benson would absolutely pull that shit where he'd be like
"cmonn randy, jus say you like it and i'll fuckin drop it"
randy won't. randy rarely defies orders but for some godforsaken reason, he just can't seem to get the words out. they're stuck in his throat, sticky and bitter. he stares forward, the burn of tears stinging the corners of his eyes.
benson huffs, decides to up the ante. he presses his foot down on the pedal, the shitbox of a car gaining speed slowly, but surely.
"cmon randy. just tell me. fuckin say it"
randy's heart ticks faster, faster
they have to be going at least 80 down this stretch of road, to randy's estimate by the shadowy trees ripping past his window
"don't make me do this, randy"
through the bleary haze, through the stream of tears, through some sort of sheer, god given will, the ghost of the boy speaks
"i like it, i like you. i-i like you, benson, please-"
"sounds like a buncha bullshit, bradley. don't think i believe you."
"benson- please! i do, i do, i swear! just stop- please iswearilikeyouilikethis!"
the older man slowly starts to remove his foot from the pedal. they start to tick down to a normal pace. randy still can't breathe. benson pulls off the road. he stares at the shuddering figure in his passenger seat. such a sad sight, he thought. he grabs randy by his jaw, forces him to look, to face the situation.
"you gonna say thank you?"