Both Bea and Chelsea shook their heads in unison. Ian, however, was strangely quiet. He kept his head down, completely focused on his dinner plate and carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone at the table.
All three women instantly locked their eyes on him.
Y/N leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “You know something.”
Ian froze, but stubbornly refused to answer.
“Seriously, Ian, talk,” Chelsea insisted.
He kept his mouth shut, holding his breath, until his gaze reluctantly collided with Bea’s. One look from his girlfriend was all it took to break his defense. He slouched in his chair, sighing heavily.
“Okay, fine. I saw them earlier.”
“…Them?” Bea pressed.
Ian winced, looking like a man preparing for a death sentence.
“…He was with Danielle.”
One-Shot:
▫️Bridgerton Off-Script
Pairing: Luke Thompson x Reader [Y/N as Yerin Ha inspired]
Series:
✨Where Fantasy Meets Reality✨
Pairing: Benedict x Actress!Reader [Benedict as Luke Thompson and Y/N as Yerin Ha inspired]
Length: 25.9k
Content Warnings: Explicit content, 18+ minors dni!, Fluff moments, Teasing and Banters, Unresolved Feelings, Angst, Loaded with contents either from Lukerin interviews/Benophie scenes, Original interviews were slightly altered for narrative reasons
Chapter 1 : The Script
Chapter 2: The Table Read
Chapter 3: The First Take
Chapter 4: The Cover Story
Chapter 5: The Trivia Night
Chapter 6: L'escalier
Chapter 7: The Piano Lesson
Chapter 8: The Déjà Vu
Chapter 9: The Last Tour (London)
Chapter 10: The Prior Engagements
Chapter 11: The Confessional (Here’s to Hoping) [Available on Tumblr on July 2]
P.S. Gentle Readers, I usually post the latest chapter of WFMR or new one-shots on my ao3 account. Just fyi 🤍 thanks for reading.
Pairing: Benedict x Actress!Reader [Benedict as Luke Thompson and Y/N as Yerin Ha inspired]
Content Warnings: Explicit content, 18+ minors dni!, Fluff moments, Teasing and Banters, Loaded with contents either from Lukerin interviews/Benophie scenes
Summary: Two months after a whirlwind Bridgerton press tour, Y/N is finally ready to move on from her dreamy co-star, Benedict. Their tour was a blur of electric chemistry, endless laughter, lingering touches and facing each other so much that cameras only caught their side profiles (iykyk). When Y/N lands the lead role in a new movie, she expects a fresh start. Instead, the script reveals a familiar name tied to her past, forcing her to confront emotions she thought she had imagined. As fiction begins to mirror reality, Y/N must face the one question she’s been avoiding all along: was it ever real for him, too?
✨Masterlist
Benedict woke slowly to silence.
For one blissfully disoriented second, he stayed exactly where he was, suspended somewhere between sleep and waking, his mind pleasantly blank.
Then instinct kicked in and he reached beside himself. It was empty.
His eyes opened immediately. Y/N was gone.
The telly screen was black now, long since having shut itself off sometime in the early hours. Pale morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, casting the room in that quiet blue-grey stillness that only existed before the city properly woke.
Benedict sat up too quickly, sending one of the cushions tumbling to the floor.
He tried to listen for any signs of someone else in his flat, but no sound came from the kitchen, no footsteps, no movement. His gaze flicked automatically towards the coffee table. No note either.
Not this time.
Something unpleasant tightened sharply in his chest. Of course, Y/N had left… again. After all, there was no reason for her to stay with him. Not a single sensible one.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, already annoyed with himself for the irrational sting of disappointment. Honestly, he should have expected this. Perhaps the worst part was he should have known better than to hope. After all, he was never really anyone’s first choice.
Somewhere along the way, he had developed the deeply unfortunate habit of assuming that when things went wrong, it was because he had somehow failed to be enough.
It had happened before.
Several years ago, he auditioned for drama school and got rejected, not once but twice. He also submitted countless auditions that went nowhere.
Even with Bridgerton, in a strangely ironic way. He auditioned for a role and then read for another but got cast as the second son. Granted, he had grown to love the character more than he could have imagined, but there was still something darkly amusing about the fact that even his fictional counterpart was the second son, the spare.
Fiction mirroring reality. Lovely.
But this? This felt different because Y/N leaving hurt far more than he cared to admit. It reminded him far too much of London.
When he accepted Echo Veil, he had warned himself not to get too close, not to make the same mistakes. Maybe he thought this time would be different with her. And yet here he was.
Pathetic.
Benedict exhaled sharply. Before he could spiral any deeper into self-inflicted emotional ruin, he decided breakfast was the more practical solution. There was, after all, nothing quite like a full existential crisis on an empty stomach.
He moved into the kitchen on autopilot, cracking eggs into a bowl with slightly more force than necessary. He decided to focus entirely on his omelette today.
He had just set his plate down and poured himself a glass of water when he heard a knock at the front door.
Benedict froze.
He slowly crossed the flat and reluctantly opened the door. He was left speechless when he saw Y/N standing in front of him, balancing two takeaway coffees and an aggressively overstuffed paper bag.
Her hair was windswept from the cold, cheeks flushed from the morning air. Still wearing the same clothes from yesterday and looking entirely too pleased with herself.
“Morning,” Y/N said brightly.
Relief hit him so hard it almost made him dizzy. Before he could stop himself, he reached forward, pulled her inside, and wrapped both arms around her.
Y/N let out a startled squeak. “Hey! You’re squeezing me. Are you okay?”
But Benedict only held her tighter. Like she might disappear again if he loosened his grip too soon.
For one strange, suspended second, neither of them moved. Then Y/N’s body softened against his, as if she understood.
“Oh.” Her voice changed instantly, softer now.
Benedict exhaled against her hair. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been holding so much back until he felt that sudden sense of relief at the sight of her.
“I woke up and you were g-gone.” His voice faltered slightly at the end.
Y/N leaned back just enough to look at him, lifting the coffees awkwardly like evidence. “I got breakfast… for us!” Her smile was so warm and beautiful it almost physically hurt.
Benedict looked away first, stepping back just enough to let her breathe.
“Well,” he said dryly, attempting to salvage what remained of his dignity, “since you’ve returned bearing carbohydrates, I suppose I can forgive the lack of a cuppa.”
That made her laugh. “You’re such a Brit. Coffee is more superior. Wait, did you cook?” Y/N peered past him.
“Yes, I did. Just eggs.”
Her face lit up.
“Ooh… I can’t wait to taste Benedict’s eggs,” Y/N said, walking into the kitchen to set down their coffees and a bag of bagels.
That earned a chuckle from him. “Leave my eggs alone, you made them sound so filthy.” He shook his head, feeling loads better than when he had first woken up.
Breakfast, as it turned out, was lovely. After they finished, Y/N stood up to clear their plates, but Benedict caught her wrist.
“Absolutely not. You are my guest.”
“Hey, that sounds very familiar… Mr. Bridgerton, is that you?” Y/N laughed, thrilled that they had accidentally recreated the breakfast scene at My Cottage. Benedict shook his head, hiding a smile as he started loading the dishwasher.
“Fine,” she said. “If you won’t let me help, can I at least shower?”
“Of course, love. Already washed your red jumper, but feel free to wear anything of mine.”
Y/N closed the distance between them. She rose onto her tiptoes to press a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Thank you,” she murmured.
And before he could say anything clever in return, she disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Benedict alone with a deeply ridiculous smile.
When Y/N finally stepped out, wrapped tightly in a towel, she wandered into his bedroom and slid open his wardrobe. She was not technically snooping. She was simply trying to find something to wear.
Found it!
Smiling, she pulled out a mustard yellow zip-up hoodie. It was the exact same one he had worn during their Bridgerton table read, and she remembered thinking back then how incredibly comfortable he looked in it.
Y/N found everything that happened between them entirely absurd. Just a few months back, every conversation had been brief and professional. Before that, months of suffocating silence between them. Both pretending none of whatever had existed between them was real.
Yet recently, the reality was undeniable. She’s sleeping at his apartment, stealing his hoodie, his boxers… It was a complete reversal of everything she thought she knew about them. It was strangely comfortable. A domestic warmth she hadn't realized she was craving.
Y/N gulped at that thought. Like she said, this whole thing is absurd.
She checked herself out in the mirror, watching the sleeves swallow her hands up to the knuckles. On her frame, the zip-up hoodie fell mid-thigh, resembling more like a dress.
Y/N padded into his study in a pair of borrowed ankle socks.
Benedict looked up from the armchair as she entered. His mouth opened slightly, then snapped shut as his jaw visibly clenched. His gaze dropped, eyes travelling slowly down her body… starting from the collar of his hoodie down to her bare thighs.
Y/N shifted on her feet, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry. Was this one off-limits or something?”
“No,” Benedict said, his eyes finally snapping back up to lock onto hers. “Quite the opposite, love.”
He set his notebook down on the desk and crossed the room to get closer to her.
“You look rather good in my clothes, you know.”
He cut off her reply before she could even form the words, leaning down to press a warm, tender kiss to her lips. Y/N kissed him back without a second thought, completely helpless against the magnetic pull that had been building between them for months.
Benedict groaned against her mouth, his hands sliding under the hem of the hoodie to rest against the bare skin of her thighs. The heat of his palms against her skin sent a shiver straight up her spine. The kiss that started out as soft at first, deepened. Still affectionate but quickly becoming increasingly distracting.
Too distracting.
Y/N laughed softly against his mouth and pressed a hand lightly to his chest. She started shaking her head while Benedict looked perplexed.
“No distractions, please.”
Benedict pretended to look personally wounded.
“We have —” Kiss. “— piano practice —” Another kiss. “— remember??”
He groaned dramatically, giving her a look of utter, tragic betrayal.
Y/N smiled, capturing his lips in one final, teasing kiss. She stayed close, brushing her lips against his as she whispered, “I’m ready to learn, Professor Bridgerton, Sir.”
That last word shifted something in the room. The playful charm vanished from Benedict’s face instantly, replaced by a sudden, heavy gravity as soon as she called him —
“Fuck, Y/N… you’re not helping.” His voice sounded strained as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
She tilted her head innocently and then let out a quiet laugh as she leaned back in. “So kinky, Sir.”
“Alright, that’s quite enough from you,” he muttered, a flush creeping up his neck. He caught Y/N by the wrist, a small smile breaking through his serious expression as he practically dragged her over to the piano bench.
***
“Again,” Benedict said, mildly horrified, “that was a C sharp.”
Y/N groaned dramatically and let her forehead fall against the piano keys. A deeply tragic discord rang out.
“Excellent,” Benedict murmured from across the room. “Now you’re creating avant-garde interpretations.”
Resting her chin on her hand, she shot him a glare. “This is literal emotional abuse.”
“It’s education, young lady.”
“Tomato, tomahto.” Y/N narrowed her eyes.
Benedict smiled without looking up. He had stationed himself across the room hours ago, notebook balanced on one knee, glasses sliding slightly down his nose in that maddeningly attractive way he seemed entirely unaware of.
Every now and then he would correct her: a note here or better timing there. Otherwise, he remained suspiciously occupied.
“Are you actually helping me,” she asked, “or just judging me silently from afar?”
“Both. Play the third bar again.”
Y/N sighed but obeyed.
“Good girl.”
That caught her off guard. He always called her ‘love’. She swallowed hard, shaking off the warm sensation pooling in her stomach, as she gripped the edge of the bench and focused very hard on the sheet music.
By evening, Y/N’s fingertips were sore, her concentration fraying, but something miraculous had happened, she was actually improving. More than improving, she was getting quite close.
“Again,” Benedict said.
“You enjoy torture.”
“Again.”
She played, only this time it was clean. Benedict slowly looked up.
“Well…”
Y/N blinked. “Well, what?”
“That was… surprisingly competent.”
She gasped. “Competent? I think I did amazing!”
“Let’s not get carried away, come on now.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop smiling.
By the time night fully settled outside, she played the entire piece without stopping. No missed notes, no hesitation. The final chord faded into silence. And for one suspended second neither of them moved.
Then Y/N turned toward him, eyes wide. “Did I just…?”
“You did.”
“Oh my God.”
“Yes! You did it, love.”
Benedict laughed as she launched herself off the piano bench and practically threw herself into his lap. He caught her instinctively, arms wrapping around her waist.
“I did it!”
“You did absolutely brilliant, Y/N. So proud of you.”
“All thanks to you.” Y/N grinned so brightly it nearly blinded him.
Then her gaze landed on the notebook beside him. She thought she saw something, or someone. “What’s that?”
