Chapter 8: Wish I Could Erase It, Make Your Heart Believe
Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!Reader, Reader POV
Summary: With a birthday printed on your wrist that happened over a hundred years ago, you always thought that you were cursed to never meet your soulmate. But when you finally meet the man that's supposed to be the other half of your soul, you wonder if the stars were wrong, and wonder how this man was meant for you. Reader is Hughie's sister, is not a supe, and is a Literature Professor that gets dragged into the middle of things. This fic takes place in an AU set loosely after Season 3 and does deviate from the plot of The Boys
Tropes: Soulmate AU, Little bit of Grumpy and Sunshine, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Forced Proximity, Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy, Jealous Ben/Soldier Boy,
Warnings: Self Deprecating Thoughts, ANGST, Sexism/Homophobia (It's Soldier Boy), References to Sex, Cursing, Sexual Thoughts, Sexual Inneundo, Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy, Loneliness, Longing, Basically the reader just wants to be loved, Reader wears glasses?, Soldier Boy might be a little OOC.
Word Count: 6.2K
Song Inspiration For Chapter: Bad Liar by Imagine Dragons, title of chapter taken from this song!
Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!
Internal Monologue Is in First Person And Is In Italics
Main Masterlist
Series Masterlist
A/N: Yes, the rare potato miraculously appears rearing her head to drop another steaming pile of angst.
Guide:
Reader's thoughts are in italics and in first person.
Ben's thoughts in italics, bold, and blue!
The tilted stacks of papers scattered across the red comforter of your California king look more intimidating in the morning light. Their pages flutter in the artificial breeze from the propeller sized fan spinning above the bed. The Times New Roman font looms across the stark white pages and each flourish of your pen brings a starling streak of red in it's wake.
Focusing on work was the only way that you were coping with this… any of this.
You let out a sigh, shifting a leg beneath yourself to get more comfortable, but the essay poised on your thigh does little to distract you from reality, neither did the small stack of paperbacks that Hughie had smuggled from your apartment.
Nothing could distract you from this.
You raise your head and give the room another cursory glance. It was similar to Ben's.
Startling view.
High lofted ceilings.
Dark wooden bedside tables.
But there was something missing.
It pulsed at the back of your mind, burned on the tip of your tongue, danced along in the shadows of your consciousness. You didn't know what, just that there was something wrong.
The same wrong you felt the minute you hugged your brother.
The same wrong that you felt the moment that Ben walked away from you a year ago.
Shit.
Closing your eyes for a moment to refocus on the essay perched in your lap takes an extreme amount of effort. Since Hughie and Butcher left three days ago, everything had.
Each time you found a moment of silence your thoughts shot back to the one person you were trying your best to avoid, the same person that every cell in your body screamed for you to seek out.
You hadn’t seen Ben in four days.
You readjust where your legs are crossed beneath you again and take in a deep breath, but it doesn't help.
Nothing did.
Sleep only deposited you into his memories.
Waking only left you feeling empty and wanting him.
Working only made you all the more frustrated with yourself for not trying to figure this out.
But what is there to figure out? Ben is Ben. He's-
A flash of him in the living room the moment you were along comes hurtling back. The look on his face when he turned away, the heavy emotion that came from him weighing on your shoulders, the final thought he had when he turned away a millstone around your neck-
Fuck.
It made you want to run to him, to pull him close to you tell him that everything was okay, that he was yours and none of it mattered.
It does though. It matters too much.
The rational part of your head had kept you firmly in place, but the piece inside that belonged to Ben screamed and raged in its iron cage. Even now it scuttled along, banging it's head against the bars, telling you that Ben was too far away, that you needed him here.
It didn't need to tell you, you felt the loss as if missing a limb. You felt the acute ache within your soul that Ben wasn't with you that only grew stronger from the moment the two of you had met again at the housewarming party.
You wondered if Ben felt it too or if he would just call it "Soulmate bullshit" and continue on as if he was God's gift to the world.
But what if you're wrong?
The little voice inside asks, it's claw-like fingers curling into your shoulders and keeping you firmly trapped in the endless loop.
Ben had proven more than once in the time you'd known him that you were right. His rants about you being "his" and "belonging" to him only made you all the more disappointed in this chain of events, but somewhere in all of it was Stormfront.
