#bensonxreader

For six months, the night shift at Burgers Burgers has been nothing more than routine - grease-stained uniforms, neon lights buzzing against the quiet hours, and the unspoken companionship between two coworkers who never quite cross the line into something more. But when a missed ride home changes everything, (Y/N) finds herself drawn into the orbit of Benson - an enigmatic, soft-spoken man whose presence has always lingered just a little too close, a little too long.

What begins as a ride in the dark unfolds into something deeper, stranger, and far more dangerous than she ever expected. There's a tenderness in Benson that feels almost safe, but beneath it runs an undercurrent she can't name, a shadow she can't ignore. As the late nights stretch on and boundaries blur, the question becomes not if she can trust him - but if she should.

Chapters

Chapter 1 -> The night shift at Burgers Burgers Burgers is quiet, almost hypnotic - until a late-night incident shakes the routine and leaves the air charged with something unspoken. As the clock clicks toward closing, a simple act of kindness between two coworkers hints at a connection that has been quietly simmering beneath the surface. Between small gestures, shared silences, and a ride home under the dark, empty streets, the night leaves an impression neither of them can quite forget.

Chapter 2 -> Between the stale air of lecture halls and the grease-stained glow of Burgers Burgers Burgers, life feels caught in a loop - predictable, suffocating, and full of cracks that only seem to widen. Old friendships, whispered rumors, and sharp-edged words gnaw at the edges of (Y/N)'s world, leaving her reaching for something steady to hold onto. Amid the fluorescent lights and late-night routines, Benson's quiet presence lingers closer than ever, a shadow she can't quite step away from. But in the hush of empty roads and dim headlights, comfort begins to take on a shape that feels both safe... and unsettling.

Chapter 3 -> Grease crackles, tempers simmer, and the night shift grinds on. Benson's patience is pushed to its limits when cruel gossip forces the violent edge he's kept buried to the surface. But once the shift changes, the tone softens - glances linger, banter deepens, and unspoken tension begins to thread itself between Benson and (Y/N). What starts at teasing slowly builds into something hotter, heavier, and far more dangerous than either of them are ready to name. When the night takes a sudden turn on a quiet road, lines blur, and everything between them changes.

Hi, don't come after me. I fucking love Benson. This was written a while ago and is intended to be a one shot series but I may or may not turn it into an actual series....

A/N (9/24/25) -> Hi, so I did end up turning this into a series. Go check it out if you like this!

A what-if AU where Reader works at the same fast-food joint. They're used to Benson's odd quietness behind the counter, but one night when it's just the two of them, they see a softer side he never shows.

Closing Shift - Part 1

The fryers hissed behind the counter, the sharp smell of grease and fryer oil clinging stubbornly to her hair and clothes. She sighed as she wiped down the sticky surface, her hands already sore from a double shift. Most people her age were of doing... well, anything but flipping burgers and scrubbing ketchup off tables and booths. But tuition wasn't going to pay itself, and the community college in the next town over didn't exactly care about how many late nights she pulled.

At least she had her parents' place to go home to, even if it meant still living in the same bedroom she grew up in. The faded posters on her walls felt like a reminder she hadn't gone far enough yet. Burgers Burgers Burgers wasn't glamorous, but it was steady. Steady was good.

She glanced over her shoulder. Benson was restocking napkins at the condiment bar, shoulders hunched, his uniform cap tugged down low. He wasn't much of a talker - never had been, not since he started working there six months ago. Most people kept their distance. His quietness, his sharp edges, made him hard to approach. Customers sometimes gave him funny looks, but she'd always seen something different in him. Something fragile.

The store had gone silent after the dinner rush, leaving only the hum of the overhead lights and the faint squeak of Benson's shoes as he moved. She broke the quiet first.

"You think anyone's actually gonna come in this late?" she asked, leaning against the counter.

Benson's head tilted just a little, like he had to consider whether it was safe to answer. "Doubt it," he said finally, voice low and even.

She smiled. "Good. Means I can take a break."

His eyes flicked to hers for the briefest second before darting away. He didn't say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitched - almost a smile.

She grabbed a paper hat from the counter, folding it into a sloppy crown and setting it on her head. "Behold, the Burger Queen," she announced dramatically, hands on her hips.

Benson blinked at her, then shook his head, like he couldn't believe she was doing this in front of him. But his shoulders loosened a little, the tension melting.

