Summary: Fed up with Ben's lack of communication in regards to commitment, you channel your petty side and force him into action. (Photo courtesy of @bellinghamjobe )
Take it down.
When your phone screen lights up with the message from Ben, you roll your eyes. Of course he answers now, after you've posted something semi revealing on your Instagram. Of course that's what it takes to get his attention- has he returned your calls or texts from the last few days, in which you told him you needed to speak about your relationship, or rather the lack thereof? No. No he has not.
And now, as you're getting ready to head out with your sister and some friends to celebrate, you take great care to ensure you look amazing. You style your hair just how Ben likes it, pick his favorite necklace to wear, and let him see what he's missing.
Your phone vibrates again, and you smile to yourself. I'm serious. Don't post things like that.
What are you gonna do about it?
You hesitate before sending it, finally deciding to press the arrow and leave it up to cyberspace. Jealous Ben lights a fire in your gut; knowing he's stewing at home is enough to have a smile on your face.
"Are you ready babe?" Your sister asks when she pokes her head in your room. You nod and she grins, "I take it Ben hasn't responded to you."
"Nope," you confirm, popping the 'p'. "Not once, until I posted a photo of this outfit on my story. He wants me to delete it."
"Fat chance! You're stunning- he needs to know what he's missing!" Your sister clicks her tongue, letting herself in and swiping away a bit of extra powder from your chin. "If only he'd responded, he could come out with us as well. But alas, he's an idiot, and you'll be hot all on your own tonight!"
"Exactly my thoughts. His loss! Is everyone else here? Group photo! I'm posting all these photos on my story ladies, we need to prove a point!"
The next photo you post tempts fate. Thanks to your sister, the full length photo is an instant favorite of yours. Your cleavage is on full display, your black velvet dress cut so low it exposes more skin than you're normally comfortable with. Tonight however, you're feeling like the baddest woman in the city- and you want the world to know.
Delete it. Now.
Ben's reply to your story is expected, but so basic that it doesn't warrant a response from you. You tuck your phone in your bag and hop in the Uber with your group, headed off for a night of fun. You don't so much as think about Ben until you take a selfie in the bathroom mirror an hour later, your hair slightly messy from your best friend pretending to tousle it for you. It gives the illusion that maybe you've spent your time dancing with someone- which isn't an issue, seeing as you and Ben aren't exclusive. He made that very, very clear. And while you do enjoy the slightly toxic edge to his messages, you won't give in so easily.
So you post another photo, this one with your best friend, posing with your faces pushed so close together that your flat, stuck out tongues are nearly touching. You look hot as always, and you know Ben will lose his head when he sees it.
You check the viewers a few minutes later, noticing that Ben saw it but hasn't said anything. You roll your eyes, figuring he's over your teasing by now, and focus on having fun instead. You sing along to the music, order another drink, and lose yourself in your pocket of the club. In the company of your girls you let your worries free, refusing to let the thought of Ben bother you. You're focused on the here and now, wanting to enjoy this night with your friends.
So when a hand lands on your hip, you whirl on the offender with venom on the tip of your tongue. The words melt away when you're met by a familiar woodsy cologne, recognizing the man's baby blue eyes in a heartbeat.
"I told you to delete those photos, love."
"Ben," you breathe, the shock of seeing him here wearing off. "What- how did you know where I was?"
Ben drags a knuckle down your bare sternum, smirking when your breath hitches in your throat. He lays his hand flat between your breasts, feeling your heart speed up under his touch. "There was a coaster with the name of the club in your last post. Made it easy for me."
"Yeah well you shouldn't have come. I'm out with my friends!" You shove at Ben's chest, though the man doesn't move an inch. Ben laughs, one hand snaking down to your ass whilst the other settles on your hip.
"When you look like this? I have every right to be here and fend off the competition. Because I-"
"You have no right! You won't even properly ask me out-"
Ben shuts you up by placing a finger on your painted lips. He waits for the fire in your eyes to dull a touch before he removes it, tipping your chin up so you're meeting his eyes. "If you'd let me finish, please. I have every right to be here because I think it's high time I made you my proper girlfriend. Don't you think?"
"You're an arse," you mumble, though the insult carries no heat. "It took you this long to ask me that?"
Ben shrugs, "I was nervous, can you blame me? Look at you, you're so far out of my league I wasn't sure you'd agree to dating little old me. And you still haven't given me an answer yet."