“Oh, nothing really.” Which, naturally, meant it was absolutely something.
Y/N lunged for it and Benedict immediately tried to stop her but it was too late. She flipped it open.
It was a sketch of her. Her head was tilted in concentration, a barely visible smile playing on her lips. She looked completely serene and content.
Benedict suddenly looked almost very self-conscious which was rare. “I… never made you a proper season wrap gift.”
Y/N looked up. “A what?”
“For Bridgerton.” He adjusted his glasses unnecessarily. “I did them for Phoebe, Regé and others during the first season. Thought I ought to make one for you, too.”
She stared at the paper, stunned. This was what he had been doing the entire time. Every line, every shade was meant for her. It was just like him, so thoughtful, observant, and so unmistakably Benedict.
“You drew me,” she said softly, looking up to meet his eyes.
“Yes, that I did.”
“Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Not a whole lot, I'm afraid,” he smirked.
“And so humble, too.” Y/N teased.
There was something electric about tonight. She couldn't tell if she was still riding the high of finally conquering her piano lesson, or if it was the dizzying warmth of realizing she was looking at the best gift anyone had ever given her.
Looking up into his eyes, Y/N felt that familiar, dizzying rush flutter in her chest. Driven by a sudden surge of affection she couldn't possibly restrain, she pulled him down by the collar into a kiss.
It was quickly becoming her favorite new habit — kissing him first. She pressed her lips to his gently, a deliberate and unhurried press that spoke volumes. It was her way of silently thanking him, letting the simple gesture say everything her words couldn't.
Y/N smiled against his mouth. “You know, you’re actually a very good teacher.”
Benedict hummed approvingly. She tilted her head, watching the way his expression softened before she decided to completely ruin his composure again.
“I suspect there’s a lot of things you can teach me…” She paused, leaning in until her breath brushed his ear. “…Sir.”
At that last word, Benedict stilled. The easy warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced instantly by a dark focus filled with lust.
The sudden change made Y/N shift in his lap, the friction of her bare thighs against his sweatpants sent a tingling sensation through her. She could feel the unmistakable evidence of his growing arousal straining hard directly beneath her center.
Before Y/N could shift again, his hand cupped her jaw so that she can meet his gaze. His demeanor had completely changed. The gentle artist was gone. "You're playing a rather dangerous game, love," he rasped, his thumb teasing her jawline with a featherlike touch.
Benedict leaned in and captured her lips in a long, searing kiss. When he finally pulled back just an inch, his green orbs remained locked on hers, dark and focused. His grip tightened on her waist, pinning her in place. “Tell me what you want, love,” he commanded in a low, gravelly rasp that left no room for games.
Y/N let out a soft, trembling whimper. She couldn’t believe that he’d barely done anything to her yet, but already, he had her completely putty in his hands. The deep ache between her thighs was slick and heavy, her body melting effortlessly into his demanding touch.
Instead of responding, Y/N let her actions answer for her. Shifting her weight, she slid down his body until she was kneeling on the floor right between his legs. She swallowed hard, her chest heaving with nerves as she looked up at him while her hands hovered the elastic waistband of his pants, waiting for his permission to go on. As soon as Benedict nodded, she wasted no time hooking her thumbs as she pushed them down and completely took them off.
His composure shattered the second her warm fingers wrapped around his rigid length. Y/N had to use both of her hands, adjusting to the substantial, solid length of him as she began to move.
A tight knot formed in his throat, his forearms flexed and thickened as he braced himself, trying to endure the sweet friction of her touch.
“That’s it, love… fuck.”
Leaning in closer, she dragged the flat of her tongue, tasting him with a slow, wet stroke from base to tip. She heard his breath hitch and without missing a beat, she swirled her tongue around the slick heat of the tip, her eyes locked on his tight expression.
Benedict’s head fell back against the chair, a low, guttural groan tearing from his throat as he tried to keep himself from jerking his hips upward. The slick warmth of her mouth enveloped him inch by inch, shattering what little control he had left.
“Take it all f’me, love… fuck, good girl.”
Y/N felt that same deep sensation again in her core. Desperate to keep hearing his low, ragged praise, she opened herself completely to him. She slid her lips along his length once more, taking him deeper and deeper at an agonizingly slow pace that had him trembling.
Y/N pulled back a little. “Please, Sir…”
She caught his hand and pressed his palm firmly against the back of her head, giving up all control and silently telling him she was ready for whatever he wanted.
The heat in Benedict’s expression shifted, his protective instincts instantly cutting through the haze of his arousal. “Are you sure about this, love?”
Y/N looked up at him through her lashes, her eyes dark with compliance as she nodded. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers for a split second to ground them both. “Tap me three times if it gets too much, yeah? No games, Y/N. I mean it.”
With her patience wearing thin, Y/N let out a muffled moan around him. The hot, wet vibration of her velvety mouth wrapped around his cock once more, shattering whatever logic he had left. There was no backing out now.
She closed her eyes and let her jaw relax, completely surrendering control to him. Benedict’s fingers tightened into her hair, as he took over completely. His hips shifting into a relentless, unforgiving pace that left her breathless. Every time Y/N gasped against him, he pushed a fraction deeper, filling the slick warmth of her mouth completely.
“Fuck, love,” he groaned, his voice cracking as his hips snapped forward. “Such a good girl for me. Take it, fuck, just like that.”
Benedict watched the way she took every inch of him without a shred of resistance, and the complete surrender in her eyes shattered his remaining control. The way he relentlessly fucked her throat into a fierce, consuming rhythm that pushed her to her absolute limits, left her completely dazed.
Every muffled gasp she made against his skin only fueled his momentum. The slick warmth of her mouth wrapped around his length was entirely too overwhelming to endure, pulling him closer and closer to the absolute edge. His breath came in ragged, desperate gasps as the pressure hit its peak. His fingers locked tightly into her hair, holding her flush against him as his hips twitched with a final, heavy thrust.
“Y/N! Love… Fuck— “ The words were torn from his throat, cracked and raw with a sudden, overwhelming intensity. He went entirely rigid, a low, guttural groan tearing from his chest as he came, his whole body trembling as he spilled over deep in her mouth.
Y/N swallowed everything he gave her, leaning away with a soft exhale as she wiped a lingering trace of him from the corner of her lips.
“That was rather, uhm… ” Benedict slumped back against his seat, completely spent. He closed his eyes, struggling to find the right words while he tried to stabilize his ragged breathing after such a shattering release. He looked up, his gaze soft and completely awestruck. “You were utterly fantastic, love.”
He reached up, capturing her lips in a full, messy kiss. He pulled back just an inch, his green eyes searching hers. “How’s your throat?”
“It’s fine,” Y/N insisted, although she did feel a slight scratchiness in the back of her throat.
Benedict shook his head with a soft smile, seeing right through her reassurance. He got up and walked toward the kitchen to fetch her a drink. “What do you need, love? Water? Tea?”
“Water, please.”
And with that, Benedict went out from his study.
Somewhere nearby, a phone began to buzz. Y/N tracked the sound to the top of the piano, where her device was actively vibrating itself across the wood. It buzzed again, followed by another immediate ring, demanding her attention.
Someone’s apparently trying to FaceTime her. Someone who’s completely oblivious about time zones and does not realize how late it is in Montreal.
She immediately moved to reject Asher’s call, but her thumb didn't even hit the screen before her phone buzzed again, stubbornly overriding her attempt to ignore him.
Persistent.
Y/N blinked. She accepted the call. Immediately, Asher’s face appeared.
“Hey… you,” she croaked.
“Hey Y/N, are you sick? What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your voice. Are you alright?”
Realization hit her like a physical blow. She cleared her throat, desperately trying to smooth out the evidence of what she had just been doing only minutes ago.
Right. That.
“I’m fine.”
“If you say so… ”
“I promise I’m okay. Now, talk. I’m kind of in the middle of something.” She looked around the room and found a glass of water on top of the desk, however no sign of Benedict anywhere.
“So bossy.” Asher chuckled.
“Shouldn’t you be busy being famous in California?”
“Right, your glamorous five a.m. interview circuit.”
“Brutal,” Asher confirmed. “Someone asked me what my skincare routine was. I’m a man surviving on caffeine and panic.”
“Oh no, you poor thing,” Y/N deadpanned. She held the serious expression for a beat before letting out a soft, amused snort.
“Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side.” Asher reminded her as he joined in the laughter. “Actually, there was one interview where they did ask about you.”
Y/N raised a brow. “Oh?”
“Mhm.”
“Hopefully you didn’t spoil anything about Echo Veil.”
Asher looked deeply offended. “Of course not. I would never!”
“Not yet, you mean, King of Spoilers.” That made both of them laugh again.
They spent another five minutes chatting until they finally said their goodbyes. Y/N quietly slipped down the hallway toward Benedict’s bedroom.
She found him in bed with his glasses on and a script in hand. Looking far too handsome for someone clearly pretending not to care.
Y/N smiled softly and climbed onto the mattress beside him.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
“You never came back,” she said, sticking her bottom lip out in a dramatic pout. “You busy?”
Benedict turned a page. “How is Asher?”
Ah, there it was.
Y/N chose her next words carefully. “He’s fine.”
“Does he always call this late?” Benedict kept his attention fixed very firmly on the script.
Interesting.
“Benedict…”
He finally looked at her. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” His response caught her off guard.
“I may be overstepping.” He removed his glasses and set them aside on his nightstand. “I don’t wish to make assumptions.”
Something in her chest softened. “Asher is my friend.”
“I know.” Benedict gave a single nod. “Are we…friends?”
“Do you want to be?” Y/N whispered, holding her breath.
Benedict’s smile strained slightly as he shook his head, looking up to lock his eyes onto hers. “I never wanted to be just your friend, love.”
“Good, me neither.” Y/N then curled into his side beneath the covers. He began to thread his fingers gently through her hair.
After a long, quiet moment she asked, “How come you never reached out after Bridgerton?”
Benedict went still but she kept going anyway.
“We got along so well.” Her voice softened, the words heavy with months of unspoken things. “Were you really just too busy with theatre?”
Benedict stared at the ceiling, a muscle in his jaw shifted. He wasn't fond of talking about the months after she had left London. The hollow shell of a man he had become the moment she left… him.
“Yeah… I was rather busy right after the press tour,” he lied.
Y/N held her breath, hoping for more, but Benedict didn’t offer another word. She knew that wasn’t the entire answer, not fully. But something in the fragile set of his features silently begged her not to push. At least, not tonight.
Instead, Benedict turned toward her. He looked very serious now. There was a vulnerability in a way she hadn’t seen often.
“Just…” He hesitated, quieter this time. “Don’t run again.”
Y/N frowned slightly. “What does that mean? And why would I?”
He didn’t answer, he just watched her as if he’s waiting for her.
Something about the intensity of it made her chest tighten so she nodded. “Okay.”
Benedict visibly exhaled and then pulled her closer. Ending the conversation without actually ending it.
And somehow, she let him. For tonight, this felt like enough. Y/N snuggled close against his chest, completely safe and warm as sleep slowly pulled her under. Between the rigorous piano lesson and an intense throat exercise, her body was completely spent, and she happily drifted off to the sound of his steady heartbeat.
***
Sunday was another full day of rehearsal. She made significantly fewer mistakes this time, drastically cutting down on the amount of times Benedict got to play the strict professor. They took short breaks to grab food, but otherwise spent the entire day practicing side-by-side.
Y/N might have been distracted from her actual practice once or twice. She became far more interested with her gorgeous instructor showing her a completely different kind of fingering technique in between her lessons.
Somehow, this effortless blend of music and much more ‘hands-on’ practice had become their established rhythm for the weekend.
Later that night, as they finally slid beneath the cool sheets, they began to plan for the next day. Benedict pulled her close, murmuring against her hair about taking her out for a dinner date the second she finished shooting her piano scene, determined to celebrate their success in style.
Long after midnight, the conversation finally drifted off. Benedict’s room grew completely quiet, leaving nothing but the sound of their soft, synchronized breathing in the dark.
And then without warning, Y/N’s phone lit up, a soft, low vibration hummed against the nightstand, repeating once, twice, and then dissolving into a continuous buzz. Notifications were stacking too fast to read, a chaotic blur of unread messages and urgent mentions lighting up the dark.
One final buzz rattled the table. A bright red warning flashed a critical one-percent battery notice, and with a swift click, the screen died and the silence returned.
Y/N remained curled against Benedict’s side, his arm wrapped around her waist under the heavy covers. Neither of them stirred, completely lost to sleep. Still blissfully unaware of what the next day held for both of them.