"You're ridiculous," he muttered.

"Ridiculously hardworking," she countered. "And ridiculously underpaid."

That earned her a real smile - small, lopsided, but real. Her chest tightened at the sight. Benson didn't smile often. She wanted to keep it there.

She slid into one of the stools at the counter, resting her chin in her hands. "So, Mister Mysterious, what do you even do when you're not here? You've got to have some kind of hobby. Everyone does."

Benson shrugged, still focused on stacking napkins. "Not really."

"C'mon," she pushed gently. "You don't, like... draw? Read? Listen to music?"

He hesitated. Then, softly: "Music."

Her grin widened. "Aha. What kind?"

There was another pause, like he was weighing if he could trust her with the answer. "Old stuff. Folk. Some classic rock."

"Nice," she said warmly. "See? I knew you weren't just some robot who lives off frozen patties."

He gave a short laugh under his breath, surprising even himself. It was quiet, but the sound lit up the dim restaurant more than the buzzing neon lights ever could.

By the time closing rolled around, they were wiping down the same counter, their shoulders brushing every so often. Each touch was a tiny spark she pretended not to notice, though her pulse gave her away.

When the last chair was flipped onto the last table, she stretched her arms high, groaning dramatically. "Freedom."

Benson turned, watching her with that unreadable expression. But then, almost shyly, he asked, "Want a ride home?"

Her heart skipped. He'd never offered before. She nodded, smiling softly. "Yeah. I'd like that."

The two of them walked out into the cool night air, the empty parking lot bathed in the glow of flickering streetlights.

The hum of Benson's old car filled the silence, steady and low. The dashboard light flickered a tired green, illuminating his profile as he kept his eyes on the dark stretch of road ahead. Out here, past the glow of the town, it was just endless cornfields rolling by on either side, the stalks bending slightly in the night breeze.

She tucked her hands into her lap, the faint smell of fryer oil clinging to her clothes mixing with the cleaner scent of his car. There was a quiet between them, but not uncomfortable - more like the kind that holds something unpsoken.

Benson cleared his throat, glancing sideways at her before looking back at the road. "You said... you're at the college in the next town, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Community college. Just general classes for now. Trying to save money before I figure out a real direction."

His hands tightened on the wheel, not in tension but in focus. "That's smart." A pause. Then softer: "What do you like?"

The question hung there, not casual small talk, but something heavier. Something that meant he wanted to know her.

She smiled faintly, staring out at the blur of corn. "I like reading. Writing sometimes. History classes aren't bad. And... I don't know. I like the idea of maybe teaching one day."

Benson gave a short nod, as if he was filling every word away. "Makes sense," he murmured. "You're... good with people."

She laughed quietly, turning her head toward him. "Good with people? Me? Says the one who barely talks to anyone."

His lips curved, just barely. "Doesn't mean I don't notice."

Her chest tightened, warmth spreading beneath her skin. She looked back out the window, biting her lip.

After a moment, she asked, "What about you? You ever thought about... I don't know, doing something else? other than Burgers Burgers Burgers?"

He huffed a breath that wasn't quite a laugh. "Sometimes. But... I'm not sure where I'd fit."

The honesty in his tone made her heart ache. She wanted to say he fit here, with her, in this small car on this dark road, but the words stayed lodged in her throat.

They drove a while longer in silence, the kind that felt fuller rather than empty. Occasionally, he'd ask her little things: her favorite book, what kind of music she played in her car, if she liked living, so far outside town. Each question was simple, but there was intent behind it - Benson wanted to know her, piece by piece.

When the car finally turned onto the gravel drive that led up to her parents' farmhouse, the headlights washed over the white siding and the porch swing that creaked gently in the night breeze. Benson slowed to a stop, shifting the car into park.

She unbuckled her seatbelt, hesitating with her hand on the door handle. "Thanks for the ride."

His fingers tapped the steering wheel once before stilling. "Anytime." He glanced at her then, really looked at her, the green glow of the dashboard lights painting shadows under his eyes. "I mean that."

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air felt thick, charged, as if something was about to spill over. But then she smiled softly, breaking the tension.

"Guess I'll see you next shift," she said, her voice light but her eyes lingering.

Benson nodded slowly, lips twitching like he wanted to say more but couldn't yet. "Yeah. Next shift."

