"Joel, are you serious? We're not seriously going to stay in a place called Bates Motel!"

He rolls his eyes. "It's just a stupid movie, Billy, and this is the only place for miles."

It would seem that being an Alfred Hitchcock fan would have its disadvantages. Excuse me if I find staying in a motel with the same name as the one in Psycho a little creepy. Especially when I'm staying with someone who's obviously mentally deranged, much like the killer in said movie.

I'd kill to fall asleep, though. I've been awake since four AM and it's now nearly midnight. I can tell Joel's tired, too, he's been driving the whole time. I don't even know what state we're in, it's all just kind of blurred together. We started out in LA, so we must be somewhere in the southwest, I'm guessing.

We climb out of the car, and Joel lets out a strained groan as he stretches his cramped legs. I look up at the "Bates Motel" sign and shivver. It's just too much of a coincidence for my liking. "C'mon, lil Billy, let's get a room."

I take in every creepy detail as we approach reception. The gravel crunches and squeals in protest under my feet as I force them to move towards the office, which is well-lit - luckily, or my nerves would have been shot. Joel walks in silence beside me, hands shoved in his pockets, hood pulled over his head. From this angle, he looks almost exactly like Benji, except for one minor detail - there's no lip rings reflecting the dim light. I long to hear him speak, just to hear him say a few words, because when he does, I can close my eyes and pretend he really is Benji.

We step up to the counter and Joel offers the fat old man a slight smile. "Room for two, please."

The old man eyes us up, obviously suspicious, then grabs a key off the wall and hands it to Joel. "Thirty bucks."

Joel pays the man in cash and quickly shuffles out of there. I can tell he's nervous - God knows we wouldn't want anyone to recognize us. If I could have gone to the police before, I can't now. Now I'm here voluntarily. They would probably suspect me as much as Joel.

We reach our room, and Joel opens the door, ushering me in. I take in my surroundings - a bathroom, a kitchen, and a double bed. We're going to be sleeping in the same bed together. The old man must've thought we were a couple or something.

"You can stay with us for as long as you want, Billers," Benji smiles at me, "but you'll have to sleep in my bed with me. It's like, a big bed, so... yeah. But if you're really uncomfortable with it, I can sleep on the couch or something..."

I shake my head vigourously, trying not to smile at the faint blush in his cheeks. "Really, it's fine. I'm just glad I don't have to go home to my uncle... and besides, I wouldn't want to kick you out of your own bed. If anything, I should sleep on the couch."

He leads me into a small room near the back of his house and opens the door. There are clothes and cassettes and posters covering every inch of the floor and the walls - and the roof would be covered, too, if it weren't for a little space around the lightbulb. He knows I'm overwhelmingly tired, so he walks over to the bed and pulls back the covers for me. "You can go to bed now. I will, too, I don't wanna wake you up again if I go to bed later."

I just nod, a blush rising in my own cheeks, and I pull off my hoodie. He takes the hint and turns around. "If you wanna strip down to your boxers, I'll get undressed, too. Just don't look."

I pull off my ripped Dickies and climb in, leaving my t-shirt on, trying to avoid looking at the godly prescence who's currently removing his shirt. I feel the bed shift as he crawls in beside me, leaving a decent space between us.

After a while of trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep, I roll over to face the wall and let the tears flow again. Involuntarily, I sniff, and I can feel the mattress move as Benji fights with the blankets, trying to turn to face my back. "Billy? You okay?"

A gentle hand rests on my shoulder and I shake my head slowly, falling onto my back so I can see him. He leans over me, looking down with caring eyes, and all I want to do is wrap my arms around him and kiss him. I can't, though. Straight boys don't kiss other straight boys. I say the only thing I can think of saying. "Could... could you hold me?"

I immediately regret my words. That's another thing straight boys don't do. I expect him to shrink away from me in disgust, or at the very least, act like the request was a little strange. He doesn't. He just wraps his arms around me and pulls me so my ear is resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. I curl into his arms, closing my eyes. I can't believe I even have a friend, let alone one who understands me.

If only he were more.

"I'll sleep on the couch," Joel quickly volunteers, but I shake my head.

"No. It's okay. It's a big bed."

He nods and blushes, pulling his hood back down. "Alright, well," he shrugs, "you wanna hit the sack?"

I nod, and in a few minutes, we're in bed together, each of us facing away from the other. I'm so, so afraid, and I need Benji. I need the comfort of his arms, the warmth of his body. I need him to hold me like he did that night so long ago, when my world was breaking down. The day he first loaned me his wings and showed me how to fly. "Joel?"

At the same time, we both roll over in the bed to face one another. "Yeah?"

"Could... could you hold me?"

He shuffles closer and wraps his strong arms around me, and I snuggle into his chest. He smells like Benji, he sounds like Benji, he looks like Benji...

A tear rolls down my cheek, moistening Joel's bare chest.

But he's not Benji. He's the man who killed him.