You should put up a fight. Sober you would, and if you hadn't had that last pair of shots you may have at least pretended to object. But as tipsy as you are, you are powerless to resist when Ben offers you exactly what you've been craving for weeks.
"Fine, I'll be your girlfriend. But you have to stay and dance with me!"
"What do you think I got all dressed up for?" Ben dips his head, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth that leaves your head fuzzy. "It's all for you, love. I'm not going anywhere."
Summary: Your best friend Ben is excited to tell you about his new role at Chelsea- and decides he has more to spill, too.
You busy tonight? I have something to tell you!!!
A quick glance at your calendar confirms your boring, uneventful life so you're more than happy to respond to your best friend with, free as a bird! Our normal place at the normal time?
You set your phone down and tackle some more of your dissertation, wanting to get ahead while you can. Technically you'd planned on working on it most of the night, but seeing as you've been researching and cross referencing articles for so long you feel your eyes bulging out of your head, you figure you can take the night off… if you finish this section.
This is more important than a pub sunshine… I'll find us a place and pick you up at six!
Being best friends with a footballer does have its perks, his ability to find last minute dinner plans being one of them. He switches it up each time too, never visiting the same place twice in a row. Growing up you always said you didn't want anyone to treat you like a princess. Ben is the exception to that though, you'll let him pamper you day in and day out.
The fact that he's fit, has an adorable laugh and prince charming hair has absolutely nothing to do with that switch.
After honing in on your work for two hours, you finally find it in you to shut your laptop and set it aside in favor of a shower. You spend a decent amount of time styling your hair, perfecting your makeup, and im picking out an outfit. Eventually you settle on a deep blue jumper and a pair of jeans, figuring Ben will pick somewhere smart casual like usual. Your best friend is nothing if not predictable- Ben loves his pasta or anything that is served on a golden brown bun.
Ben's canary yellow car appears outside your flat just as you finish touching up your lipstick. He announces his arrival by throwing a pebble at your window. Despite his fame some things never change; Ben has been using that trick to catch your attention since you were children, growing up a few houses apart from each other. It's incredibly endearing… and part of the reason you've found yourself slowly falling for him.
Shoving the old, humidity swollen window open is a two handed effort but you shout down at him, "patience! I'll be there in a second!"
Instead of turning his cap forward, Ben shields his eyes from the setting sun with his hand, "hurry up will you? We've gotta make it to North London in twenty minutes-"
"North London?! You're taking me to enemy territory! Neither of us can be seen there, Benji!"
"You'll be fine," Ben says. "Get your arse down here!"
You bound down the steps to the ground floor, double checking the lock to your unit before heading for Ben. You try to keep your cheek splitting smile in check, but how can you not grin when the mere sight of Ben has your heart buzzing? He looks edible in a pair of loose white jeans and a black tee that hugs his shoulders a bit too close to be the correct size for him.
Not that you mind. Not at all. He's filled out nicely the past few months, and you're not the only one to notice. His fans online have been going practically feral over him and it's taken every ounce of your strength to not flaunt your friendship and force them to question his relationship status.
"Hey sunshine," Ben grins, kissing your cheek. You ignore the way something in you ignites when he puts his hand on your waist to guide you away from the car door so he can open it.
"Hey moonlight! What's this very important thing you have to tell me?"
Sun and moon. That's you and Ben, according to your parents. Complimentary foils; where one falls short the other rises. Where one goes, the other inevitably follows. Warm and cool, burning and soothing, push and pull. The comparison fit, and as such the nicknames given to you as kids have stuck around through dozens of life changes, and you love hearing him say it.
Ben grins as he starts driving. "A wise woman once advised me to have patience… I'd say the same thing to you!"
**********
"So… that bit of big news I was talking about." Ben smiles over his sugar free coke, the blue of his eyes bright.
"The news I've been waiting all night for? You're not gonna make me wait any longer are you?" He's been teasing you all night, beating around the bush without getting to the point.
Ben grins, setting down his glass and picking up his cloth napkin. He fiddles with the seams, his eyes still locked on you. You'd squirm if you weren't so used to this; sometimes, Ben's communication is nonverbal. Normally you can guess what he's thinking but currently, this is one of those rare times you have no idea what's going on inside his pretty head.
"What? Come on Ben- just tell me!"