She slipped out of the car, gravel crunching under her shoes as she walked toward the house. Just before she stepped onto the porch, she glanced back. His car was still there, headlights cutting through the corn. And even from this distance, she could feel his gaze on her, steady and unshakable.

She didn't know what would come next. But something was unfolding - slow, quiet, inevitable. And it felt like the start of a story neither of them knew how to tell yet.

(A/N: Part 2 is now up!)

I love love love The Passenger. If you haven't watched the movie, it's literally so good. By the way, this is an AU where Benson isn't going to snap (cough cough or not yet cough cough). Definitely watch the movie. Kyle Gallner is a fucking legend and he plays the role so beautifully.

Thank you so much for reading!💜  If you enjoyed this piece, there's plenty more where that came from, and I'll be adding to my collection as time goes on. I'm always open to suggestions and requests – so if there's something you'd like to see, don't be shy about sharing it with me! I'll do my best to deliver (within reason, of course – nothing too intense or overly triggering).

Your support means the world. ✨

Hey guys! I'm so excited to put this out here, I've been working on it for a little bit now, ever since I started rereading and posting my one shots. If you haven't read the one shots, here is part 1 and part 2. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I've got eight chapters so far and I'm so happy!

The night shift at Burgers Burgers Burgers is quiet, almost hypnotic - until a late-night incident shakes the routine and leaves the air charged with something unspoken. As the clock ticks toward closing, a simple act of kindness between two coworkers hints at a connection that has been quietly simmering beneath the surface. Between small gestures, shared silences, and a ride home under the dark, empty streets, the night leaves an impression neither of them can quite foreget.

Potential TW:

Verbal aggression / confrontation

Physical aggression / thrown objects

The red neon BURGERS BURGERS BURGERS sign buzzed overhead, humming like it was tired of being alive. It was almost ten p.m., the last thirty minutes of the night shift, and (Y/N) leaned against the counter at the front window, chin propped in her palm. A half-empty notebook was open beside the register, her messy handwriting looping across the page – half history notes, half doodles.

She was nineteen, a community college freshman still trying to figure out what she wanted her life to look like. Maybe psychology. Maybe teaching. Maybe something else entirely. Until then, she was stuck splitting her time between school in the next town over and this greasy little fast food joint at the edge of nowhere.

Behind her, Benson moved quietly in the kitchen, sliding burgers onto buns with the kind of careful precision most people wouldn't bother with this late at night. He didn't talk much, not unless he had to. But (Y/N) had started to notice little things – like how he always wiped the counter twice before setting down an order, or how he tucked his hair behind his ear when it fell into his face.

"Got one ready," Benson said softly, sliding a wrapped burger onto the tray. His voice was low, gravelly, like he didn't use it often.

"Thanks," (Y/N) said, pulling the bag open and slipping the food inside. She gave him a small smile, one she wasn't sure he noticed.

Most of the night had been slow – an occasional late-night drive-thru order from someone coming off the highway, nothing exciting. The clock ticked toward closing, and (Y/N) started daydreaming about going home to her parents' quiet farmhouse, maybe eating leftovers in front of the TV, maybe staying up too late scrolling through her phone.

That was when the car rolled up to the window. A beat-up pickup, headlights glaring into the restaurant like spotlights. (Y/N) plastered on her customer-service smile, sliding the window open as the driver leaned out. He was middle-aged, sunburnt, and already scowling.

"Order for Smith," he barked.

(Y/N) grabbed the bag, checked the receipt, and handed it over. "Here you go. Thanks for stopping –"

Before she could finish, the man dug through the bag. His face twisted. "Where's the other burger? I said three."

"Oh –" (Y/N) blinked, startled. She glanced back at Benson. "Did you –"

Benson looked up from the grill, eyes narrowing. "The order said two."

"I paid for three!" the man snapped.

"Sir, let me check the receipt real quick –" (Y/N) began, trying to keep her voice calm. But the man wasn't having it. His face went red, and before she could react, he hurled the bag straight at her.

It hit (Y/N) in the cheek, the warm grease bleeding through the paper, fries spilling onto the counter. She stumbled back, hand flying to her face in shock.

The sound of metal clattering cut through the moment – Benson dropping his spatula. When (Y/N) turned, he was already grabbing the broom propped against the fryer.