Summary: Two months after a whirlwind Bridgerton press tour, Y/N is finally ready to move on from her dreamy co-star, Benedict. Their tour was a blur of electric chemistry, endless laughter, lingering touches and facing each other so much that cameras only caught their side profiles (iykyk). When Y/N lands the lead role in a new movie, she expects a fresh start. Instead, the script reveals a familiar name tied to her past, forcing her to confront emotions she thought she had imagined. As fiction begins to mirror reality, Y/N must face the one question she’s been avoiding all along: was it ever real for him, too?
✨Masterlist
Y/N’s day started at an ungodly hour.
She barely got any sleep, too restless from the nerves the night before. At this point, she’d have to rely on the magic of makeup to save her today.
She sat in front of the mirror in her dressing room, lights framing her reflection in a soft glow. Stylists moved around her, fixing her hair, brushing powder across her skin, making sure no trace of exhaustion showed for today’s photoshoot.
Once they were done, a staff member guided her to one of the studios where everything had already been set up.
The solo shots were easy. Y/N stood under the bright studio lights, the camera clicking steadily as she shifted from pose to pose, smooth and confident.
Then she saw Asher walk in.
“Alright, let’s get the two leads together.”
He stepped beside her with that same easy smile. “Ready to pretend like we like each other?” he joked.
Y/N couldn’t help but match his mood. “I’ll try very hard,” she teased back.
“Oh, good! That makes this so much easier.”
The photographer guided them closer, then closer still. Their shoulders brushed. His hand hovered near her waist before settling naturally, like it belonged there.
“Perfect. Stay there. Yeah, that’s it. That’s what we're looking for.”
Y/N felt completely at ease with him. They laughed between shots, leaned into each other without thinking, moving like they hadn’t just met weeks ago.
And then, Y/N suddenly felt something, like her spidey sense is tingling. She felt his eyes on her before she even saw him.
Across the room, staring at them, was the main reason why she couldn’t get a wink of sleep yesterday.
His expression was composed, but there was something else beneath it. Something sharper. And for a brief moment, their eyes met.
Her heart fluttered.
And without realizing it, her body shifted slightly away from Asher. Her co-star beside her noticed, glancing at her with a small, questioning look.
Luckily, the photographer spoke up before she had to come up with an explanation.
“Alright, switch!”
Now it was his turn. Benedict stepped into frame beside her and everything changed.
“Closer,” the photographer instructed.
Benedict didn’t hesitate. He stepped into her space like he had every right to be there, as if there had never been any distance between them at all.
Y/N felt the shift immediately. His hand settled at her waist, firm, steady. Almost… possessive.
“Relax,” the photographer added. “You’re former lovers in this film, right? So there’s history here. Don’t just pose, feel it.”
‘Oh, there’s history, alright.’ She agreed at the back of her mind.
Y/N tried to focus on her breathing, on the camera, on anything except for the way Benedict’s hand hadn’t moved.
“Now, look at each other.”
She turned and found him already looking at her with those green eyes. She tried not to look away, but his gaze felt like he was almost undressing her.
Her breath caught.
“Good. Maybe just a little closer, you two.”
Benedict shifted nearer, just enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the quiet pull of proximity that made everything else fade.
His thumb pressed firmer on her waist. It was quick but she felt it.
Y/N swallowed.
“Don’t lose that,” the photographer encouraged. “Keep that intensity, that’s exactly it.”
Her heart was beating far too fast for something that was supposed to be controlled. Professional. But the way he was looking at her was anything but professional.
At one point, the photographer adjusted their pose, positioning them closer. Benedict stood behind her now, his presence suddenly everywhere. She could almost feel his lips brushing on her hair.
Y/N went completely still. She became hyper-aware of how close he was. She can feel his warm breath behind the shell of her ear now and it’s doing something unspeakable down her lower region.
She shivered involuntarily and Benedict noticed. Something flickered in his expression, subtle but unmistakable. Recognition.
He knows.
His grip at her waist tightened, his thumb doing circular motions on her back so no one else would see.
Then he whispered three words in her ear, “You okay, love?” His words sent vibrations straight to her core, then he smirked.
Y/N’s trying so hard to keep a sound close to a whimper from slipping out, so she didn’t dare respond. As much as she wanted to wipe off that smug look on his face, she can’t risk getting caught in such a heated state.
“Hold that pose. One more for safety,” the photographer said. “And that’s it. You guys did great. Thanks for indulging me. We’ll do the interview in thirty.”
The spell broke.
Y/N stepped back immediately, breath uneven, heat rising to her face faster than she could control. She turned away before anyone else in the room could see through her, pretending to fix herself.
“Hey.” His voice again, lighter now, as if nothing happened.
She checked herself first before turning around to finally face him.
“Didn’t realize you were enjoying it that much,” he chuckled softly, quiet enough that no one else would hear.
Her stomach dropped. She looked him in the eyes then. And she saw it again, that suggestive look.
“It’s called acting,” she said, a little sharper than she meant to.
His mouth twitched. “Ah yes, of course.”
Although neither of them ate that lie, not even a single bite.
***
A Week Later.
“Okay, I’m reading it out loud.”
“Jenna!” Y/N protests.
“Nope. You’re not backing out of this.”
Y/N groaned, sinking further into the couch as Jenna held up her phone dramatically.
“It’s not even bad!” Jenna insisted. “You’re being weird.”
“I’m not being weird.”
“Yeah, you most certainly are. You’ve been avoiding this all morning.”
“That’s because I don’t need to read it.”
“Maybe you don’t, but you won’t tell me anything other than ‘it was good’, so now I’m curious,” Jenna cleared her throat before starting. “Interview Magazine presents: the cast of Echo Veil. Getting to know each other.”
She shot Y/N a look. “See? Harmless.”
Y/N didn’t respond.
Jenna continued reading, the questions, the answers, light teasing between the three of them. The back and forth all seemed natural.
At one point, Jenna paused. “Oh,” she said, glancing up. “Asher’s sweet.”
Y/N frowned slightly. “What did he say?”
“He said you’re ‘one of the most thoughtful people he’s worked with.’ That you listen. That you care.” Jenna lowered the phone, giving her a meaningful look. “That’s… really nice.”
Y/N looked away. “He’s just being polite.”
“Or he actually means it.”
Y/N didn’t answer.
Jenna kept reading, then… “Oh… this part.”
Y/N’s stomach tightened slightly. “What part?”
“You asked Benedict a question,” Jenna said. “About having feelings you never say out loud.”
Y/N went still.
“Do you want me to skip it?”
“No,” she said quickly.
Truth be told she wanted to hear his answer again. And it’s not like she was the one who came up with that question. All three of them were given cue cards to read off different sets of questions.
Jenna nodded slowly, then read: “‘Sometimes people choose silence because it feels safer than saying something that might change everything.’” She paused before moving on, “Oh okay, next one is from Asher —”
Y/N blinked. “Hold on, that’s it?”
“Yeah, should there be more?” Jenna gives her a quizzical look.
But she knew that wasn’t all he said, not even by a long-shot.
When she came back from her break that day, the studio had been quieter than expected. Not completely silent because there were still people around. Staff moving in the background.
The interview started, all three of them asking each other questions from their own cue cards.
It went on like a normal interview, up until she just read the next question for Benedict to answer.
“Sorry, the question was… if people ever regret not saying how they feel?” He repeated.
Y/N nodded, fingers lightly gripping the card she’s holding. She gets as to why this was one of the questions given their specific relationship in the movie, but she may be anticipating his answer for an entirely different reason.
Benedict didn’t answer immediately, he only looked at her. His mouth opened as if he was going to say something but closed it again, like he’s contemplating his words carefully.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “I mean, I absolutely think you’d regret it one day if you conceal your feelings for someone. After all, a wise person once told me that truth is the foundation of intimacy… ” He secretly winked at her.
“Sometimes though, it’s not that you don’t want to say it,” he continued, his voice quieter now. Something in him had shifted from his earlier playful mood.
“It’s that you already know what it means for both of you and what will really happen if you expose that kind of vulnerability to someone...”
Y/N found herself holding her breath. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him and neither could he.
Around them, something moved. A chair, maybe, someone whispering, the faint click of a camera, but they all felt far away.
“And once you say it,” Benedict added, softer now, like the words weren’t meant for anyone else in the room, “you don’t get to take it back.”
The words settled heavily between them.
“Everything changes,” he said, and suddenly he was looking all around the room, trying to look at anything but her.
“And you’re okay with that?” Y/N blurted out, unable to keep the slight hurt in her voice.
“No,” he shook his head slightly. “ But you sort of have to if you want to keep this person in your life. No matter how much it pains you.” He made the mistake of gazing into her eyes again.
“My apologies, that was all over the place. Apparently, I still haven’t mastered the subtle art of shutting up.” He quietly chuckled and everyone else followed, even her.
Though hers was only out of politeness. Something about his answer tugged on her heartstrings.
Sitting next to her, Asher shifted in his chair. His expression had changed, thoughtful now, eyes moving between the two of them. Like he had just witnessed something very intimate, something he wasn’t meant to see.
Y/N exhaled slowly. She supposed what was published on the website was the gist of his answer.
“Hey, earth to Y/N?” Jenna asked, lowering the phone. “Are you feeling alright there, hun?”
“Yeah, just a bit tired,” she fake yawned.
“Well, I can’t blame you, you’ve been working nonstop these past few days. You should take a proper rest on your day off, and drink lots of fluids.” Her friend advised, defaulting into nurse-mode.
Y/N smiled faintly. She decided not to tell Jenna what happened after the interview.
How she had gone to his dressing room, not thinking too much about it. She really just wanted to check up on him, see how he’s doing.
Until she heard something that made her stop in her tracks, just right outside his door. Laughter?
He wasn’t alone.
She hadn’t meant to spy on them but the door was ajar and she was able to peer through the small opening.
Dani looked gorgeous and she was sitting on the counter. From her standpoint, she could only see the outline of Benedict’s back and he was sitting on his dressing chair.
Looking at them through the crack, she knows she’s been in this scene before. How ironic. Only this time, Benedict was not only acting as if he’s interested, Taylor Swift’s Enchanted won’t be playing in the background, and there’s certainly no director around to yell ‘cut!’ to stop her heart from breaking.
Y/N stepped back before they could spot her. She didn’t even realize she was running, and with every pounding step brought more and more clarity into her harsh reality.
And now she tells herself she has no right to feel this way, after all she had already decided to distance herself from him. But she presumes she can’t really dictate how she feels, as if something sharp is constantly twisting in her chest.
Y/N decided she’ll keep what transpired that day to herself. She’ll take accountability for her impulsive actions and for being hopeful again. As much as this whole ordeal pains her, she doesn’t want her friend to pity her anymore, even though she knows Jenna won’t judge her. She needs to finally stand on business for herself.
Summary: Two months after a whirlwind Bridgerton press tour, Y/N is finally ready to move on from her dreamy co-star, Benedict. Their tour was a blur of electric chemistry, endless laughter, lingering touches and facing each other so much that cameras only caught their side profiles (iykyk). When Y/N lands the lead role in a new movie, she expects a fresh start. Instead, the script reveals a familiar name tied to her past, forcing her to confront emotions she thought she had imagined. As fiction begins to mirror reality, Y/N must face the one question she’s been avoiding all along: was it ever real for him, too?
✨Masterlist
The mornings were colder now. Not freezing yet, but enough for people to start wrapping scarves tighter around their necks and carrying steaming coffees like lifelines through the studio lot.
Y/N arrived on set earlier than usual. Suspiciously early, if anyone had asked Bea. Thankfully, even her makeup artist wasn’t here yet, which was precisely the point. She has been bombarding Y/N with so many questions as of late.
She adjusted the strap of her bag and stepped quietly through the empty soundstage, the vast room dim except for a few scattered work lights glowing softly backstage. The silence felt comforting after the chaos her mind had become lately.
She exhaled slowly and headed toward the makeup trailers when suddenly, someone cleared their throat behind her.
“You left before I woke up.”
Y/N nearly jumped.
Benedict was sitting near the edge of the stage steps with a coffee in hand, script balanced against one knee, wearing a navy sweater with the sleeves rolled up. To make matters worse, he had his glasses on.
She thought it was entirely unfair for someone to look this good at six in the morning.
“Seriously, Benedict,” she muttered. “Do you enjoy scaring people?”
“Only selectively.” The corner of his mouth curved slightly. “And don’t try to change the subject.” His gaze stayed fixed on her as he stood.
Y/N tried not to notice how naturally her body reacted to his presence now, like her entire system had memorized him against her will. He moved, and somehow her attention followed automatically.
