before, he only now realized that they weren't by any means luxurious. A simple linen shirt that was white and airy, brown trousers, sandals. His appearance wasn't impressive by any means, but damn, those brown eyes matched with the tousled red hair made him anything but plain. The angles of Shanks' face, the fine lines around his eyes when he narrowed them a little in concentration and his lips when he pulled the corners down a bit… no, Shanks probably couldn't be described as beautiful by usual standards, but there was something about him that made him stand out. It left people with the urge to dig deeper than the surface, to really get to know him and this urge pulled at Benn, too. It pushed at the walls surrounding his heart, pulled at the thin threat of trust that had begun to connect him to this man.

"… I won't touch you!"

These words somehow managed to cut through his stream of thoughts, and suddenly, Benn was on his feet again, staring at Shanks disbelievingly. His hand clenched around the already crumpled scarf, his body was vibrating with tension. This was a joke, it had to be one. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he must have misheard. What kind of game was played here, and to what purpose?

Even in times when Benn hadn't had control over what was done to his body, he had always managed to keep his mouth shut. Saying anything, insults, dares, shouts, would only have led to punishment or even his death. This sudden reaction alone would have actually been enough to enrage certain owners Benn had had before, but Shanks… Shanks still hadn't moved. The silence stretching between them was unbearable, even though noises from outside could be heard through the walls. The sound of bright, carefree laughter reached their ears, maybe a child's, but it felt far, far away. In this moment, everything outside of the room felt like a different world. A world where Benn would never belong.

His eyes followed Shanks' movements as the other man pressed his hands, plain with the exception of the owner's ring, into the mattress to push himself up from his sitting position on the bed. A low creak sounded through the room and as the man came closer, Benn's wish to run battled with his fast beating heart. The scenery was a familiar yet despised one and without effort, Benn's walls that had lowered before went back up again. Shanks' notion of not touching him was a strange one.

As Shanks silently reached for the red silk, softly pulling it out of his grip, an irritated "What?" escaped Benn's lips. The warmth that was radiating from the other man's body made his nerves prickle, every sense in him screaming to just do something, but Benn couldn't move. Frozen to the spot he waited and a shudder ran down his spine when the cold fabric touched his neck. A gentle breeze of breath brushed Benn's cheeks and his long hair got tangled in the scarf. Shanks was so close that Benn could smell his scent, a mix of what he believed to be rum, honey and something… something that was uniquely Shanks and that made his heart ache with longing.

An endless moment later Shanks stepped back while the red fabric stayed draped loosely around Benn's neck with the ends hanging down his chest, covering the necklace and the skin his partly opened shirt revealed. Only now he realized Shanks had stuck to his word. He hadn't been touched. Not even once.

"I am sorry if I gave you a wrong impression. I should have thought about what my words would mean to you. I'm just not good… with words," Shanks said, while he moved back to sit on the bed. It creaked softly under the weight. A weary smile graced his lips. Benn was still keeping silent, too shocked to form a coherent sentence. His gray eyes watched the other intently from above, tracing the softened lines of Shanks' face. His expression betrayed his disbelief of what had just happened. And it wasn't only disbelief he felt, his inability to predict what would happen next made him feel uneasy, like he had lost any control over the situation and therefore was completely at Shanks' mercy.

"Roo has told me you work with him in the kitchen," Shanks kept on speaking. He had probably realized Benn wouldn't say anything. Not yet. Or never again. Benn felt like he had forgotten how to speak. Or how to exist. Maybe he would just disappear any moment. However, he managed to nod. It was a small gesture but it seemed to encourage his current… his… Shanks to continue speaking.

"Do you like the work?" It was a simple question. A question a considerate employer would ask his employee after some days of work, to see if everything was alright. It was the kind of question that made Shanks into a very good person… and let Benn look like the fool he was. Suddenly shivering, he sat himself back down onto the stool, afraid his knees wouldn't hold him any longer. A slave… he was a simple slave but yet a part of him wasn't feeling like it anymore. Just because Shanks had had the chance to use him and had decided not to take it. And maybe also because of the consideration he showed by asking Benn if he was happy with his assigned work.