He stormed toward the window, shoulders tense, eyes dark in a way she hadn't seen before.

"Hey!" Benson's voice cracked sharp through the night, louder than she'd ever heard him. He jabbed the broom bristles out the window like a spear, eyes locked on the driver. "You don't throw things at girls. You hear me?"

The man flinched, startled by the sudden intensity. Then his face hardened, and he slammed his truck into gear. Tires squealing as he sped off into the night, taillights vanishing down the empty stretch of road.

For a second, the only sound was the hum of the neon sign and her own pulse in her ears.

Benson lowered the broom, setting it gently against the counter like nothing had happened. He turned back to her, his face softening instantly.

"You okay?" he asked, quieter now.

(Y/N) nodded, though her cheek still stung. She couldn't help the small laugh that slipped out – half nerves, half disbelief. "Yeah. Guess I didn't see that coming."

Benson's mouth twitched like he might smile, but he didn't quite let it show. Instead, he reached for a napkin and handed it to her, his fingers brushing hers for just  a second.

"Some people are just… jerks," he muttered.

She looked at him, at the way his jaw was still tight, like he was holding back more words. For the first time, she realized that maybe there was more to quiet, careful Benson than she thought.

And for some reason, the idea made her heart beat a little faster.

Closing up was routine – wiping down counters, locking the freezer, counting the drawer – but tonight it all felt a little different. (Y/N)'s cheek still faintly burned from where the bag had hit, but Benson hadn't said another word about it. He worked silently, moving through his tasks like he always did, though every now and then she caught him glancing at her when he thought she wasn't looking.

When the lights finally clicked off, (Y/N) stepped outside into the cool night air, hugging her hoodie tighter around herself. The parking lot was empty except for Benson's old car and the buzzing light pole at the edge of the asphalt. She pulled out her phone and sent another text.

You're still coming, right?

The three little dots never appeared.

Benson came out a minute later, locking the side door behind him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at her, then at the dark road stretching past the restaurant. "You got a ride?"

"Yeah," she said quickly. "My boyfriend's picking me up."

Benson just nodded, his face unreadable. He leaned back against the brick wall, pulling out a pack of gum and offering her a piece without a word. She accepted it, mostly to give herself something to do with her hands.

Minutes passed. The parking lot stayed empty.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen.

(Y/N)'s phone stayed silent, the unread texts stacking in her screen. Her chest sank heavier with each one.

Finally, Benson let out a quiet sigh and pushed himself off the wall. He spread his arms in an exasperated gesture. "Alright. That's it. He's not coming."

"He might –" (Y/N) started, but Benson shook his head.

"Don't think so." He jingled his keys in his hand, the metal catching the glow from the buzzing light. "Come on. I'll take you home."

She hesitated, caught between pride and the weight of knowing he was right. "... Are you sure?"

"Car's right there," Benson said simply, nodding toward the tan 1974 Chevrolet Newport Custom sitting like a faded relic across the street. "Safer than waiting out here by yourself."

Her chest softened at that. She didn't argue.

The ride was quiet at first, the only sound the hum of the old engine and the faint static of the radio Benson hadn't bothered to change. She sat with her hands in her lap, watching the streetlights pass by, her reflection flickering in the glass.

After a few miles, Benson spoke, his voice careful. "So… your boyfriend. You've been together a while?"

"Yeah," she said slowly, like the word weighed more than it used to. "Since high school. Two years now."

He nodded, tapping the steering wheel lightly. "That's a long time."

"Yeah," she echoed.

She didn't add that lately it hadn't felt like two years of steady anything. That she'd noticed him pulling away, making excuses, his phone always facedown when they were together. That a tiny part of her already knew the truth, even if she didn't want to admit it.

Instead, she let the silence fill back in, watching the empty fields blur past.

The road narrowed into gravel, dust kicking up behind them until Benson slowed to a stop at the edge of a small farmhouse. The porch light glowed faintly, casting shadows across the yard.

(Y/N) unbuckled, fingers lingering on the seatbelt clip for a moment longer than they needed to. "Thanks… really. For the ride."

Benson gave a small nod, his hand resting on the wheel. "No problem." His voice was quiet again, almost back to the way it was inside the restaurant.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then (Y/N) opened the door, the night air rushing in cool against her skin. She stepped out, turning back once more. "Goodnight, Benson."