"Alright, alright okay-" a pink tint finds its way to Ben's cheeks as he digs in the pocket of his jeans. He tosses a white armband on the table, emblazoned with purple writing. You recognize it instantly as the premier league captain's armband, putting two and two together in a split second.
"Are you- are you serious?! Oh my god! Oh my god you're gonna be captain-"
"Vice captain," Ben corrects, "and please stop screaming. We're in a nice establishment-"
"Shut up! I don't care- you're captain! You're captainnnnnn you're captaining your club- bloody hell I'm so proud of you!"
Ben moves his drink out of the way just in time as you throw yourself at him, hugging him as tightly as you can with a table between you. When his aftershave washes over you, the urge to kiss him is nearly blinding. But you reign it in, not wanting to spoil this moment for him. Instead you squeeze him tighter until Ben coughs, prompting you to release him.
"Right… um- thank you? Thank you…" Ben shifts in his seat, uncharacteristically nervous. He's a confident man, evidenced by the trust his team has placed in him for the upcoming season. "I have- well there's something I want to talk to you about."
You frown, handing him the armband so he has something to occupy his hands. He thinks better that way, when his hands are busy and can run at the same speed as his mind.
"Alright, what is it?"
Ben drags a hand through his hair, ruining the perfectly sculpted locks and leaving it messy before replacing his cap. "Look, so you know our friendship means the world to me. You know how important your support is, how much I value your input to my life."
Your heart sinks. You aren't sure what comes next, but it already feels negative. Your mouth dries out, tongue turning to sandpaper in a blink.
"And you know I care so much about you," Ben continues, avoiding your eyes. You don't know what to think, let alone what to do; did he find someone? Did he start dating and not tell you? What secret could he be keeping that has him this on edge, this nervous to tell the one person he knows would never judge him?
"Ben- you're scaring me." You try to laugh, though it comes out strained. Your friendship flashes before your eyes. Traveling hours from London to attend matches when he played for different clubs. School dances skipped in favor of spending the night in his bed while he slept on the floor, the pair of you reviewing old matches to help him prepare for his upcoming games. Moving into a flat in the same building as his own, simply so you could spend as much time with your best friend as possible while fighting his packed schedule.
"No don't be scared," Ben half shouts, catching himself at the last second and keeping the volume in check. "Don't freak out- I'm going at this the totally wrong way. Just let me think for a second."
Ben places his hand on the table, palm up. You trace shapes on his skin, a grounding technique that comes as easily to the two of you as breathing. You can't count how many times you've gone through sequences like this, quietly helping him work through his anxieties by simply providing him something physical to focus on.
After what feels like ages, Ben closes his eyes and takes a deep, slow breath. They are clear when he opens them, meeting your gaze with that confidence you've come to expect from him.
"I like you- not just as a friend, but more than that. Actually like isn't the right word." Ben stumbles over his speech, trying to get it out before you can get a protest in. "I love you, like I actually love you. And I don't expect you to feel the same way, but I've had that bottled up for so long and it just feels like the perfect time to tell you cause everything is going right and-"
You shut Ben up with a kiss, not giving a single fuck about the patrons of the upscale restaurant sitting near you. Fireworks explode when your lips touch Ben's, soft and warm with just a hint of his lip balm to negate any friction. The table digs into your hip but you barely notice it. You're dimly aware of your spilled water dripping off the table to soak your shoe. Everything is Ben- touch, sight, sound, taste, smell- you're wrapped up in him so tightly that you aren't sure if it's him that groans or yourself.
When you pull away, both frantic for air despite the kiss being little more than a peck. The world seems to be plated in gold, like the warm tones of a sunset have settled over the room. Ben's hand is on your jaw, fingertips bruising under your ear. Time seems endless, the intimacy of the kiss stretching on into infinity. You'll gladly waste away at this table, as long as Ben is your companion in a long, slow demise.
"I…"
"Love you," you finish for him. "I love you Benjamin. I love you, I love you, I love you-" Ben laughs while you splatter his face with noisy kisses. Ben doesn't bother to resist, perfectly content with being kicked out if it means you don't stop. An older couple a few tables over grumbles loudly to their server, complaining about the public display. In response, Ben drags your chair across the tile, the wood screeching in protest until you're sat inches from him.
"I love you," he says again, chest rumbling under your hand.
"Tell me that every day for the rest of forever and I'm yours, Chilwell."