"Yes…"

The answer came after an endless moment of silence and Benn's voice was uncharacteristically flat. It wasn't a lie – after all, he did like the work. He felt appreciated working with people who valued his help, and it was good to see how something as simple as food could make people happy. Food was important and in Shanks' palace it was both good and plenty. It was a place where people lived without fear, where you could feel secure, and where even a slave like Benn was only ever treated with respect and kindness. This was what being a free man must feel like, Benn thought with bitterness and yearning alike, for he wouldn't risk opening up to this new life. What could he believe? What was he to expect? Why was Shanks not using him like the slave he was? He didn't behave like any other person who had owned him before. Who was that man, and especially, who was he to him, to Benn?

"Good, I guess. Roo has already said he would like to keep you in the kitchen, so that's settled. Go talk to Yasopp about the salary. As a cook's assistant, you don't earn that much, but it should be decent enough," Shanks said smiling encouragingly, but despite his cheerful demeanor, something about him told Benn that he was still sad. Maybe it was the tone of his voice? Or his eyes which seemed less bright, looking dark and exhausted?

Benn wanted to reply with a 'Thank you' but was struck silent. His brain hadn't fully processed Shanks' words. He had been so lost in his thoughts that it took a while before he realized their meaning. A sharp inhale announced his surprise, and he clenched his hands into fists.

"Salary?" Benn asked, searching the other's face for the lie. But he could find no hint of it, and when their eyes met, he saw surprise in them. Real, honest surprise about the redirected question. It made his heart beat faster, though he was unaware of the reasons.

"Yes, as I said it won't be much. Yasopp can tell you the exact sum. And you will also get two days off," was the simple answer out of Shanks' mouth, his ever-fidgeting fingers coming to a rest for a moment. Laughter sounded again from outside, cheery and loud, and it would have been a good opportunity for them to break the eye contact as it had grown more and more intense. But they were unable to look away, lost in each other's gazes. Invisible strings seemed to bind them together.

"But I'm a slave." The words had slipped without thought, and already Benn wished he hadn't spoken his mind. The metal felt heavy around his neck and he forced his hands to keep still, so they wouldn't reach for it and remind Shanks of the tangible truth of his words. All he could do was stare into Shanks' eyes, watching them becoming more and more dull. Everything in Benn wanted to shout, to scream, that it was not fair to be treated with so much kindness and understanding, when this cursed necklace spoke a different language. He wanted to insult Shanks, dare him to take the thing off. He wore the bloody ring and therefore owned him. Yet he treated Benn like a free man.

The contrast between Shanks behavior towards him and Benn's apprehension of how people used slaves like himself made him feel unsettled. The constant fear of Shanks changing his mind about him forced Benn to keep his guard up in the other's presence constantly. He already dreaded the moment Shanks would decide to make use of the golden band around his finger. The moment he would decide solely looking at him wasn't enough. No person was that generous. The worst was that Benn knew it would hurt, and if he opened up to the other man now, it would only be worse. Not wanting to make himself more vulnerable by revealing any more, he decided to keep silent.

"No, you are not," Shanks said while he pushed himself up from the bed. Red hair covered his face as he turned to the window over the desk. Maybe he was looking for the source of laughter that had already faded away. A pang of guilt made Benn's heart ache at the sight. He longed to see the expression on Shanks' face, yet he remained seated. Shanks' sadness was his doing, but he felt unable to take back his words for they were true. "Go to bed, Benn. You'll have to get up early for work tomorrow."

The voice that reached Benn was so saturated with defeat, it felt like a slap in the face. He realized his words had really hurt Shanks and anguish filled him. He wondered what had happened to him in the past. He had sounded so insecure and lost, it physically hurt the tall man. Had Benn permanently damaged what had been between them? He was unable to find the answer as Shanks had turned away from him. He had shut him out as it was his right, and Benn had to accept the dismissal. Getting to his feet, he crossed the distance to the door, opening it. Before he went out, though, he looked back at Shanks who still stood in the same spot, hair covering his face. Yet he couldn't hide the tears that silently fell on his clothes.

Feeling the need to say something to make Shanks better but unable to apologize, Benn fled. Guilt drove him and as soon as he had shut the door, his feet started to move until he ran in an attempt to get away from a whirlwind of feelings he couldn't quite place.