“I left a note,” she defended weakly, the excuse about as flimsy as the note she’d left on his coffee table.
“Yes. Very polite of you.”
“I said thank you.”
“You did.”
“…and?”
“And then you vanished.”
Y/N crossed her arms. “I didn’t realize I was being detained.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth again.
God, she hated when he looked smug and handsome at the same time. Lethal combination.
Benedict stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly. “You were the one who kissed me first, love.” The words landed much harder hearing them out loud.
Y/N immediately became flustered. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
First rule: never confess to your crimes. She would take this to her grave if necessary.
Benedict studied her quietly before asking, “Are you planning on pretending none of it happened then?”
“Good morning, you two!”
Mike walked past them cheerfully while other crew voices echoed from the corridor behind him.
Y/N stepped back immediately in an attempt to look casual. A few production assistants entered carrying equipment and coffees, effectively bursting their little bubble.
Benedict pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up with visible frustration.
“We’ll continue this later,” he murmured.
Y/N’s pulse skipped.
Without waiting for a reply, he walked past her toward the dressing rooms. And somehow, this was worse, because now she knew for certain… he wasn’t going to just let this go.
***
The next few days became unbearable in the most ridiculous way possible because she keeps seeing Benedict everywhere she goes. Or perhaps ever since that fateful night, Y/N had completely lost the indifference she had mastered before, and now she simply can’t help but notice him.
Either way, it was a problem.
He had subtle ways of making his presence known. A quiet ‘morning, love’, or a hand brushing briefly against hers while passing scripts or sometimes standing just a little too close during rehearsals
It was driving her insane.
More infuriatingly, part of her wanted to ignore him out of pure spite while another part craved every ounce of his attention.
Meanwhile, Benedict looked calmer now, more certain. He was resolute in his pursuit of her, almost ignoring the risks of being caught on set.
Thankfully though, he’s such a good actor.
Unfortunately for Y/N, she was internally combusting every single day.
***
By Thursday afternoon, Y/N had discovered that elevators were no longer safe. Unluckily, she realized this information far too late.
The doors slid shut behind her with a soft ding, but then a hand stopped them before they closed completely. And in walked the last person she wanted to see.
The elevator suddenly felt smaller, warmer. Y/N stared very hard at the glowing floor numbers.
“Interesting timing,” Benedict remarked casually as the doors closed again.
“I was here first.”
He completely ignored what she said and went straight to the point. “You’re avoiding me again.”
Y/N scoffed lightly. “You say that like you aren’t stalking me through this building.”
“I’m most certainly not stalking you.” He paused thoughtfully. “Well… not all the time.”
“You somehow appear everywhere I am.”
“You make it sound as though I’m a proper serial killer, love.”
That made her giggle despite herself. To be fair, they had always shared a questionable appreciation for dark humour.
The elevator jerked slightly as it stopped at another floor, but no one entered.
Y/N became painfully aware of his arm beside hers. His cologne, his warmth…
The memory of his mouth against hers.
He stepped in closer. “Relax,” Benedict said soothingly. She could feel how dangerously close he was.
“I am relaxed,” she muttered under her breath.
“You’re gripping your coffee like it insulted your entire bloodline.”
She glanced down and he was right.
Fuck me.
A knowing smirk slowly appeared across Benedict’s face. He turned toward her fully, his eyes warm and heavy with amusement. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, a slow, agonizingly light trail that made her knees feel weak.
“So,” he murmured, “you do remember what almost happened that night.”
Y/N instantly covered her mouth. She hadn’t even realized she’d said that out loud.
“No need to be shy, love,” he teased gently, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The remaining space between them disappeared completely.
“I would’ve done as you wish, but you fled my flat before sunrise.”
Her breath caught instantly. “That sounds significantly worse when you say it like that.”
“It was worse.”
Ding! The elevator doors opened.
Both of them stepped apart immediately.
Perfect timing, Y/N thought. Or terrible timing. She genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.
***
Bea and her boyfriend Ian were currently sprawled across Y/N’s apartment like they own the place. They had arrived while Y/N was still on FaceTime with Jenna, who was somehow bright-eyed and functioning despite being on the other side of the world in Sydney.
This wasn’t unusual. They’d hung out like this plenty of times before. The only difference now was that Y/N hadn’t exactly been truthful about what happened on that fateful trivia night.
Only Jenna knew the full story.
And with the way Bea kept circling back to the subject lately, Y/N was becoming increasingly convinced she was going to accidentally confess everything one of these days.
“You’ve been bizarre lately.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Y/N deflected immediately.
Bea pointed dramatically at the phone screen. “Jenna, please tell your best friend she’s not been herself recently.”
“Well — ” Jenna started but was cut-off swiftly.
“Aha! You just poured orange juice into your coffee,” Bea declared triumphantly.
Y/N looked down in absolute horror. “…oh my God.”
Bea stared smugly from across the kitchen counter while Ian sat beside her, half-working on his laptop and half-enjoying the unfolding disaster before him.
“Okay,” Bea said slowly, narrowing her eyes. “What the hell is going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Jenna?” Bea pressed. “Help me out here.”
“Oh wow, look at the time,” Jenna said suddenly. “I’m supposed to be working.”
Y/N frowned. “Hang on, I thought you said you were rostered off today?”
“Nah, got called in.” Jenna looked entirely too cheerful for someone who had just supposedly lost one of their precious rare days off. “Anyway, I have to go now. Call you next week, hun. Bye, Bea… Ian!”
And just like that, the screen went black.
Fantastic.
Now Y/N didn’t even have Jenna around to distract Bea. And she’s learned within the few months they’ve started working together that her makeup artist, unfortunately, had the instincts of a bloodhound once she suspected something.
They were supposed to meet Asher and Chelsea for dinner soon, but Bea had apparently decided tonight’s entertainment would be a full-scale interrogation.
Ian, who was clearly finding this entire situation far too amusing, suddenly spotted a black shirt draped over one of Y/N’s dining chairs.
“The Killers?” he said, picking it up. “Mr. Brightside. Cool shirt.”
“It’s not mine.” The words left Y/N’s mouth before her brain could stop them. She didn’t need to tell him that.
Bea slowly turned toward the shirt. “…interesting.”
Y/N mentally cursed herself.
“Then whose is it?” Bea asked casually.
“No one’s.”
“Wait, isn’t that..? actually, never mind,” Ian started before immediately stopping when Y/N shot him a warning glare.
Bea’s head whipped toward her boyfriend. “Whose shirt is it, babe?”
“Ian, I swear to God — ”
“Sorry, Y/N,” he interrupted apologetically. “But she scares me more than you do.”
Traitor.
Ian caught Bea’s eye, a silent conversation passing between them in a language only they spoke.
Bea gasped dramatically. “Oh, this suddenly makes so much sense now!”
Y/N groaned and dropped face-first onto the sofa, using the offending shirt to cover herself.
Bea stared at her in complete disbelief. “Wait...” her eyes widened. “Didn’t you two already work together on Bridgerton?”
“…yes.”
“And this is only happening now?!”
Y/N groaned louder.
“I knew there was something weird between the two of you.” Bea pointed accusingly. “Benedict called me at two in the morning to tell me he was taking care of you.”
Y/N blinked. “…he did?”
“Yes.” Bea crossed her arms. “Very gentlemanly, very suspicious. This only means something did happen on trivia night.”
Heat immediately crept into Y/N’s cheeks. “Nothing happened,” she tried one final time.
“Exactly what someone says when something definitely happened.” And suddenly Bea looked delighted, like a detective reopening a cold case and finding fresh evidence.
Desperate, Y/N looked toward Ian for support. Unfortunately, he immediately ducked behind his laptop screen.
Coward.
Y/N sighed heavily, already regretting this. “Fine,” she finally surrendered. “What do you want to know?”
***
The next morning, Y/N took the stairs specifically to avoid certain green-eyed brunets. Which, in hindsight, was optimistic.
She rounded the landing quickly and nearly walked straight into the very person she’d been trying to avoid.
“Good morning, love.”
“Do you live in this staircase now?”
“I considered it.” A faint, knowing smirk played on Benedict’s lips.
Y/N tried stepping around him, but he moved with her effortlessly. She shot him a glare, yet Benedict only smiled.
“You know,” he said lightly, “most people would attempt to figure things out together.”
“I’m busy.”
“Yet you always seem to find time to go out with… Asher.” His voice sounded tight.
Y/N blinked. “I don’t only go out with him,” she defended quickly. “I go out with lots of friends.”
Why was she even explaining herself?
“Why are you keeping tabs on me anyway?” she demanded instead, stepping closer before she could stop herself. “Maybe I just don’t want to talk to you.”
Benedict’s expression shifted slightly, not hurt though, but frustrated.
“You don’t mean that.”
“You sound very confident.”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
Oh, he was insufferable.
Y/N folded her arms. “That’s incredibly arrogant.”
“And you kissed me first.”
Her entire brain short-circuited. “You can’t just keep bringing that up!”
Benedict stepped closer. “Can’t argue with facts now, love, can you?”
That shut her up immediately. The stairwell suddenly felt too warm and too quiet. Y/N took a step back instinctively until her shoulders brushed the wall.
Benedict braced one arm beside her head, not entirely trapping her, but close enough to completely ruin her ability to think.
“You keep running from me,” he said quietly, his green eyes fixed on hers. “Hardly the first time either.” The last part was softer, she almost didn’t hear it.
“It’s not my fault this studio is massive,” she muttered weakly. “Maybe we just keep missing each other.”
“That’s not what I — nevermind.”
Benedict dipped his head, his face now inches to hers. He was so close that she could smell the scent of his cologne and feel the warmth of his breath tickle against her skin.
Something in her expression must have shifted because his smirk returned. “The feeling is entirely mutual, love. I assure you.”
And somehow, that arrogance snapped the last thread of her restraint. Y/N grabbed the front of his sweater and kissed him.
The kiss was impulsive, frantic and reckless. He tilted her head back, his tongue rolling against hers as the kiss turned deep and possessive.
Benedict groaned into her mouth, a low, vibrating sound that caused a slick pool in her centre, as their kiss spiraled into something desperate and starved.
He broke the kiss with a sharp, ragged exhale, his forehead resting against hers for a split second before finding that sweet spot just below her ear that made her toes curl.
He peppered hot, stinging kisses along her jawline, down to the sensitive dip of her neck. His mouth, hot and demanding, sends waves of dizzying heat crashing through her. She reached for him, her fingers tangling in his hair as his kisses descended.
Y/N bit her lower lip as a strangled sound caught in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, only to remember that this is not the first time they made out at a staircase.
But that thought quickly flew out of the window when she felt his breath hot against her chest. He kneaded the soft flesh through the fabric of her top at first. When she didn’t protest, his fingers pulled her shirt down and he began to nip at the slope of her breasts, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh just enough to draw a sharp gasp from her lips. He immediately soothed the sting with a slow, wet lap of his tongue, only to bite down again an inch away, marking her with a possessive, hungry rhythm that ignited her blood.
If he does end up marking her, at least no one else would see them.
Benedict didn't let up with his ministrations, his tongue swirling relentlessly over the peak of her breasts. Y/N pressed her knees together in a desperate attempt to ease the mounting pressure between her legs.
The pleasure was starting to get too much and she was drowning in the heat of it, her composure slipping away every time Benedict licks and captures one of her nipples in his mouth.
“Benedict — please, please…” she was losing control of herself. Her gasps are turning into moans.
Benedict had no intentions of slowing down, not when he was getting addicted to the sweet sounds she was making. He was focused entirely on the tightening bud of her nipple until a sharp click of stilettos echoed downstairs.
“Benedict? Tu es là?”
They broke apart immediately, both trying to catch their breaths.
Then they heard the same clacking of stilettos getting fainter and fainter then disappeared.
Y/N looked completely scandalized by herself. She hurried on to fix herself before anyone else could walk in on them and see her state of disarray.
Meanwhile Benedict looked… smug. This man had the audacity to look pleased.
“Marvellous things, aren’t they? Staircases.”
“Right,” Y/N said breathlessly. “I hate you.”
“Say it like you mean it, love.” He winked at her before starting to head downstairs, as if absolutely nothing had happened.
“You coming?” He asked when he noticed she wasn’t walking beside him.
“I’ll be in a minute.”
She heard the door open and then closed. Y/N took a moment before following after him. She wants to make sure nobody on set can connect them both at the scene where they committed their most recent crime of passion.
When she finally returned to her makeup station, Bea was already waiting for her.
