His face flushed again and he pulled his hand away from his face, with half a mind to turn Ben down. He couldn't take money from Ben. He hadn't before, and it was bad to start now, and — he couldn't be trusted, not when he had spent most of the last week in a haze and it was the longest he'd gone without betting on something since January.

Except that he couldn't conjure money from nothing with nothing to sell, and every time he tried to gamble his way back to normalcy he just ended up further in a hole, and five galleons would get the boxing ring off of his back and probably save him from having his nose broken again. It wouldn't solve all of it, but it would solve — at least a little bit of it. It would buy him more time. It would save him from having to ask Perpetua Collins for money, and for having to see the look on her face when he did.

Ben was a better friend than he deserved.

All of this reluctance and resignation played out on his face, and Art said, "I'll pay you back."

He wasn't sure he believed it, but — he had to say it, and then maybe it would be true. "And — thanks."

---