His eyes flicked to hers in the dim light, unreadable as ever. Then he gave the smallest of nods, like that was all he needed to say. 

The Chevy rumbled back down the road, its taillights shrinking into the dark. (Y/N) lingered on the porch a second longer, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She'd never admit it out loud – not to him, not to anyone – but there'd always been something about Benson that tugged at her, quiet and steady. And tonight, after everything, that tug felt a little stronger.

Thank you so much for reading!💜  If you enjoyed this piece, there's plenty more where that came from, and I'll be adding to my collection as time goes on. I'm always open to suggestions and requests – so if there's something you'd like to see, don't be shy about sharing it with me! I'll do my best to deliver (within reason, of course – nothing too intense or overly triggering).

Your support means the world. ✨

Post Master List

Hi :3 I'm here to bestow another chapter of The Night Shift, it's so freaking good so far. I literally cannot stop writing and brainstorming for it.

If you haven't read Chapter 1, here it is. If you want to find the post master list, here it is. Thank you guys for taking the time to read!

Between the stale air of lecture halls and the grease-stained glow of Burgers Burgers Burgers, life feels caught in a loop - predictable, suffocating, and full of cracks that only seem to widen. Old friendships, whispered rumors, and sharp-edged words gnaw at the edges of (Y/N)'s world, leaving her reaching for something steady to hold onto. Amid the fluorescent lights and late-night routines, Benson's quiet presence lingers closer than ever, a shadow she can't quite step away from. But in the hush of empty roads and dim headlights, comfort begins to take on a shape that feels both safe... and unsettling.

Potential TW:

Cheating/Infidelity

Bullying/Verbal Harassment/Workplace Harassment

Sexual Language

Breakup Themes

The classroom smelled faintly like pencil shavings and burnt coffee, the kind of mix that clung to the old brick hallways of the community college. (Y/N) sat in the middle row, notebook open, pen in hand. Her professor's voice carried across the room, full of energy as he mapped the sparks of the American Revolution across the whiteboard – Lexington, Concord, Boston Tea Party.

History had always fascinated her. Maybe because it felt safe, predictable. The past never changed, no matter how messy or complicated it had been.

She was leaning forward, scribbling down a note about taxation without representation, when her phone lit up against the edge of her notebook. She glanced down, ready to ignore it – until she saw the name.

Zoey.

Her chest warmed at the memory of their sleepovers in high school, the whispered secrets, the way Zoey always made her laugh. They hadn't talked as much since graduation, so the text came as a surprise.

But when (Y/N) opened it, her blood went cold.

Hey… random question. Are you and Jonathon still together? Because I think I might've messed up. He asked me out last night. Said you guys weren't a thing anymore.

The words blurred in her vision. 

Her throat tightened, heart slamming against her ribs. She reread the message once, twice, like the meaning might change if she looked hard enough. It didn't.

Her pen slipped from her hand. She slammed her notebook shut, stuffed it into her backpack, and muttered something about needing the bathroom as she stood up. The professor's voice kept going without pause, the Revolution marching on without her.

(Y/N)'s steps were shaky down the hallway, and by the time she pushed out into the autumn air, her eyes burned hot. She swallowed it down, though. She wasn't about to start crying on campus.

Instead, she made her way to the bus stop, practically sprinting to catch the next ride out of town. Not home. She couldn't sit at home and think about Jonathon, about Zoey, about the way everything she thought was solid had just cracked beneath her feet.

She needed noise. People. Something to drown it all out.

She needed work.

The familiar greasy smell hit her the second she walked into Burgers Burgers Burgers. It should've made her stomach turn, but today it was a strange comfort. The hum of fryers. The buzz of the neon sign. The same red plastic booths she'd wiped down a hundred times.

She marched straight to the back, not even stopping at the counter, and knocked once before pushing into the manager's office.

Her eyes widened.

Her manager – a man in his forties who still thought cargo shorts and polos were acceptable workwear – was hunched over his computer. The glow of the screen flashed something she could've sworn was skin before he scrambled, mouse clicking furiously. A spreadsheet popped up in its place, way too fast to be natural.

"Oh – uh – (Y/N)!" He adjusted his glasses, smiling too wide. "What're you doing here? You're not scheduled 'til later."

She froze, the back of her neck prickling, but forced herself to stay focused. "I… I know. I just… can I clock in early? Pull a double shift today?"