“Where were you? You were supposed to be in the chair twenty minutes ago — ” Bea paused abruptly and narrowed her eyes immediately.
Y/N still looked wildly flustered as she sat in front of the mirror so that they could get started. She did a double take when she noticed her lipstick was slightly smudged.
Too bad Detective Bea was far too observant for her own good.
Summary: Two months after a whirlwind Bridgerton press tour, Y/N is finally ready to move on from her dreamy co-star, Benedict. Their tour was a blur of electric chemistry, endless laughter, lingering touches and facing each other so much that cameras only caught their side profiles (iykyk). When Y/N lands the lead role in a new movie, she expects a fresh start. Instead, the script reveals a familiar name tied to her past, forcing her to confront emotions she thought she had imagined. As fiction begins to mirror reality, Y/N must face the one question she’s been avoiding all along: was it ever real for him, too?
✨Masterlist
Y/N knew he would be there. And, embarrassingly enough, she had been a little excited about it.
Nothing too obvious, just a quiet kind of anticipation she hadn’t fully admitted to herself. The kind that made her take a second longer choosing what to wear before finally settling on a brown leather jacket draped over a simple short black dress, paired with chic brown boots.
She looked over her reflection once more before deciding to leave her temporary apartment in Montreal.
‘Don’t overthink this,’ was the only pep talk she could come up with at the moment.
It had been months, after all.
The room was already half full when she stepped inside, voices overlapping, chairs shifting, pages turning in soft, restless rhythms. It should have felt like any other table read, something familiar, almost routine, but it didn’t.
Her steps slowed, not because she was nervous, but because she was looking around, clearly not searching for a certain brunet.
And then…
She saw him across the room. And just like that, everything in her chest lifted, quick, bright, immediate.
He was having an animated conversation with someone, one hand resting loosely on the back of a chair. He looked completely relaxed and at ease.
Exactly as she remembered him, everything looks the same, his hair… his stupid hair, his stupid eyes and God, that stupid smile.
He looked devastatingly good. Always handsome. Too handsome.
That’s the problem.
Y/N had to physically force herself to look away. It felt like staring directly at the sun, too close.
Dangerous.
And just like that, something shifted. Not in the room but in her.
Two months.
Two months of no calls. No messages. No anything at all, which to her meant something. Because sometimes silence can be just as loud. Sometimes, saying nothing is already an answer.
The excitement in her chest faltered slightly, softened. Not gone, but not as bright. Because suddenly, standing there watching him laugh like everything was normal, she realized…
Maybe it had been normal. Just not in the way she thought.
Her fingers tightened slightly around her bag strap. Still, she moved forward.
Because what else was she supposed to do?
The lighting, the voices, the people… all of it faded into something distant and unimportant.
She made her way toward him.
C’mon now, stop being a weirdo.
Then, as if pulled by something unseen, his gaze lifted and found her.
It wasn’t immediate, not sharp nor was it dramatic. It was a moment of recognition settling into place. And then, his features softened. Not quite a smile, but close enough to feel like one.
“Hey,” he said when she reached him. His voice hadn’t changed. Still warm, still careful. Still holding more than it gave away.
“Hey,” she replied, smiling as if his presence had no effect on her.
“You made it.” He pulled her into a hug, and she caught the familiar, faint scent of his cologne, which she absolutely had not missed at all, thank you very much!
“I did,” she said, slowly pulling away. The words felt too small, too neutral. But he nodded once, like that was enough. Like they were… fine.
And maybe they were.
“Alright everyone, let’s get started!”
The room settled quickly. Y/N took her seat, fingers brushing over the script in front of her.
She didn’t dare look at Benedict across the table, not yet. Instead, she focused on the introductions, the director, the tone, the rhythm of the room settling into something structured.
Then, she heard the chair next to her being moved.
“Hi, I’m Asher James.”
Y/N looked to her right.
He was already smiling… easy, effortless.
If she wasn’t fighting her impulse to look at someone across from her right now, she would’ve said something more than just a curt smile.
“Finally,” he said, leaning slightly toward her, voice light and warm. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Hopefully only good things,” she replied, attempting to recover her composure, a genuine smile slowly forming before she could stop it.
“Only the best,” he said with a wink.
There was something effortless about him. No tension, no weight. He has that boy-next-door unadulterated charm. It was… refreshing. In a way she hadn’t expected.
“Let’s begin from page twelve,” Mike, their director, instructed.
The sound of pages turning filled the room like a quiet signal. Y/N followed along, steadying her breathing as the dialogue began to take shape.
Then, her scene with him came up.
She didn’t need to look to know when Benedict started speaking. His voice carried something familiar, something that slipped past logic and settled somewhere deeper.
Then suddenly, her mind filled with flashes of their press tour — laughing to borderline wheezing, gentle touches, standing just a little too close…
“You always leave when everything starts to get too real.”
The line hung in the air. For a moment, it felt a little too personal.
“That’s not fair,” Y/N read, her voice sounded sadder than intended.
“It never is with you.”
Something in the space between them tightened, something invisible but impossible to ignore.
“Good,” the director said. “That tension, keep that.”
Tension. Maybe that’s all it was… only tension.
Y/N lowered her gaze to the script, even as her chest felt like it might burst into confetti at any moment.
Next were her scenes with Asher.
“You’re not as mysterious as you think you are,” he read, glancing at her with a grin that felt almost too natural.
“Oh?” she replied, raising an eyebrow, unable to stop the small sigh of relief leaving her, like she’d been holding her breath this whole time.
“Not even a little, babe,” He flashed her another smile.
Soft laughter rippled around the table. Y/N found herself relaxing, responding without thinking, letting the rhythm carry her.
Across the table, Benedict was quieter now.
***
Dinner was meant to be casual but it didn’t feel that way.
Montreal at night carried a different kind of softness; cool air, golden lights reflecting off damp pavement, voices drifting in French that felt fluid and distant.
The restaurant was small, warm and cozy. Intimate in a way that made everything feel closer than it should.
At first, it was manageable. Group conversations, shared laughter, excitement hanging in the air. Everyone was interacting in a gentle chaos of trying to get to know each other or catching up with one another.
They pushed tables together to fit everyone — cast, director and crew.
Asher stayed near her, naturally pulling her into conversation, keeping things light.
And then she saw him coming before he saw her.
Benedict was walking toward their table and he wasn’t alone. He was talking to another actress. Y/N tried to remember her name… Demi? Darlene?
“Danielle, right?” Benedict asked as they reached the table.
“Please, call me Dani.”
Y/N didn’t miss the subtle way Dani’s hand rested on his arm.
“Enchanté, Dani. Ravi de travailler avec vous,” his French flowed effortlessly.
“Waouh, votre français est très bon!”
Y/N tried to follow along and wished subtitles would magically appear before her.
Something about him changed, not completely, but enough. His tone softened, his expressions opened and his smile came easier than earlier today.
Dani laughed, clearly charmed.
Of course she was. How could she not?
He’s Mr. Perfect.
Benedict leaned slightly closer, saying something low and smooth. Dani touched his arm again, laughing.
Y/N looked down. Suddenly, the menu became very interesting.
“So what’re you getting?” Asher asked gently beside her.
She blinked, pulling herself back.
“Maybe just a salad. I’m actually feeling a bit knackered.”
He studied her briefly, like he didn’t quite believe it, but let it go.
“First days are always like this,” he said. “A lot all at once.”
“Yeah,” she murmured.
Across the table, she felt it. Benedict’s attention… brief, unreadable and then gone.
At some point during dinner, Asher asked, “So why not just move to L.A.? Cause I agree, packing your life constantly sounds exhausting.”
Before she could respond…
“Don’t even try, mate. She’s set on staying down under.”
It was Benedict, answering for her. Like he’d been listening the whole time.
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something else in his tone. Or maybe she imagined it.
To everyone else, it simply sounded like teasing.
“Well,” Asher said dramatically, “you’re clearly unaware that I’m the unofficial ambassador of the City of Angels and the best part of the city is, obviously, me.” He pointed at himself with an exaggerated bow, making those who were within earshot laugh.
Y/N couldn’t help but smile.
“Then you’re making it very easy for her to refuse,” Benedict countered lightly, but his eyes were on her now.
Intense. There was something there. Something almost… challenging.
Asher clutched his chest in mock offense. Everyone laughed but Y/N didn’t.
“I disagree,” she said, her gaze mostly on Benedict. “I think you make a compelling case, Asher.”
“Debatable.” Benedict’s reply was clipped.
Then he withdrew again, still sitting across from her, but not sparing even a glance at her for the rest of the evening.
As the night went on, people began leaving in small groups, conversations fading into the unseasonably cold summer breeze.
“See you tomorrow,” Asher said warmly.
“Good night,” Y/N smiled, stepping into her Uber.
***
When she got home, or what passed as home for now, she was met with silence. She set her bag down slowly. For a long moment, she just stood there.
Then she sat, letting the day settle. A thought came quietly, uninvited:
Maybe it wasn’t real…
Maybe not in the way she believed. The press tour, the moments, the way it felt… like something just beneath the surface. Something unspoken but understood.
Maybe she had been the only one holding onto it.
Maybe for him, it had just been part of the job. Just another role, a performance. Something he could step out of when it ended.
Still… something had felt off tonight. She couldn’t quite name it. But after months of overanalyzing everything between them, she was exhausted.
It was time to recalibrate.
She had to. At least until Jenna arrived in Canada to visit her on set. Her best friend, finally getting a break from her work as an on-set nurse. The theater production she works at is on hiatus until another one starts again in a month.
Y/N exhaled slowly, reaching into her bag for her phone. She needed to turn her brain off.
Because if tonight, which was away from cameras and away from the spotlight, was anything to go by… then everything she thought she remembered, was hers alone.
***
Meanwhile in his tentative flat, Benedict sat at the edge of his bed, hands loosely clasped, gaze unfocused.
He thought about what he had almost said tonight. He exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair.
He didn’t even know what that feeling was, whatever had surged through him earlier. But the look on her face…
His jaw tightened. He should have stayed out of that conversation.
He knew that.
And yet, as much as Benedict hated to admit it, she still had that otherworldly hold on him. Something ethereal.
And maybe, once before, he had wanted something more with Y/N. But he eventually learned, the hard way, could never really happen.
Summary: Two months after a whirlwind Bridgerton press tour, Y/N is finally ready to move on from her dreamy co-star, Benedict. Their tour was a blur of electric chemistry, endless laughter, lingering touches and facing each other so much that cameras only caught their side profiles (iykyk). When Y/N lands the lead role in a new movie, she expects a fresh start. Instead, the script reveals a familiar name tied to her past, forcing her to confront emotions she thought she had imagined. As fiction begins to mirror reality, Y/N must face the one question she’s been avoiding all along: was it ever real for him, too?
✨Masterlist
Her phone lay face-down on the table when it vibrated again, but Y/N didn’t look at it right away.
Outside the café window, Sydney was already far too bright for how early it was. Sunlight bounced off glass buildings while people moved in a soft, unfocused blur. Inside, it was quieter. The soft music playing adds a comfortable vibe around the cozy coffee shop.
Her mother was midway through a story about… something Y/N could no longer quite remember. The neighbours, perhaps… or maybe a recipe she wanted to attempt again. Either way, Y/N was only half listening, especially when she finally picked up her phone and began scrolling through Instagram.
Being chronically online was an understatement. She could honestly say she had seen every fan edit, thirst edit, and meme related to her last project.
Her best friend Jenna had sent her something though. Another fan edit?
Surprise, surprise. It was a fan-made video of her and… him.
Benedict.
Her chest did that familiar, deeply annoying thing where it tightened before she could even decide whether she was allowed to feel anything at all.
It was a scene from Bridgerton, a romance drama that had somehow transformed into something far bigger in the public imagination. Soft lighting, lingering glances. Being at My Cottage had felt like summer camp to her. Their scenes in that lovely mansion remained some of her happiest memories with him on set.
Who knew flying a kite could be romantic?
She watches the video for three seconds too long.
"Y/N, are you even listening?" her mother asks lightly while slowly working on her bagel.
“Mmm… yes,” she lied, still staring.
Her thumb moved before her brain caught up. Swipe, app closed. As though pretending her heart wasn’t currently being squeezed into a pulp.
It's been almost two months since the world press tour.
No calls, no real messages. Just the polite, careful silence of two people who had once shared far too many unscripted moments, genuinely enjoyed each other’s company in front of too many cameras and interviews… and then quietly decided never to talk about any of it afterward.
Benedict was in London now. Doing theatre, she assumed. Rehearsals, late nights. A different rhythm of life that probably didn’t leave much room for anything else.