Her eyes glittering black, her cruel smirk almost pitying when she told you the story of catching Ben staring at his wrist.
Maybe then it was different, but now it doesn't matter. I don’t need to figure this out again or solve this. All I need to do is hold it together until Hughie gets back.
You sigh to yourself again and turn back to the student's essay, which honestly looks as if it was copied and pasted from a AI version of Sparks Notes. You still couldn't fathom why someone taking an upperclassman class that they chose to take with you would still be using AI to write their essays.
Work was the only way that you were coping with this, the only distraction that worked enough to pull you out of your head.
Hughie had stopped by with a duffle bag, a few paperbacks, Heathcliff, and your work supplies, before giving you a rushed hug and leaving you in the almost crypt-like living room.
You didn't want pieces of home in a cramped bag, you wanted to be there.
You wanted to be at home with it's dirty coffee mugs, stacks of paperbacks taller than yourself, cozy reading chair, throw blankets- not locked up in Ben's apartment.
You chew the inside of your cheek thoughtfully.
For the better part of four days you'd spent your time avoiding him.
Moving through the empty hallways when you didn't think he was nearby. Stealing snacks from the kitchen in the dead of night. Hoping that you wouldn't hear any more of his thoughts or feel any of his emotions- especially the ones that made you feel guilty for not being what Ben wanted, for not acting the way he expected you to.
You hated that you felt guilty. If anything you wanted him to feel that way, for it to spur something in his head or smack some sense into him that the way he is acting isn't okay. Or at least give him enough brain cells to realize that he is the way he is and why he scares you.
You didn't understand how someone who could see inside your head could be so stubborn, but judging from the many, many memories that migrated into your head, his stubbornness was not a new development.
I get a stubborn murderer as a soulmate, well I'm just the luckiest girl in New York. Forgive me for not clicking my heels.
You send yet another angry email in your head to fate and hope that she's listening. Given your current dilemma she'd probably sent you to spam.
Another sigh builds in your chest when you raise your eyes to look out into the blinding light. On the horizon the sun has slowly begun it's celestial trail across the sky bringing a golden hue to the clouds beyond.
The building was so high that you couldn't even see the people below, in fact, anything and anyone on the street seemed to vanish in their entirety leaving you with only the sky above.
It truly was one of the most beautiful places you'd ever been and if you'd had to pick anywhere to live it would be here. Of course there were constraints to that.
For example, your meager salary and your distaste for jewel robbery.
But despite the current situation, it was definitely a positive to wake up to the world like this.
You wondered why Ben moved here, if it was because he too was entranced by the ability to be so far above the world that nothing below seemed to matter? If he too felt on some level that up here he was free the same way you did? If this apartment was his own way of hiding from the rest of the world so he could finally just be?
You didn't think that Ben thought that deeply about anything, at least not the same way that you did. The emotion that you'd seen mainly from him had been anger-
Then what the hell was that the other day?
A flash of the way Ben seemed almost a little sad hits you like a freight train, when you'd told him that you wished things could be different and he turned his back to walk away from you the second time since you'd met him.
The emotions that bled through the air between the two of you had been anything but anger, it was an melancholic feeling that reminded you far too much of all the birthdays you celebrated sitting with a lit candle for the man you thought you'd never have.
You turn back to the paper in your hand and try in vain to focus on something other than your soulmate. Unfortunately the most you do is read the same sentence over and over again in your head so many times none of the words sound right or look like they're spelled correctly.
Shit. I don’t know how to fix this!
You scream in your head, squeezing your eyes so tightly that it hurts, because you didn't. You didn't know how to fix any of it and every moment you spent trying to figure it out only made you all the more frustrated.
"Brr."
Heathcliff's indignant purr from where he's curled on the end of the bed, breaks the uncomfortable silence. He flicks his tail once in annoyance, the dull thud a thunderclap in the sun lit room.
When Hughie had brought him, Heathcliff had shot out of the cat carrier like a rocket only to be scooped up by you and shuffled off the bedroom you'd decided to inhabit. Like hell you were going to give him free reign of the apartment.
For the remainder of the night he'd paced in front of the door and scratched his claws against the mahogany wood, until you lifted him and held him in air jail.
You had the claw marks on your arms to prove it.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what you want me to do-" You say to him with a frown.
