Disclaimer: Jonathon Larson owns Maureen Johnson and Benjamin Coffin III, who are the only two mentioned here, if not by name. The Loft also belongs to him, I guess. Central Park is in NY. The idea is mine. I also claim rights to Maureen's 'almost-smile'. Because.

A/N: I wrote this... quite a while ago, in May or something, and I never put it up. So. If you even clicked it, you're either brave, read all the RENTfic that pops up, or you read some of my friend Aubrey's stuff (she's lovablegeek, she's got a bunch of fics and they're all better than this, so GO READ HER STUFF AFTER YOU'RE DONE HERE) that was Benny/Maureen and liked it.
Any which way... welcome to the dark side. This is my OTP, and while they're displayed somewhat darkly here, I do mean this to have romantic tones.


She's almost an angel, almost a devil, like nothing you've ever seen before.

Today, she's quiet, and today you're alone, the only two in the loft. You might as well be the only two in the world.

"What're you thinking about?" you ask, almost shyly.

She looks up, like she didn't realize you were home. "Things," she says, and smiles her almost-smile.

It's almost a Mona Lisa smile.

Almost a saint's smile.

Almost a whore's smile.

It makes you want to shake her. To kiss her. To kill her.

Today she's dragged you all to Central Park to play baseball. She put you on her team, then gave you control when she switched teams halfway through.

"You lost," she says, and smiles her almost-smile. You almost feel your knees go weak.

"I almost won," you protest. She shakes her head.

"Almost doesn't count."