Her phone vibrated again. This time, she caught a glimpse of the reason it had been buzzing nonstop. It was Ava, her agent.
Y/N wiped her fingers on a napkin, only realizing too late that she hadn’t even touched her food. Her mother paused mid-sentence, watching her curiously as Y/N stood and stepped away from the table.
“Hey, Ava!” she answered, hoping she sounded cheerful enough.
“Hey, Y/N. Don’t say anything yet, just listen. I’m gathering the rest of the team right now,” her agent said quickly. “But I needed you to hear it first… you’ve been offered the lead in Echo Veil.”
For a second, the café disappeared. Even the noise outside seemed to fade.
“Hang on, w-what?” she stammered.
“Lead role. It’s official. We’re announcing it properly in a few hours, but yes.” Ava practically glowed through the phone. “This is your time to shine, sweetie.”
Her grip tightened around her phone. “Are you serious?”
“Can you imagine the effort I made getting the whole team together just to tell you that you didn’t get it?” Ava teased. “I wish I was, but even I’m not that cruel.”
Y/N looked back at her mother without really seeing her, lips parted as though she’d forgotten how to speak.
When she finally found her voice, she joined in Ava’s laughter, though the whole thing still felt wildly unreal.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking right now,” Ava continued. “And yes, you better believe it, because you’ll need to start packing in less than two weeks, Y/N. I mean it.” She tried to sound stern, but the excitement in her voice was impossible to hide.
“Now,” Ava added, “switch on your actress mode and pretend like you’re hearing this for the first time because I’m about to conference the rest of the team.”
***
Two days later, Y/N sat in a quieter office space surrounded by people she’d worked with for years. Her agent stood at the head of the room, practically glowing with restrained excitement.
“Echo Veil,” Ava said, as though the title itself were something delicate and important. “This is going to be big.”
Y/N nodded, still only half convinced this was real.
They talk about logistics, schedule, early production timelines, Quebec —
“Quebec?” she repeated.
“Yes,” Ava said with a smile. “Filming will be there, since it’s very atmospheric. Perfect for the tone of the project.” She then continued to discuss more details.
Everyone around her seemed genuinely thrilled. The congratulations came in waves, beaming smiles, hugs, and endless excitement.
“Come with me,” Ava said gently afterward, once the room had mostly cleared. “Just for a minute.”
Y/N followed her into the now empty hallway. Ava’s expression changed almost instantly. Less professional, more concerned.
The agent, who’s now somewhere in her late thirties and one of the few people in the industry who actually felt like a friend, leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
“I need to tell you something,” she began carefully. “Though it’s not confirmed.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly. “Filming hasn’t even started yet,” she joked weakly, trying to soften whatever bomb her agent was preparing to drop.
Ava let out a small laugh. “It’s not bad. Just… complicated.”
That word alone made someone flash through her mind instantly. Someone with dark hair and a pair of green eyes.
“Yes… and?”
“There might be a familiar face involved.”
Y/N’s heart gave a small, involuntary jump. “Define familiar...”
Ava hesitated. “That’s the thing. I don’t have confirmation yet since the cast isn’t fully locked. I’ve just heard rumours through production contacts.”
She watched Y/N carefully now. “Your male co-lead is already cast. But the role of the ex-lover…” Ava exhaled, choosing her words carefully. “…is still uncertain.”
Y/N didn’t move.
Ex-lover.
Something about that landed differently than it should have.
Ava’s voice softened. “I just didn’t want you blindsided if… certain people end up attached to the project.”
Y/N swallowed. “Right. Of course. Yeah… yeah…”
Ava pushed off the wall. “Well, no need to focus on it. It’s just noise right now.”
But Y/N had already gone quiet in a way that felt less calm and more like bracing. “Okay,” she said, trying to sound convincing. “Got it.”
Ava offered a reassuring smile, but somehow it didn't comfort her so much this time.
***
A week passed in fragments. Packing boxes, prepping notes, flight confirmations.
Conversations blurred together beneath the weight of everything she needed to do before leaving Sydney. Y/N made sure to call Jenna before she left.
She kept telling herself it was just work. Just another project, but then the script arrived.
Echo Veil.
The cover is simple, minimal. And underneath are the title-characters.
She reads slowly at first, until she couldn’t keep the suspense anymore.
Male Lead — Asher James.
She blinks. This is a name she recognizes immediately. He's an American, rising star, effortless charm. She's heard about him starring in a Marvel movie recently.
She read the next name below hers…
Ex-Lover — Benedict.
Her breath catches before she can stop it. No last name needed, no clarification.
Just him.
Her chest tightens, not like what she has been feeling this past few days, but something heavier. Something personal in a way she doesn't want to define yet.
She reads the line again, like the name might change but of course it doesn't.
For a long moment, she just sits there with the script in her hands, the room around her suddenly seems awfully silent.
"Of course," she whispers under her breath. Not angry, not amused.
Just... overwhelmed.
***
Y/N packed in a strange kind of autopilot: skincare products, clothes, scripts, chargers… her life for the next several months all cramped in her luggage.
The flight to Quebec is too early. She looked outside of the window and watched as Sydney disappeared behind her like a half-finished thought.
Having been on the plane for a couple of hours, she's anxiously scrolling through her social media.
'Istguh, istguh, istguh,’ she kept muttering to herself like some odd mantra to keep herself calm. She suspects the handsome face that pops up when she repeatedly says it is actually the one that eventually appeases her mind, although she would never dare admit that to anyone, not even to her best mate.
She smiles despite herself. Her thumb moves again and then she sees it.
A photo.
It’s low quality, slightly zoomed. Definitely not meant to be a "sighting," but internet fans are relentless.
It's him.
At a tennis match, and midway eating something that was hard to make out due to the photo lacking enough pixels
She stares.
In the next photo, he looks... normal, relaxed. As if he isn't a name attached to something inside her that’s still unresolved.
Her thumb lingers on the screen, longer than it should. Then she locks her phone and leans back in her seat. The plane hums gently around her. She felt impossibly contradictory. She couldn’t wait to see him, but at the same time, she dreaded laying eyes on him again.
Working with him before had felt almost dreamlike — a fantasy. And now she would have to face whatever their reality had become. It's hard since she remembers how they both used to be in the middle of it all too well…
Pairing: Benedict x Actress!Reader [Benedict as Luke Thompson and Y/N as Yerin Ha inspired]
Content Warnings: Entire Chapter is a Flashback of Bridgerton S4 World Press Tour, Benedict’s POV, Mature language, Unresolved Feelings, Original interviews were slightly altered for narrative reasons, Loaded with contents either from Lukerin interviews/Benophie scenes
Summary: Two months after a whirlwind Bridgerton press tour, Y/N is finally ready to move on from her dreamy co-star, Benedict. Their tour was a blur of electric chemistry, endless laughter, lingering touches and facing each other so much that cameras only caught their side profiles (iykyk). When Y/N lands the lead role in a new movie, she expects a fresh start. Instead, the script reveals a familiar name tied to her past, forcing her to confront emotions she thought she had imagined. As fiction begins to mirror reality, Y/N must face the one question she’s been avoiding all along: was it ever real for him, too?
✨Masterlist
8 months ago…
Benedict was still reeling from the previous evening’s Bridgerton Season Four premiere.
Landing in France for the first leg of the world tour felt less like work and more like coming home. The familiar language drifting through airport terminals, the scent of fresh coffee spilling from cafés, the rhythm of a country that had shaped so much of his childhood, all of it settled warmly beneath his skin.
France had always been his sanctuary. Having Y/N here somehow made it better.
He couldn’t quite pinpoint when it had happened. Somewhere between filming and wrapping, her presence had become woven into the fabric of his days. Once she left, he found himself noticing her absence at an alarming rate.
He’d grown hopelessly addicted to seeing her every day. He missed making her laugh, stealing naps with his head in her lap between scenes, and bingeing dreadful reality TV over her shoulder on her mobile screen whenever filming dragged on.
Hell, he even missed those endless hours trapped in that ridiculous bathtub with those strange oils and disintegrating petals. Though if he was being entirely honest, he mostly missed the way she fit perfectly between his thighs, but that was beside the point.
When she flew back to Sydney after wrapping, he’d had little choice but to count down the days until the press tour began.
And now, the agonizing wait is finally over. Now she is in Paris with him.
And Benedict was in trouble… utterly in trouble. Because Y/N appeared entirely unaware of the effect she had on him.
The true danger lay in her new-found stillness. During filming, he’d grown used to her sweet reluctance, such as the sudden retreat of her fingers when their hands grazed, or the way she would look away if she caught him staring at her.
That distance is effectively gone now.
Instead, Y/N now gravitated toward him as if drawn by some invisible thread. If there was an empty seat beside him, she took it. If they entered a crowded room, she found him immediately. If she was tired, she’d simply lean against his shoulder as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
It was truly intoxicating.
It made him wonder about things… dangerous things. Things that he had absolutely no business wondering about.
Would she miss him when all of this was over? Would she treasure this strange little bubble they’d created together as much as he did?
To be perfectly honest, he hadn't the faintest idea and he would rather let it stay that way, ignorance being bliss and all.
By six in the morning, Paris was still half asleep.
The city drifted past the car windows in soft washes of blue and gold as they made their way through the quiet streets toward Star Academy.
Y/N sat beside him in the back seat. She was sitting far too close, not that Benedict had any intention of complaining. Every time the driver rounded a corner, their knees brushed, sending a quiet jolt straight through him.
He found himself pointing out familiar landmarks through the glass, sharing stories he hadn’t thought about in years. Places he’d visited as a boy. Cafés his family used to frequent. Streets he’d wandered down long before acting had become his profession.
Y/N listened to every word. Her sweet interest completely disarming him.
And that was his downfall.
There was something rather easy about being around her. The noise in his head quietened whenever she was nearby. The constant pressure of interviews, expectations, and public appearances simply faded into the background.
Being near her felt so safe, so entirely like his private haven, that the words escaped before he could stop them.
“You should stay,” he blurted out.
Y/N blinked and turned from the window to focus entirely on him. “Stay where?”
Benedict’s heart hammered against his ribs. He suddenly became quite nervous, the quiet space of the car now feeling rather small.
It took him a moment before he finally said, “In London.”
He thought he saw a hint of something soft cross her face, but it was likely just a trick of his own wishful thinking.
“Why?”
The simple question struck him squarely in the chest. And suddenly the terrifying reality of what he was asking settled over him all at once.
Why London?
She was correct to question him. He was asking her to cross oceans, to leave her home. Australia held her childhood, her family, and the friends she cherished above all else.
What right did he have to ask her to leave all of that behind?
Surely she wouldn’t give up her world for him, and he’d never ever be selfish enough to ask that of her. Besides, he was the only one in love here.
Wasn’t he?
Retreating into safer territory, Benedict forced a smile. “Well, the industry opportunities are quite brilliant, really,” he said, pivoting flawlessly. “There’s a massive theater scene, numerous film jobs, multiple connections...”
Y/N went quiet and looked away. The silence that followed felt louder than any argument. He could physically feel her pulling away from him, their cozy bubble evaporating into utter nothingness.
Had he completely misread her?
A sick feeling settled in his stomach. Moments ago she had looked at him as though she were waiting for something. And instead of giving her the truth, he had hidden behind career advice and professional opportunities.
Regret completely washed over him. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to physically catch his words and pull them back into his throat.
But instead, he doubled down on the lie. “You’re still young, after all. I just think it’d be a brilliant move for your career, love.”
And not because I desperately want you to stay with me.
He didn’t dare voice out that last part.
Even without seeing her face, he could feel a heavy wave of disappointment radiating from her side of the seat. Benedict realized then he had royally fucked this up.
Absolutely brilliant.
When they arrived at Star Academy, it provided a welcome distraction, as it was remarkably difficult to wallow in self-inflicted misery while surrounded by such enthusiastic people. The interview was fun and the contestants were lovely.
For a brief hour, Benedict almost managed to forget the incident in the car.
But then one of the contestants turned toward Y/N and asked, “Where do you live now?”
“Where do I live now?” she repeated.
“Yeah, are you in Australia or in London?
Y/N didn't hesitate. “I'm still in Australia. Everyone's always asking me if I want to move to London or if I'm going to. And I say… no.”
Benedict’s heart slammed into his throat. He forced a smile, playing the part of the ever-supportive co-star, all while his own world started to crumble down.
The rejection stung like hell.
She hadn’t given him a flat ‘no’ earlier. She’d given him an opportunity and he’d sufficiently wasted it.