Heathcliff yawns showing all his teeth, the audible clack of his mouth coming back together echoes through the empty room. Before he sits up, stretches his spines, shakes out his thick black fur, and jumps off the bed to trot to the door.
He turns back, blinking yellow eyes filled with judgment.
You never understood how Heathcliff somehow looked at you with more disappointment than your mother, but he pulled it off.
He blinks.
"Heathcliff."
Blink.
"I said no."
You weren't exactly sure where Ben had been hiding. With an apartment that made Buckingham Palace look like a shoebox, it wasn't difficult to lose him.
But you still hadn't actually seen the apartment in it's entirety.
Sure, you'd picked the direction opposite of where Ben's room was and found carbon copy of his room, but other than that you hadn't tried to explore.
Not that you didn't want to.
Curiosity ate away in your subconscious, coaxing you towards the door and the possibilities that lay beyond. You wondered what you'd find if you were to walk along the sun streaked hallways trailing your fingers against white painted walls.
Pandora's box awaits.
A voice purred in your ear.
You shrug it off and make a note of something in the margins of a student's essay, but press too hard sending the tip of the pen through the paper and onto the plush comforter below.
Shit.
It wasn't the first time that it had happened, but it didn't make it any less annoying. The room that you were staying in didn't have a desk and leaving meant the possibility of running into-
Shit.
You groan to yourself, tapping the red pen against the paper.
Maybe it would be nice to find a desk at least.
A little voice whispered.
Being here made you long for your beautiful mid-century teak desk that you'd rescued from a curb two years ago. You'd practically nursed it back to health with orange oil and broken dreams, until the wood finally shone.
It was the one piece in your apartment that you were genuinely proud of. Something with a history older and greater than yourself, something that had survived hell and high water to end up smushed in the corner of your bedroom under the only window that actually let in light from the alley-way.
Carrie Bradshaw once said that with the right desk, writing would follow, a statement that you had written on your heart each time you sat and felt the sun warmed wood beneath your fingertips and stroked a finger along the ancient grains.
But here there was no inspiration.
And try as you may have the age old siren song of sleep won 9/10 times each time you told yourself you were going to "grade" in bed.
Beds were good for a number of things, but getting work done wasn't one of them. You were sure that Ben would say the same thing.
A notification on your phone lets you know that you have yet another text from Tate, who had been pestering you with questions the second you told him that you were sick and weren't sure when you'd be able to return to teach in person. Yes, he was sweet and telling you to feel better, but each time he texted you asking something that you knew you were going to have to lie about you could feel your stomach knotting together.
You hated lying, and especially hated lying to him. He wasn't just your TA, he was your friend.
Not to mention all it did was make you feel worse that your TA could understand you and care more than your soulmate did.
Heathcliff makes another indignant sound from the door of your bedroom to let you know he's still talking to you.
You blink at him. "I don't know what you want me to do. We aren't going out there."
Blink.
"I will not be pushed around by a cat."
You swear the end of his lips tilt upwards as if to say, Yes you will human.
"Fuck."
*3 Minutes Later*
"Slow down!" You hiss at Heathcliff's taunt behind as he trots ahead of you down the sun streaked hallways.
The roof above is lined with skylights, making the hallways impossibly bright and making you wish for sunglasses. The white paint is blinding in the morning sun and the caramel colored wood is warm and sanded silky smooth under your bare feet, each step a pleasant pad as you race after Heathcliff.
Predictably, he pays you no mind and continues to leisurely sashay.
Each patch of sunlight turns his coat a hazy gray and Heathcliff seems to dance from patch to patch, drunk on his new freedom.
The stack of paper rustles under your arm as you hurry after him, tightening your grip on the red pen still clasped in your hand.
Every few steps an ugly modern art piece rears it's head, random strokes of gray, black, and *gasp* white on a canvas that was bigger than you were tall. Each one looked identical to the last.
You didn’t understand why Ben's apartment looked like the home of an eccentric billionaire's wife who had nannies paid to keep her children occupied while she spent her days at Barney's and nights faking orgasms.
I gotta stop watching Real Housewives.
But you still couldn't comprehend why anyone would want to live in a place so sterile. It made you long for your books, your warm mismatched throw blankets, empty mugs, and ancient desk with it's worn edges and handlebar mustache crack along the top that you traced with a fingertip whenever you were bored.
