Benjamin's POV

We sat side by side at my desk, our shoulders close enough to make the proximity slightly uncomfortable.

"Forty minutes, big shot. I'm timing you." And as I said so, I pulled out my phone and started the timer.

Jeremy had brought over his laptop, and I was hunched behind mine.

"You time me all you want. As I said... forty minutes."

“So,” I began, tapping the enter key dramatically. “Joseph Turner. Brooding look, growls like a Doberman, hates being found. But, according to Caldwell, a big softie.”

Jeremy nodded. “That’s always the best way in. We find out who makes Turner soft.”

“You think he has a girlfriend? That's a big assumption.”

“Not necessarily a girlfriend,” Jeremy replied. “Maybe a friend. A sibling. A dying cat. Someone he lets his guard down with.”

“Instagram?” I suggested.

“Already tried. His profile’s private, but I found his old undergrad account. No updates since last year. I think he scrubbed most of it before the professor gave the assignment.”

“LinkedIn?”

Jeremy huffed. “Do people still use that?”

We opened it anyway. Jeremy read it out loud for me. Turner’s profile was minimal: NYU graduate, current PhD candidate, assistant to Professor Caldwell, interests: philosophy of language, epistemology, sad coffee shops.

“No posts, no connections shown,” I muttered.

Our hunt went on with increasing frustration, until... "I've got something," Jeremy said. "There’s a 'Nina L.' who commented: ‘You clean up okay. Next time bring Tank 🐶 and it’ll be a real party.’”

“Tank?"

"There's an emoji of a dog next to it."

"Cool. Turner has a dog. What about this Nina L.?”

"Clicking on her."

Jeremy described everything: NYU alum, pediatric nurse, follows multiple disability advocacy accounts, and had a photo in a sunny park with a bunch of people, one of which was Turner and a dog.

“The dog has a harness."

"Like a guide dog?" I asked perplexed.

"I don't know. Maybe. It's a red harness and it says 'Do not pet' on the side."

"Is the dog on a leash or does it have a rigid handle?"

"Turner is holding a normal leash."

"It's not a guide dog then," I explained. "Could be a medical alert dog."

"Like... for seizures?"

"Seizures, abnormal heart rhythms, abnormal glycemia levels... it could be many things."

"But he didn't have the dog at the lecture," Jeremy mumbled.

"And if I needed a dog to survive, I'll be damn sure to bring it everywhere with me."

"So the dog isn't Turner's."

I could feel the excitment of the hunt get the better of me. "But Nina told Turner to 'bring Tank next time'. So it's reasonable to assume that..."

"Turner lives with someone who needs a service dog." Jeremy was as high on this as I was.

"The acutal owner must be in the shot, right? They would not have been too far from the dog."

Jeremy crouched closer to the screen. "There’s a guy who's close enough to be our man. Mid-twenties, short hair, kind of scrawny. He’s holding a water bottle and Tank’s leash is practically draped over his foot.”

“Could be the owner.”

“Nina tagged him. His name’s Caleb Knox. I’m checking his profile...” Jeremy grinned. “I love people that overshare online. Caleb works at a community theater. There's a post about a new gig in the Bronx — some ‘Theater for All’ initiative. He also volunteers at a food co-op on weekends and posted about running a 5K fundraiser for something called 'Companions United.’ Wait... he just posted about Tank last week. ‘Tank taking a break after yesterday’s shift’, and it’s a photo of the dog under a table. I can see theater flyers on the wall behind them.” Jeremy's smile was growing ever so big. “So let’s triangulate. Community theater on East 180th, food co-op two blocks away, and the 5K was at Bronx Park. That narrows it down." He pulled up a map and drew an invisible circle with the cursor. “That’s, like, a ten-block radius.”

"But it's not a given that the right apartment is in that area." I pointed out the obvious.

Jeremy cracked his knuckles and stated typing very fast. “We're not looking for the right apartment in this area. We are looking for the right vet.”

“Wha-,” I said, blinking. “Wait what's the plan, exactly?”

Apparently, Jeremy didn't like wasting his breath on explanations. He was already dialing.

The first call connected. I heard the bright, polished voice of a receptionist: “Good morning, Forest Hills Animal Clinic, how can I help you?”

“Yes, hi,” Jeremy said, his voice became sharp, edged with frustration. “We’ve got a billing issue with our last visit. Our dog, Tank, was there two weeks ago and we were double charged.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” she replied. “Let me just pull up your file. What breed is Tank?”

“He’s a labrador,” Jeremy said. “Red harnest, service dog. Hard to miss.”

“A service dog? I don't think I remember-” she started.