“I think for me,” Y/N continued, breaking his heart further along the process. “Sydney is where I have my family. It's where I have my friends. And to have a place that I can go back to that grounds me and reminds me of my people and where I came from, I think it's always such a good reminder.” She paused, a bright smile breaking across her face. “And it's nice because they put me up and I don’t have to pay rent.”
Everyone laughed, so he forced himself to mimic them. He smiled, he chuckled, a perfect gentleman on cue. But inside, the joke was entirely on him.
All he could hear vibrating in his chest was the devastating reality: Australia’s home, not London and certainly not him.
The host translated Y/N’s response into French for the contestants, before turning her attention to him.
“And Benedict? You live in London?”
He swallowed hard, forcing his press-tour charm back into his features as the cameras zoomed in. “Yeah, I mean I love doing screen, and actually I've fallen in love more and more with doing screen,” he paused. “But theatre was always my first love… and I don't think there's anywhere quite like London for theatre. And if there's always the opportunity to do it there, there's no reason to move.”
The drive back to the hotel was a suffocating affair.
Benedict spent most of it staring straight ahead, his jaw tight. He was entirely trapped in his own head, collecting all the brilliant things he should have said to her earlier instead.
But before he could gather his courage, Y/N found her earbuds first and slipped them into place. Just like that, the conversation died before it had even begun. She gave him a fleeting, polite smile and somehow that hurt him more than if she’d been angry.
As Paris drifted past outside and the River Seine reflected ribbons of gold beneath the sun, Benedict almost laughed at the absolute absurdity of it all. Leave it to him to be utterly heartbroken in the one city built for lovers.
***
Luckily, the silence that had settled between them in France didn’t last forever.
Thank the heavens for that, because Benedict was fast approaching the limits of his sanity. He could have handled anger or disappointment. But what he could not handle was politeness.
Polite Y/N was absolutely terrifying.
She smiled on cue, nodded politely, and answered his questions, yet somehow managed to make him feel like the loneliest man in the world.
Fortunately, somewhere between crossing continents and landing back in London, the normalcy returned. The cities they visited along the way were stunning, a massive blur of press calls and fan events. The beautiful chaos of it all served as the perfect distraction.
They were both so completely overwhelmed by the schedule that the unspoken tension from Paris was quietly swept under the rug. Perhaps momentarily, but Benedict wasn’t about to dig that up.
The laughter returned first, closely followed by the familiar comfort of their banter.
It didn't take long for them to start sitting far too close during interviews, sharing secret jokes and laughing until they were absolutely wheezing.
Try as he might, Benedict simply could not stop staring. Every time Y/N answered an interviewer’s question, or even so much as breathed, his eyes drifted right back to her. He was genuinely tracking toward a severe case of neck injury from the way he’s constantly looking sideways towards her.
And yet, he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't risk missing a single moment: the flash of her smile, her clever answers, the warmth of her laugh. And when her gaze locked onto his, his heart stuttered. It made him wonder, against his own better judgment, if he’s not entirely alone in this freefall after all.
He loved it best when she pulled out her mobile to show him something from the internet, given that he lived entirely offline. Whether the clip was from Instagram or TikTok was anyone's guess. Frankly, he doesn’t have a clue what the difference was between the two, but he absolutely adored it when she casually pressed herself into his side.
Whenever Y/N was near him, he found it next to impossible for him to resist touching her. He can’t help but hold her hand a little longer than necessary, caress the small of her back, squeeze her waist when he thought no one was looking or even rest a palm against her bare thigh.
He would never admit to her how much he craves her warmth and proximity all the fucking time. But he had ruined his chance once before and he was not about to risk doing that again.
Especially now since he felt as though Y/N had finally forgiven him. Right then and there, Benedict reached a quiet decision. If his tongue failed him when it came to confessing his love, he would let his actions speak for him instead.
Every single day. Every chance he could find.
He had almost crossed the line again earlier today though, shamelessly declaring that he owned Y/N’s rom-com era and that no one else could touch it.
Truthfully, he could only hope that if she saw how fiercely he cared for her, she would stay. And Benedict would finally, truly be enough for once.
***
The final panel of the tour took place at BFI Southbank. The auditorium was packed. Every seat was occupied and every corner was buzzing with anticipation.
Episode five had just screened to thunderous applause, and now they are sitting beneath the bright stage lights answering questions.
Both of Bridgerton’s show runner and executive producer joined them on the panel, with the lovely interviewer from Shondaland leading the event. They ran through the usual drill, sharing favorite scenes and funny stories.
Benedict barely heard his own voice, far too busy drinking in the sight of Y/N talking. She looked so mesmerizing, so ethereal...istg. Looking at her all the time was quickly becoming his favourite pastime.
When it was finally his turn to speak, he was just wrapping up a thought about his character’s emotional arc when the host hit him with a follow-up he hadn’t anticipated.
“I've got to ask you, what's been your favourite moment in season 4?”
Before his internal filter could stop him, the truth came rushing out of his mouth. “If I could wrap every single moment spent with Y/N, I'd say that.” He said, his voice echoing through the crowded auditorium. “No, it's true. She's…she’s the absolute best. She's been just the perfect — God, I'm going to get emotional...”
The looming reality of the tour ending crashed down on him, and a fierce panic gripped his chest. He wasn't ready for this to be over.
He was nowhere near ready to let her go.
He cleared his throat, pushing past the lump in his chest. “She's the perfect acting partner and I couldn't have asked for anything better. She's just wonderful and she's got a very, very bright career ahead of her.” Risking everything in front of the flashing cameras, he reached over and placed a reassuring, lingering hand on her knee.
“We're wrapping our press junket so it's getting emotional.” Y/N joked to the audience, smoothly covering for his sudden burst of vulnerability. “It's been a long week. Hormones are running high. It's a lot.”
The interviewer seized on the moment instantly. “What's so lovely is that you can really see that when you're on tour and everything, you can see you're genuinely, really good friends, aren't you?”
Friends. Right, come on now. He scolded himself.
It was a brutal reminder of where he stood in this fantastical, non-existent relationship he had deluded himself into.
Benedict kept his professional smile pinned in place for the rest of the panel event, completely hiding the agony bruising him from the inside out.
***
The wrap party that night was entirely unforgettable. It was the ultimate celebration, the very last time they would all be in the same room before a new season starts.
The music was loud, the champagne was endless, and the venue was packed with laughing cast and crew. Someone was already crying into their drink. It felt like the proper end of an era.
Benedict drifted through the crowd, putting on his best casual face while his eyes scanning every corner in a desperate, quiet search for Y/N.
“She said she needed some fresh air. Try the balcony.”
Benedict blinked, turning to find Jenna, Y/N’s best friend, whom he’d finally met in person only an hour ago. She was looking at him with a thoroughly amused smirk.
“Right. Thank you,” he said, offering a breathless smile. He gave up on any pretense of acting casual. Apparently, his desperation was quite transparent anyway. His feet were already carrying him toward the balcony doors as fast as he could manage without actually breaking into a sprint.
Benedict stepped through the heavy doors and found Y/N standing entirely alone, with the whole of London glittering beyond her. The city stretched endlessly into the dark horizon, bright and beautiful.
She caught his movement and looked up as he took his place right next to her.
“There you are,” she murmured.
“Looking for me?” he asked smoothly, as if he hadn’t just spent the last hour desperately searching for her.
She turned her head, offering him a brilliant, knowing look. “Unfortunately.”
Benedict smiled, his heart finally slowing its frantic pace. They let the quiet stretch between them, just enjoying each other’s company. There was no press, no cameras. Both stood together, completely content just to exist in the same space.
But just like the fateful masquerade ball they had spent weeks filming, an invisible countdown was ticking away beneath their temporary state of bliss.
Y/N broke the silence first, her voice dropping to a soft murmur. “My flight leaves in two days,” she said, her eyes drifting back to the city lights.
A cold, suffocating wave of panic crashed over him, stealing the air from his lungs. Benedict knew she had to go back eventually, but two days? He wasn't remotely prepared for that.
“You’re leaving?”
Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “Well… yes.”
He knew he had never stood a chance of convincing her to stay. But he had foolishly assumed they would at least have a little more time.
“You will keep in touch, right?” she asked quietly. She was looking up at him expectantly, entirely unaware that she’d just permanently shattered whatever’s left of him.
Benedict couldn’t bear to look into her eyes. It simply hurt too much, so he turned his face toward the sprawling city instead.
After swallowing the heavy lump in his throat, he relied entirely on his years of theater experience to deliver the line flawlessly. “Of course, love. Why would I not?”
He felt Y/N’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her face pressing against his shoulder blades. Benedict turned to face her, holding her close. In that devastating moment, he was intensely grateful for his height. He held her tight against his chest, anchoring her there so she couldn't look up, so she couldn’t see the panic, the heartbreak or how desperately he wanted to ask her not to leave him.
They stayed perfectly still under the London stars, stretching every remaining second for as long as she would allow him, knowing fully well that this was their final midnight.
***
Two days later, his phone lit up the dark room.
Y/N: Back in Sydney. Sent you a message as soon as I landed just as you asked. ;p
Benedict stared at the screen, the playful tone of her message cutting through him like a blade. He squeezed his eyes shut, stopping his fingers from typing ‘come back’ and instantly locking his phone.
He sat alone in silence. His flat, much like his entire existence, had become too quiet, too empty.
He stopped going out altogether, ghosting his friends, dodging his family, and rejecting every single event invite. His theater ambitions just quietly fizzled out, and the excitement for any future roles faded into nothing. Even picking up a sketchbook was a challenge.
And worst was when he’s playing the piano, as all he wanted to play was their song from Bridgerton which he already mastered after a few attempts.
He missed Y/N everyday.
For Benedict, everything seemed strangely colourless now, as though someone had quietly turned down the vibrance in his life.
Days passed in a blur, and the most devastating part was that nobody truly noticed. Everyone simply assumed he was taking some well-deserved time off to rest after the exhausting press tour. Recovering in a safe, quiet bubble.
Only Benedict knew the bitter truth.
And yet, he would never tell a single soul. He had kept his mouth shut, he had played it safe, and now the curtain had fallen. He had missed his absolute final chance with Y/N.
Perhaps she’d read him like a book and his obvious feelings had properly terrified her. The moment it all got too real, she ran. She couldn’t get away fast enough though, packing her bags in two days flat just to escape to Sydney and get on with her life.
He may have been just the afterthought she’d left behind.
As the days stretched into weeks, Benedict gradually learned how to function again. Or at least he became exceptionally good at pretending.
He was a professional after all.
One day, a new script arrived from his manager but Benedict wasn’t remotely interested. He was seconds away from throwing it straight into the recycling bin when a single name captured his attention.
Y/N was going to be the lead.
Benedict saw this as a lifeline. And for weeks, he finally feels like he’s coming up for air. He can breathe again.
He was done living in a lie. He needed to see her again. The risk, the heartbreak, the messy complications… none of it mattered anymore. He would accept whatever crumbs of her presence he could get.
Now that Y/N was heading to Montreal, Benedict vowed not to hesitate for a single second. He would cross an entire ocean just to exist in her orbit, content to simply be near her, even if he exists solely in her periphery.
Summary: Two months after a whirlwind Bridgerton press tour, Y/N is finally ready to move on from her dreamy co-star, Benedict. Their tour was a blur of electric chemistry, endless laughter, lingering touches and facing each other so much that cameras only caught their side profiles (iykyk). When Y/N lands the lead role in a new movie, she expects a fresh start. Instead, the script reveals a familiar name tied to her past, forcing her to confront emotions she thought she had imagined. As fiction begins to mirror reality, Y/N must face the one question she’s been avoiding all along: was it ever real for him, too?
✨Masterlist
Early autumn in Montreal felt like a completely different world. The air was cooler now, crisp against the skin. Streets were livelier, lined with warm lights and people lingering outside cafés. The city felt awake but in a softer, slower way.
Things had changed since summer.
Y/N had changed, or at least, that’s what she told herself. She stayed true to her word and kept her distance from Benedict. Conversations were polite, brief, and strictly professional. If anything, she had mastered the art of indifference.
She focused more on building friendships on set, especially since Jenna had flown back home to Sydney weeks ago.
Most of her time was spent with Asher. They often went out with a small group: Bea (her makeup artist) Ian (Bea’s boyfriend and also a key grip) and Chelsea, their set PA. They’d grab food, hang out in coffee shops, or join trivia nights at local bars. By now, they knew all the tucked-away spots where they could keep a low profile and avoid getting papped.
Y/N filled her days with light, easy moments. They successfully diverted her attention from dwelling on matters of the heart, which was a self-prescription for exactly what she needed.