You wondered if the apartment came like this or if Ben was the kind of person who hired an interior decorator to make his apartment more "homey."
They missed the mark. The whole thing is like a mausoleum.
You sigh to yourself when you pass another canvas.
Would it kill him to add some color somewhere that isn't black or gray? Or maybe a plant?
You were terrible with plants, practically killed them just by looking at them, but with this much sun maybe plants would bring some life into this lifeless apartment.
Few memories of the apartment Ben had before his time in Russia float to the surface.
A congealed mass of orange shag carpet, popcorn ceilings, and velvet that you couldn't help but smile at. It seemed so cliché that Ben had an apartment that looked like it came right out of a bad 70's tv show, but you figured that's the way the world was back then.
If you'd been talking to Ben you'd be peppering him with questions about what it was like to live through all the eras that you'd only read about in the well-worn paperbacks stacked in your apartment.
Before all of this you had fantasized about doing just that. Before when Ben was nothing more than a figment of your imagination the only way that you'd tried to be close to him was through literature. Reading authors whose work explored the years you believed your soulmate lived though, allowed yourself to walk the lonely streets beside him in your mind and experience what life had been like.
Unfortunately now in the after things were complicated.
Again.
You didn’t really understand why you were surprised when everything in your life often was like living Murphy's Law.
Ah yes, everything that can go wrong will go wrong.
Heathcliff scratches at a door at the end of the hallway, his impatient meow ringing through the empty hallway with such startling sound that you glance behind you to see if Ben is standing there.
Supe hearing couldn't be fun. Especially not when you had a cat like Heathcliff who would make something akin to a T-Rex roaring at the smallest of inconveniences.
He scratches the dark wood once more, glaring at you.
"Oh I'm sorry did you want me to open the door?" You raise an eyebrow at him. "Here I thought you were just going on a stroll."
Heathcliff's eyes narrow slightly, sensing your sarcasm. He makes an outraged huffing noise and flicks his tail once to show you he means business.
It reminds you of the way Ben seems to be whenever he sets his mind on something.
"Is that you saying please?"
If looks could kill, Heathcliff would be dancing around the living room with your head on a spike. His shaggy dark fur fluffs out around him, yellow eyes glowing ominously.
"Okay, but only because you asked so nicely." You snort, opening the door of the room he's chosen.
The door creaks open depositing you inside.
Heathcliff's feet leave heart shaped prints in the thick layer of dust on the hardwood floors where he slinks ahead of you, weaving through the stacks of boxes higher than yourself. Musty light comes through the floor to ceiling windows at the back of the room, but barely enough to illuminate the space. Aged sheets are draped over several pieces of furniture shoved together in a mass of Tetris puzzle on the right wall, wooden legs scraping the ceiling.
You cough once to clear the dust from your throat and scratch your nose with the back of your hand.
Why does Ben have all this stuff in here?
You put down your papers on a small end table shoved behind the door to take a look in the box closest to you. It's less dusty than the others and the brown tape on top has been peeled away and redone.
The second you open the box the musty smell of lemon comes out in a fluid wave over your senses.
Your fingers find something soft within and you slowly pull out a bundle of fabric.
Why does Ben have a woman's dress?
It's beautiful.
Made of a soft pink floral silk material that shimmers in the musty light. It's tailored perfectly and still in astonishingly good condition. The movement causes another wave of the lemon scent to come floating into your nose.
You gasp at the memories that pull you under the second it does.
A little boy with Ben's mischievous green eyes and dark hair crying while a woman with a beautiful smile kisses a cut on his finger and wipes away his tears.
The same little boy holding on to the woman's skirts while an red-faced angry man with Ben's eyes and broad shoulders shouts so loud the room shakes.
The woman watching from a bench in a sunlit park with the breeze making her hair flutter around her angelic face while the little boy runs with a red kite soaring above the rest of the world. The dusting of cinnamon colored freckles seems lighter then, his eyes the color of fresh cut grass, his hair no longer the dark you knew, a burnished gold under the mid-day sun.
You glance into the box, catching the glimmer of a gilded frame.
It's a family portrait, black and white, with the man you saw in the memories standing behind the same little boy. The boy's smile is gone and the space beside the man lies empty.
It doesn't take a genius to guess when the photo was taken.
You'd only seen a handful of Ben's childhood memories.