"Captain Chilwell, actually." Ben's smile is more than an expression of his sheer joy. It is a promise to love you until his last breath. It's relief that you didn't shut him down. Above all, it's an indication of how you'll feel the rest of your life: complete, safe, and overflowing with joy.
"Now, about that armband…" You walk your fingers up between Ben's considerable pecks, not wasting a second in exploring him.
"What about it?" Ben kisses your temple, unable to help himself now that the gap has been bridged. You don't mind at all, not when you're already wanting to scream to the world that Benjamin Chilwell owns your heart.
"I think you should keep that one. Don't give it back. If you win your first match wearing it, that is."
Ben tips his head, "Oh, that sounds like something I can do. Can't say no to my girl, can I?"
Warmth erupts in your chest, filling you with liquid pleasure. "That's rule number one. Saying no isn't allowed."
"Luckily for you, you're irresistible." This time when Ben kisses you, he doesn't stop until he's interrupted by a tap on his shoulder and greeted with a cheque. Ben pays, tips generously and whisks you off your feet, glad to finally be free to kiss you as much as he pleases.
Summary: Ben is unwilling to let you break his friend's hear the same way you broke his.
The worst pain, in Ben's mind, is being homesick for arms that do not want to hold you.
How does one un-love someone that never loved you in the first place? How does one erase the fondness in one's heart, when the object of said fondness haunts the halls? How can Ben forget you, when you painted his smile in ten million vivid colors?
Seeing you at Cobham every day saps the joy out of football. Ben dreads it, dreads every second of being on the grounds that he used to call home. Because there, in that conference room, is where you first pulled him aside to introduce yourself. That currently unoccupied office? Where you had your first kiss. Ghosts linger in the halls, whispering broken promises and lies into his ear, clouding his head with shattered glass and jagged memories.
Before winter break, Ben held onto the hope that you might at least respect him enough to mute your flirty personality around him. But no dice. Quite the opposite, actually- it seems that you've now set your sights on someone else, one of the newer, younger lads who is perhaps just inexperienced enough to fall for your rose scented trap. Ben knows, he's gone through it- one bat of your long, full lashes and Cole Palmer will fold just as Ben himself had.
As vice captain, Ben is the squad's protector. With Reece out, Ben needs to step up. Fresh off his injury- the injury you helped him recover from nonetheless- he feels the need to bond with his lads, to create that sort of unspoken trust between the starting eleven to develop a wordless understanding of each other.
Ben can handle a broken heart. He's taped his back together enough for it to hold its shape, though not tightly enough to allow it to continue to beat for you. No, he won't fall for your tricks again. Better yet, he will not allow anyone else to meet the same fate he has.
On the sidelines, Cole laughs whilst you prod his calf. You tip your head and grin up at him, and Ben shoves down the initial jealousy that rises in his chest and replaces it with concern for his friend. Because Cole has no idea how devastating it can be to step into the swells of your storm. It starts with the grafting, then turns into stolen touches, secret kisses, and mumbled promises. Though in the end, with you it only ends one way: devastating, world shattering heartbreak.
Ben's feet carry him in the direction he years to move, though not for the reason he wants. Cole notes his vice captain's approach with a smile. You ignore Ben entirely. Doesn't matter, he will speak his mind whether you acknowledge his existence or not.
“Leave Cole alone.”
“Mate I'm just talking,” Cole says at the same time you say, “he's a big lad.”
“Walk away Cole,” Ben warns in a low voice. Then, he turns his cold, unflinching eyes on you, letting his inner thoughts pour out. “I'm not letting you break anyone else's heart. I'm not letting you use my teammates like you used me, luring them in and then tossing them aside like broken toys when you get bored. Not happening.”
“I'm just gonna…” Cole gestures over his shoulder before turning on his heel and jogging off. Good- he doesn't need to be anywhere near you ever again. Ben stands tall under your glare, stoic as an ancient oak.
“Fuck off Ben, just because you can't have me doesn't mean you need to make my life miserable!” You're in his face now, which Ben used to love. The fiery side of you was a turn on, something he used to try to poke at until you exploded on him. Now, he feels nothing but his own anger simmering in his chest. He hates you for what you've done, how you've treated him and the way you've ground his heart to dust beneath your heel. “You don't dictate my life. Just because you fell for me hard and fast doesn't make it my problem!”
“It does when you're preying on my teammates,” Ben counters. “As captain-”
“Vice captain.” You twist the knife deeper. Never good enough for anyone or anything, not even the team he loves so dearly, and especially not for you.