He blinked at her, surprised. "You sure?"

"Yeah." Her voice came out sharper than she meant, almost desperate. "Please. I just… I need the hours."

Something in her face must've convinced him, because he leaned back in his squeaky chair and shrugged. "Fine by me. Grab a headset and start on front counter."

"Thanks," she muttered, backing out before she could catch another glimpse of his screen.

Out on the floor, the fluorescent lights felt almost too bright, but at least they drowned out the buzzing in her head. She tugged on her headset, took her place by the register, and forced herself to breathe.

Work wasn't much, but it was something. A distraction. And right now, it was the only thing keeping her together.

By the time the lunch rush trickled down to nothing, (Y/N) had settled into the rhythm of the shift. Take orders. Hand out drinks. Swipe cards. Smile, even when she felt like her insides were unraveling.

It was almost two hours in – around the time her actual shift should've started – when Chris and Jess walked up to the front counter, already laughing about some inside jokes.

Jess immediately clocked her standing behind the counter, headset on. "Wait, so, what are you doing here this early?"

"Yeah," Chris chimed in, voice dropping with mockery. "Didn't know you were trying to be a day shift hero. Thought you were strictly nights."

(Y/N) forced a shrug, not looking at them. "Just… picking up some extra hours."

Jess leaned against the counter, smacking her gum. "Wow. Dedication or desperation?"

Chris snorted, elbowing Jess. "Definitely desperation. Makes sense, though. I heard about last night."

Her heart stopped cold.

Chris grinned, eyes gleaming mean. "Yeah, Jonathan told me.  Said he got some better pussy last night." He laughed at his own words, like it was the funniest thing he'd ever said.

Jess cackled right along with him, tossing her hair. "Ouch. That's embarrassing. Can't believe you're still hanging onto that loser. Total waste. Honestly, you're like… such a nobody. A loser with no life."

The words landed like slaps, one after the other. (Y/N) kept her gaze glued to the register screen, biting the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper. She wasn't going to cry in front of them. Not here. Not for them.

The laughter cut off suddenly.

The glass door creaked open, and Benson stepped inside, the familiar shuffle of his sneakers echoing in the quiet lobby. He pushed his hair back from his face and set his hat down by the counter, eyes flicking between the three of them.

The silence stretched, thick and awkward. Chris and Jess traded looks, whispers slipping under their breath.

"Total weirdo…" Jess muttered, lips curling.

"Psycho," Chris added, barely containing his smirk.

They didn't say it loud enough for Benson to call them on it, but (Y/N) heard every syllable.

Chris clapped his hands together like he'd just finished a shift worth of work, though he hadn't even touched his apron. "Well, time for us to bounce. Later, losers."

Jess smirked, tugging him toward the back. "Yeah, have fun with your freak show."

The clock beeped faintly as they swiped out, their voices fading down the hallway until the door slammed shut behind them.

Leaving just (Y/N) and Benson.

The hours stretched in that slow, greasy way only closing shifts could. The hum of the fryers, the occasional hiss of the grill, the steady buzz of the neon sign outside – all of it filled the empty space between them.

Benson slipped into his rhythm easily: prepping patties, dropping fries, wiping down counters. He didn't talk much anyway, but tonight the silence felt heavier. Off.

The manager ducked out after the dinner rush, jangling his keys. "Lock up when you're done. Don't forget the back door."

"Got it," Benson muttered without looking up.

The door clicked shut, and just like that, it was only the two of them.

Usually, (Y/N) would throw in a few little comments here and there. Something about a customer's weird order, or the way Chris and Jess had managed to leave random messes everywhere. Nothing deep – just small things to break up the monotony. But tonight, she stayed glued to the register, her face unreadable, movements mechanical.

To Benson, it looked like she was ignoring him. Which wasn't like her.

He let it go for a while, letting the silence ride. But the longer it went on, the more it needled at him. His gut told him it wasn't nothing. He'd walked in on something earlier – Chris and Jess smirking like they'd just gotten away with something. And the way (Y/N) had gone quiet after? It didn't take a genius.

Finally, Benson wiped his hands on a rag, tossed it onto the counter, and crossed the small stretch of tile to where she was straightening straw dispensers like her life depended on it.

"What did they say to you?" His voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight, steady and sharp.

(Y/N)'s head snapped up. "What? Nothing. It's fine."