Enough to know that Ben's father shared more in common with your own parents than you were willing to admit. You'd seen the memories of the time after Ben's mother, the memories that brought an uncomfortable darkness and chill with them, when Ben's father said things to Ben that you'd heard echoed from your own parent's mouths.
Feeling like a disappointment followed you throughout your childhood hand in hand with the loneliness of the soulmate you desperately wanted who understood you.
Now seeing the way Ben was when his mother was alive made you want to time travel, kick his father's ass, and then scoop up the little boy who used to smile so brightly.
"What are you doing in here?!" An angry voice demands.
You let out a startled yelp, dropping the photograph in surprise. You hadn't heard Ben enter the room, hadn't felt the familiar surge of warmth that came whenever he was in your general proximity- but there he was shrouded in the darkness of the doorway.
The photograph lands in the box with a resounding crash, but you don't have time to worry about it, not with Ben standing so close to you.
Today the feeling that comes with his proximity burns through your entire body.
The brilliant light from the hallway makes your soulmate seem impossibly taller and broader than you remember. His green eyes are dark, frown firmly in place while he surveys where you stand. His arms are crossed tight over his muscular chest, the black t-shirt and jeans combo making him more intimidating.
"Um-well- I-" You stutter looking for an excuse. His mother's dress is still clasped in your hand and waves around with the motion of your floundering.
"So you can snoop through all my shit, but you can't bother to come downstairs for breakfast?"
"I wasn't snooping! I was looking for a desk to-"
"Didn't know they could fit into fucking boxes."
"My cat came in here and I-"
Heathcliff takes this moment to re-appear from the jumble of boxes behind you and begins to rub himself on Ben's right shin.
Ben drops his gaze to the fluffy creature at his feet, who purrs as if Ben is a giant tree of catnip.
Shit.
The thought of picking up Heathcliff and running back to your room crosses your mind. You knew the way that Ben was around other people and doubted that he was any different around animals.
Ben's eyes flick to yours, his temper flaring enough that you feel the spike of your own heartbeat.
"I told you that I wasn't going to hurt your fucking cat." He snaps, but then he leans forward, mouth pulling into a sinful smirk that makes your throat tight. "But I'd be more than happy to give your little pussy some attention."
Your cheeks flame red hot under his scrutiny, hating the triumphant smirk shining on your soulmate's face, and trying your best not to think about what that would entail.
The image of your soulmate coming out of the bathroom shirtless comes without warning. You remember the intricate trail of water down his muscular chest, the warm drag of his eyes over your body, and the low rumble of his voice like the distant rumble of a thunderstorm.
Heat trickles down from the roots of your hair to the tips of your toes, warming you from the inside out, building and building until it feels like your entire body is on fire and the only thing that will sate you is reaching out to touch Ben.
Your fingers twitch to reach out and push back the dark strand that hangs forward into his eyes. Something within screams to close the distance between the two of you, the tension pulling so tight in your body you could snap at any minute. Electricity races down your limbs the longer you stare up into the emerald eyes of the man you thought would never exist.
Fuck.
Ben's smirk widens, the dark glimmer in his eyes making your knees weak. "You'd like that wouldn't you sweetheart?"
You take in a trembling breath to steel yourself, but it's full of him. Full of the smell that soaked through the apartment and set your soul on fire, because it was everything you always imagined.
Something masculine, heady, the smell of rain that clings to the world the moments before it falls.
"Ben-" You swallow the lump in your throat.
"Yes doll?"
He takes a step forward into your space so close that you can feel the heat of his breath against your face.
The fear that usually comes with his proximity seems miles away from here and now, but it's still there, enough to keep you from reaching out for him and fill the void inside of you that belongs to Ben.
You didn’t understand how two pieces within yourself could be at war, that one piece shouted he’s too close and another screamed not close enough!
"Please, don't." Your voice comes out in a whisper, but it's enough to make Ben hesitate.
Not again with this shit.
He audibly huffs out a sigh, jaw clenching.
Does she have any idea what I could do to her? I could ruin her, show her why she's lucky to be my soulmate!
Maybe I just want you to feel lucky to be mine.
The thought comes without warning and you feel yourself cringe in embarrassment. You didn't expect Ben to care about that, not when he'd spent every waking moment trying to get you to understand what a catch he was and how happy you should be about the match instead of focusing on things like body counts and cold-blooded murder.