“I won't let you hurt anyone else here. Go sod off to Arsenal if you want to break hearts and play with emotions. I won't stand for it here.”
“Fuck you.” The words leave your mouth with venom that for once does not sting him. “I've earned my place here. You can't replace me anyways. I'm in charge of recovery, it's not as easy as you snapping your fingers and wishing me away. All because you can't have me? Really Ben?”
Ben continues as if he hasn't heard you, “I've already talked to Poch, and he agrees with me. The recent uptick in injuries means we've got to start looking internally to determine the root cause. And you know what's funny? I didn't even have to bring your name up, Poch did it on his own.” Ben delights in the surprise that cracks through your hard mask of rage. “I'd expect you'll be resigning before we play Spurs midweek. Which is sad really, maybe you could've grafted your way onto their payroll if you made an appearance. Oh, well.”
“You can't- Benjamin Chilwell you cannot get me fired! All because I wouldn't date you?!”
If that's what you think this is about, then you truly are oblivious. Ben couldn't care less if you dated him or not- all he wanted was a little more than you were willing to give him. And now, he sees you sinking his claws into another tried and true Chelsea lad. Allowing you to ensnare someone else is a disservice to the badge.
It has nothing to do with the fact that Ben cannot fathom spending another season around you. The relief that washes over him at the thought of never catching a whiff of your peach shampoo on matchdays doesn't play into the decision at all. No- this is simply what is best for the team.
“It was nice while it lasted,” Ben says with a tilt of his head. “Isn't that what you told me a few months ago?”
“Ben please.” It's amazing how quickly your tone changes. “I need this job Ben, you know that.”
“I'm sure your supervisor will put in a good word for you elsewhere. You're done at Chelsea, you burned that bridge on your own.”
Ben allows himself to drink you in one last time. Perhaps now you'll understand a fraction of the pain you put him through, and perhaps next season Chelsea can come back stronger without your clumsy influence. Ben will be- he already feels stronger knowing you won't haunt him any longer.
Summary: Ben’s injury is taking a mental toll on your boyfriend. He snaps on you and breaks your heart.
As always thank you to @toastyrashford for being my beta reader and lovely bestie 🥰
The idea that strong men don’t cry is archaic in your mind. Crying is a way to allow excess stress to burn off in a controlled, harmless way; it has nothing to do with gauging the strength of someone’s soul.
When Ben got hurt, it was the first time you saw him cry. It scared you. Physically, his pain was terrible. Having broken your arm in primary school, you had a semblance of how to treat that sort of hurt. The mental side of it is the bit that worries you. Over the past week you’ve watched Ben slowly retreat inside his shell in an attempt to shield himself from his fears and it’s slowly breaking you.
Ben hasn't been himself since surgery. Near constant mumbles of "leave me alone" and rejected affection have started to take a toll on you. The little things are starting to pile up and you want to help but you have no idea how. Nine times out of ten he insists on doing things himself and refuses to let you lend a hand unless he absolutely can’t avoid it. You know it's not you that he's mad at, but his annoyance with the world is wearing your relationship to ribbons.
Today was a better day. Ben mumbled a thank you for bringing him breakfast in bed and let you snuggle him for a few minutes before you got up to shower. He let you help him downstairs and get settled in the living room, where you left him for a few hours while you worked in the spare bedroom. You've just settled into the sofa next to Ben for a break when he groans.
"Can't I watch the telly without you climbing all over me? The dog's bad enough." Ben shoves lightly at Oscar’s head, who just grumbles and remains sound asleep.
“Don’t take it out on him,” you murmur as you pet Oscar. “He knows your hurt and he just wants to help you feel better.”
“Then he’s just as bad as you are.”
You pick your head up from his chest, baffled by his words. "Excuse me?"
Ben rolls his eyes. "For fucks sake, I just want a moment to myself. Is that too much to ask? Do you have to hover over me twenty four seven? Not like I can go anywhere, I’ve done bugger all since this thing." Ben gestures to his knee. His lips are pressed in a thin line and he looks anywhere but directly at you. “I don’t need you to mother me. How am I supposed to focus on healing if you just keep reminding me how useless I am?”
You’ve done your best not to let his comments get under your skin. Benefit of the doubt only goes so far, and your patience is waning. Sleepless nights spent tossing and turning are stacking up and you’re just as on edge as Ben.