Jeremy hung up and was already dialing the next number.

Call after call, we heard the same thing. No Tank. No billing record. I started losing hope around the fourth clinic. But Jeremy? He was basically hopping on the spot.

On the seventh try, a woman picked up and said, “Bronx Animal Health Center, this is Diane.”

“Diane, thank God,” Jeremy began, already slipping into his act. “We’ve got a massive billing screw-up on our hands. Tank — service dog, labrador, big guy — came in for a check-up last Thursday. I swear we were double-charged.”

“Tank... one moment.” We heard clicking. “Is this for Caleb Knox?”

Jeremy’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Of course. ”

“Okay... I'm not really finding any billing for last week. What is it that you came in for?"

"What?! Not only you double charge me, you don't even save the damn recepit! What kind of business are you running?!"

"P-please calm down, sir. We'll solve this issue very soon, I'm sure. Let me just call-"

"Wait, no... maybe I know what happened. I-I'm sorry, this might actually all be my fault. Last time I was there I told the secretary that I changed my adress. It was a hectic day, I was not really feeling my best. I think I might have given her the wrong one? What's on your systems right now?"

"Uhm... I don't really think that has to do with the billing. It's- uhm... 1443 Bronx Park East, apartment 2C. Should it be different?”

“No,” Jeremy said brightly. “That’s the one. Thanks a lot.”

He hung up and looked at me. There was a beautiful light in his smuggy grin. I felt elated and out of breath, even though I hadn't even moved from my chair.

We hadn't even left the room, like he said.

Fuck. 

He was better than me. 

And I saw it in the way he was waiting... he wanted me to admit it. 

I could be the bigger man. It would make him happy, and Jeremy needed a win today.

But before my mouth could speak, my hand was already over my phone, and my thumb was pressing the voice assistant command.

"Fifty-five minutes and thirteen seconds."

Jeremy lost his grin. He crossed his arms on his chest and for a moment he did nothing but brood.

Then, he bursted out laughing. "You're an asshole! I did great!"

I turned a half circle on my swivel chair and tried to look very busy on my laptop. "You did adequately."

"Oh, I'm sure we could have gotten the solution much faster with your lead, Mr. Nicholson."

"Indeed we could have."

Jeremy huffed another laugh while dropping in his chair. "Thank you. It was a nice fifty-five minutes."

I shrugged. "I promised you I was going to do this stupid assignment with you if you came to the party with me."

"Were you actually going to keep that promise if you hadn't seen me lose it?"

I didn't want to think too much about the answer, so I simply shrugged again.

"You're too hard on yourself. You're not really as terrible as you think you are."

I dared to peek at him, and I did not like the honest look he was giving me. Not one bit. "You don't know me at all."

"Well, we'll have lots of time to fix that." And just like that, his mind got lost into something dark again.

That voice in my head that told me that he was making a big deal out of nothing came back. He was healthy, he had a loving boyfriend, a supportive family... what else did he want?

But wasn't that the reason why I was in this mess in the first place? Always assuming I can understand other's people positions. For years I thought I could understand what Casper was going through, and I judged him. I judged him on things I had no right to judge him on, until he could do nothing but lie to me.

If I had been more understanding, would I have been able to drag him out of the Pit before...?

That kind of thought was going to turn me mad. There was no point in looking back. I could only hope not to make the same mistakes in the future.

"Help me understand. Why are you so upset about your friends leaving for a few months?"

Jeremy's lips pulled to one side. "I would need a few hours to answer that question."

I gave him as much time as I thought reasonable to answer my question. He didn't want to.

Well. That was understandable. I hadn't exactly proved I was somene safe he could talk to.

"Should I try to guess?" My tone made it clear I simply wanted to tease him to take his mind out of whatever drakness it had fallen into. "Maybe, if they're gonna be gone until Jenuary, you're scared you're not going to receive as many gifts this Chritmas."

He laughed tentively, before falling into an even deeper sadness. "Oh, God. I'll be alone for Christmas."

As soon as I heard his breathing getting laboured again, I reached for his shoulder and shook him. "You're not going to be alone for Christmas! Come on! If they can't leave their stupid music thing for a week, you're going to get your revege by coming to California with me. I'm going to show you Norgree, and then we're going to have a blast in Los Angeles and Las Vegas."

He laughed again. Still softly, but I was gonna take my wins whenever I could.

"I'm not really a party kind of guy."

"Yeah, no, I got that. But we're not doing it because it's fun. We're doing it because revange tastes sweet."

Jeremy look down and tried to hide his smile. I got the impression that he knew what I was talking about.

"You have a real bad influence on me, Ben."