Nor did you think he considered it given how many memories you’d seen of him with other women. All you were to him was another in a million who was supposed to belong to him.
You believed that Ben didn't actually care about you, he cared about what you represented. It reminded you far too much about the dated views of women in the 30s, where they were nothing more than trophies, seen more as a pretty doll in the corner made to be seen and not heard. The Angel in the House Phenomenon floating it's way into the modern day.
Not once had you heard him think about how special you were or how much he was happy that it was you. All you’d heard was the macho shit and him thinking he was the best thing since sliced bread.
You hug your arms around yourself, dropping your gaze to your feet, because yet again you'd allowed Ben to see more than you wanted to. Something that should have been so special ruined by the fact that your soulmate was the way he was.
Shit.
Ben blinks for a moment all other thoughts coming to an abrupt halt. He hadn't heard you think something like that before, at least not in front of him. Sure he'd heard you say plenty about him, felt your fear whenever you walked into the room, seen the lonely memories through the bond, but this was… different.
He didn't like the feeling that stirred in his own chest when you thought that. It made him feel guilty all over again and made him want to do something really stupid like reach out and tilt your head up to trace his fingers over your frown, to draw you into him and apologize for things that he wasn't sure why he had to.
Fuck, he hated this more than anything he’d ever been through. He wanted you so badly he didn’t quite understand how to say it other than the way he had.
He thought it was enough.
You find your voice.
"I wasn't snooping. I was trying to find a place to grade papers." You point to the stack of tilted essays on the dusty box behind the door. “I was trying to grade in bed and the pen keeps poking through the page and I can't get any work done."
Because that's what you're supposed to do in bed, fucking work? Shit if she wants to work that hard in the bedroom I've got a job I think she'd enjoy.
Your eyes widen at the thought, but Ben only lets out a tired chuckle.
"There's no office with a desk. The decorator asked, but when I told her I didn't do that type of work she decided to bring all this other shit in." He gestures to yet another brown chunky piece of undiscernible furniture shoved into the corner collecting dust.
"You didn't tell her what you liked?" You ask tentatively.
"I didn't think I needed to." Ben shrugged. "Never really had to worry about any of that shit before. Never really-" He clears his throat. "Spent that much time in an apartment before."
"Oh."
"I mean, before I was always shooting commercials or some other bullshit, but now-" He trails off.
I don’t really know what I'm doing.
The feeling that comes through the bond between the two of you makes your heart ache. It was the first time that you felt like you were seeing the real Ben. It was as if he'd let his guard down for two seconds and you saw someone that didn't exist in the blood soaked memories you shared, it was someone like… you.
Ben winces slightly with the thought and just as soon as the walls had dropped they're back up again, lost in the hardened expression he usually wore.
You wait another moment, not sure what to say, the only sound in the room is the loud purring from Heathcliff who has continued to rub his head against Ben's shin.
Being at a loss for words was never the way you were, but being around Ben you didn't know what to say or to do. The entire situation was just so awkward and frustrating that it made you want to smash everything in your general vicinity. You wondered deep down if anyone else ever had this problem or if like the whole ridiculous "entwined thing" you and Ben were special.
"Would you mind showing me where the dining room is?" You say gesturing to the stack of papers billowing slightly in the air conditioning. "I really do need to get those graded by tomorrow."
"Sure."
Ben leads the way out of the room, down the hallways, and towards the spiral staircase without looking behind him. You wonder if that's because he's still weird about what he shared while the two of you were back in the storage room or if it's because he's still mad at you for not being open to being with him.
The later still made your heart squeeze into a vice in your chest.
You pass through the almost warehouse sized living room filled with uncomfortable white furniture and that looks down on the rest of the city below.
This view is incredible.
"It's why I bought the place." Ben says from in front of you, not bothering to turn around. "I like how quiet it is."
"Me too. It kinda feels like you're away from it all." You pause to look out, watching a cloud gently trail over the painted sky. "It would have been nice to live here when I was a kid."
You feel your cheeks warm with the statement. Everything with Ben felt like an overshare, like there was no point of telling him because he didn't actually care about any of it.
"Why?" He turns, green eyes curiously tracing over you face.