"Doesn't look fine."

She shook her head quickly, turning her attention back to the straws. "It's not worth repeating."

Benson didn't move. His arms folded across his chest, dark eyes locked on her. "They were laughing. You weren't. That's worth repeating."

She swallowed, her throat tight. "I said it's fine."

For a moment, it seemed like he might drop it. But then he leaned against the counter beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat off his sleeve. His voice dropped lower, gentler, but still firm.

"They don't get to say crap like that to you and just walk away. So tell me."

She tried to hold his gaze, but it cracked under the weight of it. The words tumbled out before she could stop them, her voice thin and shaky. "Jonathon. He… he didn't show last night because he was with someone else. One of my friends texted me about it. And Chris – he thought it was funny."

Her chest tightened, hot tears threatening to sting her eyes again. She blinked hard, shaking her head. "So, yeah. That's what they said. Happy now?"

Benson didn't answer right away. His jaw worked, eyes dark and unreadable, like he was fighting with something inside himself. Concern. Anger. Maybe both.

Finally, he exhaled, slow and steady. "No," he said quietly. "Not happy."

The way he said it – it wasn't just about her boyfriend. Or Chris. Or Jess. It was something heavier, deeper, unspoken.

And (Y/N) felt it like a tug under her skin, something she couldn't quite name.

Benson didn't move away after she told him. He stayed right there, leaning against the counter beside her, the space between them charged and strange. He didn't stare at her – just kind of lingered, like his presence alone might be enough to take the edge off.

After a long beat, his voice broke through the hum of the fryers. "Next time it happens… you should tell me. I'll handle it."

(Y/N) shook her head quickly, straightening the pile of straw wrappers just to keep her hands busy. "I don't need that. I can handle myself."

Something in his face shifted – his mouth tightening, his eyes narrowing like she'd struck a nerve. He gave a humorless little laugh, sharp around the edges.

"Yeah. You really handled it pretty well today."

The words landed heavy, more cutting than maybe he meant them to be.

(Y/N) froze, her chest burning, and turned back to the register without a word.

"Yeah, you know what, Benson? Maybe I would have handled it better if I didn't find out my boyfriend... my ex boyfriend... cheated on me last night."

Benson was struck for words, his gaze meeting hers, his eyes softening. "I... I'm sorry, (Y/N), I didn't know."

Just like that, a rift opened between them.

The rest of the shift crawled by in silence, broken only by the clutter of trays and the scrape of broom bristles on tile. Usually, they'd trade small comments, even if it was about nothing. Tonight, not a single one passed between them.

By the time they clocked out, the air felt thick with everything unspoken. (Y/N) swiped her card, stepped back, and was about to head for the door when Benson nudged her shoulder lightly with his own.

She glanced up, startled, to find the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his mouth – like he was trying to patch things up, even if he didn't have the words for it.

"Need a ride home?" he asked, his voice careful, almost uncertain.

She hesitated, chewing on the inside of her cheek. A part of her wanted to refuse, to keep her pride intact. But another part of her knew she didn't have a better option tonight.

"... Yeah," she said softly.

Benson nodded once, like it settled everything. "Alright. Let's go."

The Chevy rumbled down the empty stretch of road, headlights cutting through the dark. The cab smelled faintly of fast food grease and worn leather, and the only sound for a while was the tinny voice of the radio.

Creed. My Sacrifice. One of those songs her dad would blast when he was working in the garage, all scratchy guitars and earnest lyrics.

(Y/N) sat with her cheek leaning against the cool glass, watching the cornfields blur by. It felt like they could ride forever in silence.

But finally, she broke it.

"You know… I didn't even tell him I know yet." Her voice was quiet, like she was confessing to the windshield instead of him. "That he cheated. I kind of just want to leave it there. Like a silent goodbye."

Benson shifted his grip on the wheel, his jaw tightening. "That's not what I'd do."

She glanced at him, brows lifting. "No?"

"If someone cheated on me like that…" His mouth twisted, the faintest flicker of something darker in his eyes.  "I'd want it to go out with a bang."

The words hung in the air, heavy, a little too sharp. For a second, she swore there was something behind them, some weight he wasn't saying out loud.

(Y/N) turned back to the window, shaking her head with a small laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I don't have the energy for that. I didn't even have that much feeling for him anymore. I was just… with him. To be with someone."