"I'm gonna go ahead and assume that's your pain talking," you say quietly, giving him a chance to apologize. When Ben doesn't say anything, you nod and stand up. "I'll grab your meds. They'll help-"
“No, you know what? Here’s a mental idea." Ben glares at you, his normally bright eyes colder than the deepest ocean. "Why don’t you try not checking in on me every five seconds and leave me alone for a couple hours. I don't need to be babied. I'm not broken, I'm fine. I can do things on my own, I don’t need you."
"Ben, you don't mean that." Something hot and sharp stabs through your chest. Ben loves you. Hurting you isn't something you expect he'd do intentionally but his words feel calculated, like they've been stuck on his tongue for days.
"Except I do! I'm fucking sick of it. It's been a week and you haven't let me out of your sight. I'm going right mad sitting here with you crawling over me!"
You flinch when Ben raises his voice. No matter how upset Ben gets, it never escalates to yelling. Your lips fall open but nothing comes out except a tiny, miserable sound as tears spill down your cheeks.
"Oh good, now you're crying." Ben throws his head back, eyes sliding shut. Where was his apathy coming from? This isn't the man you love. The Ben you fell in love with wouldn't dream of raising his voice at you and he definitely wouldn’t sit idle while you cried.
"Benjamin James, tell me you don't mean that. Tell me you’re just stressed." You're desperate for him to take the chance to apologize. Your heart hurts so bad you’re surprised you aren’t bleeding. You bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling. "If you push me away, I'm not coming back. I'm not, Ben,” you add when he rolls his eyes. “If you make me leave this house, I'm not coming back."
"Don't be dramatic, you don't have to leave." Ben sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "You're suffocating me. Just go bugger off for the day. Give me some time to think, alright?"
"Fine," you whisper, grabbing your laptop and calling the dog curled at Ben's good side, "I will. Don't forget-" You suck in a breath, clamping down on the reminder for him to take his medication in a couple hours. "Come on, Oscar. Let's go."
Ben's dog weaves between your legs as you trudge up the stairs. Oscar waits patiently at the door to Ben's room when you pause at the top. You can't stand the thought of laying in Ben's bed while he's acting like this. His scent on the sheets will only make you miss him more, even though he was only a few steps away.
"In here buddy," you murmur, leading Oscar to one of the lavish guest rooms. He hesitates before following, just as confused by the situation as you are. You pat the mattress and Oscar hops up, turns around a few times, and plops down with a huff. You curl up next to him, soaking in his heat now that Ben’s cold shoulder has turned your house into a tundra.
"What should we watch?" You scroll through Netflix, settled in next to Oscar but feeling hollow and alone. Ben all but scooped out your heart and stomped on it, leaving an odd sort of numbness in his wake. You paw at your eyes and wipe your tears on the comforter. Oscar nuzzles into your side and whines, picking up on your mood. You offer him a watery smile and scratch behind his ears.
Maybe you should leave. Doing so would prove to Ben that you weren’t trying to smother him. Without your help, simple tasks like getting up the steps is a five minute ordeal. Trying to navigate to the kitchen himself would take at least twice as long. And Ben’s memory is shit when it comes to remembering things like medications, which is why you set alarms on your phone to make sure he doesn’t miss a dose. Without you here to mother him, his knee would be the size of a football and his chances of making it back before the end of the season would be miniscule.
Oscar noses at your arm and you settle for the same show you've watched a million times, just wanting to switch off your brain. For a half hour it works, then you're back to sobbing.
You're suffocating me. The words ring in your head until you start to believe them yourself.
From the moment Ben got injured you've gone out of your way to be nothing but supportive. You begged your boss to let you work remotely while Ben recovered so he wouldn't go stir crazy being in a big house alone. You drove him to appointments, refused your friends countless requests to go out, and ensured he didn't have to lift a finger. You wanted him to focus on resting so he could be back to doing what he loved as soon as possible.
Football is Ben's life. It isn't news to you; it was a stated fact that he made abundantly clear at the beginning of your relationship. Away games and late night training sessions you can deal with. Even the international break is bearable. This injury brought out the worst in him, and you aren’t sure how much more you can take before you break.
And maybe... you are being a little overbearing.
Oscar whines and nudges your foot. His big brown eyes watch you closely as you blink back tears. You ruffle his golden fur, “I’m okay Osc. Your daddy’s just being a muppet today, that’s all. He’ll come around, right? He always does.”