The sun is so bright that at this distance his eyes turn a lovely shade of olive, allowing the golden flecks to catch fire. It reminds you of the soft grass in your backyard as a child when you stretched out under the watchful oak trees above with a book on your lap and the wind your hair.
"I mean I- When I was a kid I kinda wanted to get away from it all and up here it feels like we are. That we're so far from everyone else that what they think and what they say don't matter."
You didn't understand why you were embarrassed to admit that, you'd said it to your brother multiple times, talked about it with Annie, even mentioned it to Butcher once. But with Ben things were more difficult.
"It feels-" the word on the tip of your tongue doesn't quite fit the situation, doesn't quite make sense because of who you're with, but you felt free.
"Free." Ben's voice comes through the brilliant living room in a rolling rumble that makes your fingers twitch to feel every vibration beneath your fingertips.
"Yeah." You breathe, eyes catching Ben's
The harshness of Ben's rugged good looks are softer in the sunlight, dripping through dark hair to turn it a chestnut brown and bring out the dusting of freckles across his cheeks. He looks more like the man you imagined, the gentle one that seemed to waltz right off the page of your favorite novels.
You don't know why your face heats with a blush, goosebumps rippling over your skin as you feel the trace of his eyes on you, and you drop your gaze to the stack of papers in your hands.
Sometimes it felt like Ben was staring through you, like he could see inside and yes technically he could, but whenever he was there just staring it was different. It felt intimate somehow in a way you couldn't describe.
He clears his throat and gestures with his head in the direction of the semi-truck sized doorway to break the silence. "The dining room's in here."
"Oh thanks."
When you breeze past him the motion sends a wave of his cologne surging upwards into your nose, something that makes your heart stutter and your knees weak.
You didn't understand how it was already familiar, something that seemed to soothe a part of you that was empty for so long. It makes a warmth bloom in your chest for a few seconds when you brush past, the warmth of his body bleeding through the space.
It's only millimeters, but it feels like miles.
Something within screams at you to reach out and touch him, to draw him closer, to throw yourself at him, to allow him to make you forget everything, but you ignore it. It feels like you're being torn in two when you calmly put the stack of papers on the dark wood dining room table big enough to comfortably seat twenty people.
Say something you fucking pussy!
Ben growls in his head.
Don't just stand there with your dick in your hand! She came out of her room, she came down here with you! Offer her a drink or a fucking smoke or-
You glance to where Ben is standing half-in-half-out of the room, looking much more awkward than you'd ever seen him in any of the memories you'd shared. It was different than the confident macho man who swaggered through your mind, the one that had a twinkle in his eye and a bravado that made women weak at the knees.
Ben makes a pained expression as if disgusted with himself when he remembers that you're able to hear him.
"I am a little hungry." You say tentatively to test the waters.
What are you doing? He's-
You stop the thought before it gets any farther. You weren't sure if it was the way that the light touched him, or if it was the warmth that seemed to ebb and flow between the two of you, but something felt… different.
Here Ben is different.
Ben blinks, eyes widening in surprise. "Really?"
You nod slowly. "Yeah, I mean I-" You clear your throat, glancing down at the papers you'd placed on the table. "Can't grade on an empty stomach. Whenever that happens I tend to be a little more tough, and I like to think that my students think I'm a cool teacher."
The end of his lips twitch up in a signature smirk. "I told you doll, if you were my teacher I'd be there every damn day. Probably would have given a shit about my grades if I got to look at you."
Instead of the usual feeling that comes when Ben says something like that, you feel a smile pull at the end of your lips and you roll your eyes.
But it's enough to make Ben's smirk widen.
Now we're getting somewhere.
You snort.
Give him an inch and he'll take a mile.
Sweetheart it's longer than an inch. I'd be happy to give you a preview.
He winks and you feel your entire body flush, cheeks heating to an inferno. Ben's inability to feel shame was yet another thing that you needed to get used to.
But despite it all there was a little voice inside that urged you to get used to it. The same voice that brought the sweep of goosebumps over your flesh with the thought of Ben touching you, the one that wasn't afraid of the man Ben was.
Ben's smile makes the warm feeling in your chest beat it's wings against your rib cage.
And you were staring to realize that the little voice you wrote off, was starting to sound surprisingly like your own.
A/N: Yes, a brief break from some of the heart wrenching angst, but we're not out of the woods yet! 😭
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