Benson nodded, his expression softening. "That's rough." His voice dipped lower, steadier. "You deserve better than that."

She glanced at him again, caught by the sincerity in his tone. For someone who didn't talk much, he always seemed to say things that mattered.

The gravel crunched beneath the tires as they turned down her road, the faint glow of the farmhouse porch light coming into view.

Her mom was there – sitting on the porch swing with a book open in her lap, glasses perched low on her nose. The lamplight bathed her in warm yellow, moths flitting lazily around the bulb.

"That your mom?" Benson asked, nodding toward the porch.

"Yeah," (Y/N) said softly.

He let out a small laugh, quiet but genuine. "She's like a spitting image of you."

Heat rushed to her cheeks. "Oh my god, don't say that."

"What? It's true." His mouth tugged into a smirk, like he was amused at her reaction. "The same eyes. The same… serious look when you're thinking too hard."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile that crept across her lips. "You're ridiculous."

"Not ridiculous. Just observant."

The car eased to a stop at the end of the gravel drive. The porch swing creaked faintly in the distance, her mom still immersed in her book.

For a long moment, (Y/N) stayed where  she was, hand lingering on the seatbelt buckle but not clicking it yet. The air between her and Benson felt… heavier than before. Charged in a way she couldn't name.

"Thanks for the ride," she said finally, voice softer than she meant it to be.

Benson nodded, his gaze flicking to hers, steady and unreadable. "Anytime."

She lingered a second too long before finally pushing the door open. When she looked back at him one last time, their eyes caught – just for a heartbeat. Something deeper flickered there, unspoken but undeniably present.

Then the porch light washed over her, pulling her back toward home, leaving him in the shadow of the old Chevy.

The gravel crunched again as Benson's car pulled away, headlights disappearing down the road. (Y/N) stood there for a moment in the cool night air, the porch light warming her skin, before climbing the steps.

Her mom looked up from her book, smiling faintly. "Hey, sweetheart. How was work?"

(Y/N) dropped onto the porch rail, still feeling the hum of Benson's car in her chest. "Busy. Tiring. You know how it is."

Her mom nodded, flipping a page. Just as the faint rumble of the Chevy faded in the distance, she glanced up again, brow furrowing. "Did Jonathon get a new car or something? That didn't look like his truck."

The question hung in the air like smoke, catching (Y/N) off guard. For a second, she froze, unsure what to say. Then she cleared her throat, words spilling faster than she meant. "That wasn't Jonathon. My coworker – Benson – he dropped me off tonight. Same thing last night, when Jonathon didn't show up."

Her mom's lips pressed into a thin line, the judgement clear even before she spoke. "Mm. And what do you think Jonathon would say about another guy driving you home this late?"

(Y/N) let out a sharp scoff, tugging at the strap of her bag. "I don't think I'm going to have to worry about what Jonathon says or thinks anymore."

That made her mom pause. She blinked, book slipping closed on her finger as a marker. For a moment, the silence between them threatened to stretch too far. But then her mom gave a small nod, her voice gentler when she spoke again. "Well. Probably for the best, huh?"

"Yeah," (Y/N) muttered, not trusting herself to say more.

Her mm cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly in the swing as if the subject were too heavy. "Don't stay up too late."

"Yeah." (Y/N) bent down to kiss her mother's cheek before heading inside, the screen door creaking behind her.

Upstairs, the quiet of her room pressed down, heavy and still. She stared at the corner where Jonathon's things lived – shirts he'd left behind, a stuffed bear he'd won for her at the county fair, old photos tucked in frames.

She grabbed a trash bag from the closet. One by one, everything went in. The pictures. The notes. The hoodie that still smelled faintly like him. The bear, its plastic eyes staring up at her until it disappeared into black plastic.

When it was over, she tied the bag in a knot so tight her fingers ached, dropping it by the door like she was taking out the garbage.

Because she was.

Again, if anyone needs it: The Night Shift Master List

I hope you guys enjoyed! It's about to get really good with this next chapter.

Thank you so much for reading!💜  If you enjoyed this piece, there's plenty more where that came from, and I'll be adding to my collection as time goes on. I'm always open to suggestions and requests – so if there's something you'd like to see, don't be shy about sharing it with me! I'll do my best to deliver (within reason, of course – nothing too intense or overly triggering).

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