Tonight was one of those nights.
She took one last look in the mirror, adjusting her outfit. A plush crimson knit sweater tucked neatly into a mini skirt, paired with sheer black tights and boots.
It was another trivia night, but on a bigger scale. The long holiday weekend meant more cast and crew were joining in.
More people, more noise, more distractions.
Perfect.
The bar was already buzzing when she arrived. Louder than usual. It seems like they are going to have more competition tonight than usual.
“Y/N, you’re here! We’re saved!” Asher greeted her instantly, pulling her into a quick hug.
She laughed, hugging him back.
“Ready to win this?”
But before she could respond…
“Good evening, mes amis!”
Y/N froze.
It was Dani. Effortlessly stunning in a fitted black dress, sauntering in like she owned the place.
“Are you… playing trivia with us tonight?” Y/N asked.
Dani smiled and nodded.
Over the past few weeks, Y/N had learned to be civil with her, despite the way her heart takes a cold plunge every time she sees her with —
“Oui, Benedict has arrived!”
And there he was, right on cue.
“Good evening, ladies… Asher,” Benedict greeted, flashing that charming rakish smile of his.
He was wearing a red sweater almost identical to hers. Her stomach flipped.
“We’re meant to be on the same team, aren’t we Y/N?” he added, gesturing lightly between them.
“Actually, no… ” Y/N said quickly. “I’m already with Asher and our team’s complete.”
She thought she saw disappointment flickered across his face, but gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
“Maybe you and Dani can team up,” Y/N added lightly.
Un ange passe. She remembered Benedict teaching her that phrase before, which perfectly depicts the atmosphere right now so she tugged gently at Asher’s sleeve.
“Well, we’re going to find the rest of our squad,” Asher said smoothly, catching on immediately.
He placed an arm around her shoulders, guiding her away. “Good luck you two, you’ll need it!” he playfully called back.
The teams were split. Two groups from the cast and crew, plus a handful of local teams joining in.
The host began introducing himself and informed everyone about the rules of the game.
“Alright, first question!” the host announced.
And just like that, there was pure chaos everywhere. Voices overlapped, answers were shouted, arguments sparked over the smallest details. Accusations of cheating were thrown around playfully, laughter filling every corner of the bar.
Y/N’s team was no different.
Across the room, Mike, their director, called out, “You seem to know all the answers tonight, Y/N…” his tone laced with mock accusation, then he laughed.
“I’m not cheating, I swear…” she shot back. “I’m just amazing!”
Laughter broke out between both teams.
“You absolutely are,” Asher added.
“Hear, hear!” Bea chimed in.
Y/N laughed, caught in the energy. Although every now and then, she found herself glancing across the room. And every time, she saw Benedict was already looking at her.
“Absolutely not, that’s wrong!” Bea argued.
“It is not!” Asher countered.
“Y/N, what do you think?” Chelsea asked, calling her attention back to the game.
“Yeah, that one. I’m pretty sure.” She shook her head, willing herself to focus.
She never wanted to win at trivia so bad. Maybe it was the margaritas that’s making her feel extra euphoric tonight or maybe it was something else entirely… or maybe someone.
“Come on now, we can still make the leaderboard,” she heard Benedict say to his team, half-laughing but clearly invested.
She rolled her eyes. Of course he was competitive. He always had been even during their press junket together one regency era ago.
When the final round came, there were three teams left. It was Y/N’s, Benedict’s and one local group who looked suspiciously over confident.
“Final answers?” the host called.
When he finally revealed the answer, cheers, groans and shouting could be heard all simultaneously.
“Bravo! We have our winner!”
And it wasn’t them, nor was it Benedict’s team. Turns out the third team had a very good reason for looking too confident after all.
“Robbed,” Asher muttered.
“Absolutely robbed,” Y/N agreed, laughing.
They decided to merge their tables together again after both teams lost. They exchanged stories, ordered more alcohol and conspired on how to form an undefeatable team that will conquer all trivia contests in the whole world.
As the night wore on and many drinks later, Y/N’s vision was starting to get blurry, and the walls in the bar were starting to sway.
“I think I need a m-minute,” Y/N said, her words slightly slower now.
“Bathroom?” Bea asked.
Y/N nodded.
They found the ladies’ washroom and tried to freshen up. After splashing water on her face, Bea handed her a bottle.
“Drink.”
“Yesss, moooom.”
Bea rolled her eyes. “Stay here.” She went off to get another bottle for herself.
Y/N hummed in response.
After a moment of fidgeting and not being able to stay still, Y/N found the back exit. She thought about getting some fresh air, it might help her case. She needs to clear her head, since the spinning hasn’t stopped yet and the noise in the bar is getting far too loud for her.
The cool air hit her instantly as she stepped outside. It was quieter and darker in the alley, but it was rather peaceful.
She exhaled as she tried to navigate almost blindly under the dimmed environment. But she took one step too far and her foot slipped.
“Careful.” Someone caught her.
She froze, she’d know that voice anywhere even in her inebriated state of mind. When his hand brushed her arm to steady her, it sent a jolt through her system.
“I’ve got you, love,” Benedict reassured her.
“I’m f-fine,” she replied quickly, pulling away. “I can w-walk by myself…t-thank you very much.“ She took another step and nearly stumbled again.
He caught her again, firmer this time.
“Y/N… ” he sounded exasperated as he said her name. “You’re obviously not well.”
She frowned, looking around, completely ignoring him, and instead she asked, “The d-door wasss just here… wh-where is it? Did you hide i-it??” Her mind is getting more clouded by the minute and she’s clearly not making much sense.
He almost smiled. “Hide the door, you mean? Not a chance, love. How would I manage to do that?” he sounded amused and concerned in the same breath.
She gave up, swaying slightly. “T-that’s okay… *hic* I’ll just… s-stay here then.” She was starting to hiccup now. Wasn’t she holding a bottle of water earlier?
“Not happening, Y/N. I’m taking you home, come on now.” Benedict gently coaxes her to stand straight.
She didn’t argue again. She’s extremely exhausted and the world around her continues to rock back and forth. She found it easier to stop thinking too much and just listen to his voice, which has a strange calming effect on her alcohol-altered brain.
“Tell B-bea… go home *hic* …don’t want her *hic* worry…”
“I’ll pass it on.” Benedict assured her. “Can you walk? Or shall I carry you?”
“Nooo, no more *hic* walking pleeease…” was all she needed to say before he swooped her in his arms and called it a night.
***
The next morning.
Y/N woke up slowly. She felt warm, too warm. When she opened her eyes, she was suddenly very aware that she wasn’t in her apartment.
She blinked and looked around. She nearly fell off the couch when she saw Benedict sleeping next to her. One arm loosely around her waist.
She audibly gasped, then quickly covered her mouth. Carefully… very carefully… she slipped out of his hold. Trying not to wake him. Trying not to think.
But fragments of her memory from last night came back slowly. They were blurry and soft, almost like a dream scenario.
He had brought her here in his apartment, when he couldn’t get a straight answer from her on where her apartment is. He gave her some water and an oversized shirt to change into.
He took her to where the bathroom was, and left her a moment to give her some privacy. She took her time to refresh and by the time she was done, she felt somewhat like herself again. She’s still a bit dizzy but at least she’s no longer seeing double.
Benedict came back and guided her to his bedroom.
“You can take the bed, Y/N. I’ll be on the sofa in the lounge,” he insisted.
Again, Y/N didn’t argue, she just wanted to lay down even though for some odd reason, she still feels like her mind is spilling over from having too many thoughts. She wants to quiet them down and simply rest.
“M’kay…” was her eloquent reply.
Benedict headed for the door and when he turned around, he found Y/N already trying to get comfortable in his bed.
“Goodnight, love,“ he said before finally closing the door.
Y/N has been staring at the ceiling for what feels like forever now. Sleep has decided to evade her completely. Her mind is tired but no matter how hard she tries to force her eyelids shut, her body refuses to surrender.
She decided to get out of bed to find Benedict, maybe he has something she can take to quiet down her mind and finally be able to sleep.
She found him sprawled across the sofa bed, looking way too comfortable. He was almost nodding off when he noticed her.
“Go back to bed, Y/N.” He warned, his voice low.
“No,” she murmured.
She took another step forward. “Please… “ she said softly, like a five-year-old asking for something small. “… can I just… stay here with you?”
She was met with silence at first, but then…
“You’re impossible.” He sighed, yet he made some room for her to slip in beside him.
Present time Y/N moved quickly. She put on her skirt, but decided to keep his shirt on. She’s hurrying to leave before he wakes up and she doesn’t have the time to find her sweater right now. Her phone was almost drained and she saw there were five missed calls from Bea.
She scribbled a quick thank-you note and slipped out before he woke. She can feel a skull-splitting hangover is about to take over soon, and all she wants is the sanctuary of home and a scalding hot shower.
By the time she arrived, she quickly stepped into the shower to clear her head.
Y/N leaned against the glass, letting the water fall over her, trying to make any sense of everything that occurred.
But then she remembered that the night didn’t simply end there, her memory’s starting to get clearer now. The shower is doing wonders to help retrieve her memory from last night. And whether that’s a blessing or a curse, she’s not entirely sure.
They had been lying side by side, facing each other. Too close and breathing in the same space.
She remembered the feeling of wanting to be closer to him. She doesn’t have enough strength to suppress it, like she always does when she’s fully sober. She can’t explain it but Y/N found herself leaning forward and not thinking too much. Just wanting to feel.
She kissed him tentatively, which was far different from all of the passionate on-screen kisses they have shared before. This one was chaste, sweet… and most of all — real. But clearly sharing only one is not enough since she found herself leaning in again hoping for another.
Benedict was the one to close the gap between them this time. His lips were warm and soft, but there was a faint sense of urgency in the way he tilted his head to capture her lips and deepen the contact.
She felt his hand rested on her waist, giving it a gentle squeeze. She can’t help but moan when she feels it, the soft sound only making him pull her closer against his body.
Their kiss deepened, months of barely communicating made them both yearn for one another. Despite what they say in interviews that the hardest part of their job were the intimacy scenes, the problem was never getting it on, it was more on how to stop the urge to continue when the cameras stopped rolling. What happened to Polin at the carriage scene was not so unique of an occurrence on set after all…
A sudden mutual desperation escalated their desires, hands grasping at each other, until the momentum shifted and she found herself on top, straddling him.
She leaned in to kiss him again, while her fingers locked into his hair, followed by a sharp, sudden tug. She didn’t know why she did that, it may be a subconscious release of all her pent-up feelings for him.
Her doing seemed to snap the remainder of Benedict’s composure, as he let out a low growl against her lips and gripped her waist with a new, sudden intensity.
Suddenly, his mouth was on her, trailing wet kisses from her cheek to her jaw then to the sensitive curve behind her ear that made her sigh in pure bliss. He didn't stop there, he continued to press open-mouthed kisses into her neck. The intensity of his focus sent a shiver through her entire body.
As she shifted against him, her movement unintentionally created some satisfying friction between them. There was no modesty pouch, no intimacy pillow stopping them from feeling almost everything now. She could feel every inch of his cock, straining against his boxers. She felt the slick, damp heat that had already begun to soak through her panties.
She continued to ground herself on him, building a delicious momentum. Benedict groaned, his fingers digging into her hips to keep her right in position.
“Fuck, fuck, Y/N…” his voice was strained.
And suddenly, everything went still.
Benedict pulled back and caught her by the waist then rolled to his side, gently guiding her beside him again.
Before Y/N realized what was going on, he spoke, “We’re not doing this, Y/N,” he said while trying to catch his breath. “Not like this, love.”
“…but why?” she whispered, her voice sounding small and hurt.
“Because you’re not sober,” he answered. “And I want you to properly remember, if we’re to go any further.”
She pouted at his response, and Benedict could sense that she wants to say more but for fuck’s sake, he wasn’t strong enough to tell her no twice in one night.
“Y/N… love, let’s not argue about it.” He pleaded, he himself felt frustrated.
Benedict’s no saint, but his conscience simply won't allow him to continue. “We’ll talk about this later… perhaps in the morning.”
“…you promise?”
“Promise.”
***
And now, it was morning.
Said promise was effectively broken when she left him.
And she remembers everything now, how close it had been and how good it felt to have him in that way again. And worse… how much she wanted it.
Y/N pressed her eyes shut because this was exactly what she was trying to avoid. And yet she was the one who started it.
There was no pretending anymore… not after how she easily succumbed to that. And she didn’t know what scared her more: what almost happened… or the quiet truth that way deep down, she knows she still wants it to happen.