The door bangs open and you jump. Ben leans heavily on his good leg as he tries to catch his breath. His cheeks are flushed and you can’t be sure from this distance but his eyes look red and puffy. "I'm sorry, love. I didn't-" he winces, hissing in pain and lurching to the side.
Fight forgotten, you rush over to him and wiggle under his arm to take the brunt of his weight. "You idiot," you mumble, sniffling as you help him to the bed. You shoo Oscar off and pull back the duvet for Ben. "Why would you walk up the stairs alone? You should’ve asked for help, you know better."
"I didn't mean it," Ben rasps, ignoring you completely. His words are thick and now that your initial shock has worn off you notice the streaks on his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I didn't- it's not you, I'm just-"
Ben's lip wobbles and his face screws up. You assume his previous request for space is null and void and climb into bed with him. A piece of you falls back into place when he wraps an arm around your middle and buries his face in your hair. He sobs into your shoulder while you whisper soothing nonsense in his ear and cradle his head to your chest.
"Talk to me, baby. What can I do? Tell me how to help you." You run your fingers through Ben's hair as he cries. It hurts to see him so broken and lost. You'll do anything in your power to lift the burden from his shoulders, even if you don’t like his answer.
Ben’s answer is muffled by your sweater. "I tried taking the medication but I didn't know which one I needed next. So I sent you a message but you didn’t answer and I didn’t know what to do, so...” You had the bottles set out on the kitchen island in the order they needed to be taken but pointing that out doesn't seem wise at the moment.
"I turned my phone off," you quietly explain, “To give you space. You need acetaminophen next, to keep the swelling down.” Ben nuzzles closer into your chest and muffles a sob.
"I didn't mean to get so upset. " Ben’s eyes are a calmer blue when they roam your face. He reaches up to brush his thumb over your cheek, erasing the last of your tears that managed to escape. “Letting you think I was that pissed at you was a mistake. You know it’s not you, right love?”
You kiss the top of his head. “I know now.”
Ben nods, slipping an arm around you. "I'm just frustrated by everything. You shouldn't have to take care of me when you need to take care of yourself."
You shake your head. "No, I need to take care of you. You come first, Ben." In your book, you’ll always be second and you’re alright with that as long as it means Ben is first.
"I don't want to come first." His admission breaks your heart as much as the rawness behind his words. "You're my girl. I'm supposed to take care of you, not the other way around. I'm a footballer so you can live whatever sort of life you want and not have to worry about paying bills. I'm supposed to be providing for you and spoiling you, not wasting away on a sofa nursing a fucked up knee.
"And I hate not being on the pitch. I see the Chelsea Unseen videos and all they do is remind me what I'm missing. I'm so bitter and I hate it. I'm jealous of Mason and Kai and Kepa and all of them because they get to train and have fun while I'm stuck here. And I have to wait so damn long to be out there again."
Ben’s head thumps against the headboard and he sighs through his nose. “What if I’m never the same? I already can’t bend it all the way.”
"You'll get there." Ben relaxes into you as your fingers comb through his hair. "You've got to give it time."
"It's hard." Ben isn't one to voice his feelings often. You can see he's struggling and his speech has exhausted his emotional reservoir. He looks at you, seeking the familiar stability you normally provide him with. You run your thumb over his forehead, trying to provide some comfort.
"I know baby, but you're not alone. You've got me and the boys, you know they've all got your back."
Ben stays trapped in his head for a few minutes. You let the silence stretch as long as he needs it to. Oscar lays his head on your thigh, almost like he understands his dad was hurting and you were looking out for him.
"I'm sorry for being a wanker today." Ben turns his head to kiss your sternum. "Thank you for looking after me. I literally don't know what I would do without you." His scruff tickles your chin as he smatters more kisses up your neck. He stops at your jaw, reaching up to cup your cheek. "I love you so much. I'm really, really sorry, baby."
"I love you too, chilly. Apology accepted." You won't say it's okay because it’s not, but you can forgive him now that he's recognized the wrongness of his words and accepted responsibility for their consequences.
"Can we go back to our bed now? I don't like this one." He sounds like a toddler begging for his favorite blanket before being put down for a nap.
“Are you up for a hike then?”
Ben grimaces and snuggles closer to your side. “Right, maybe we'll sleep here tonight.”
