#film Claude Lelouch | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ladamedusoif · 1 year

Text

Visiting - Chapter 9: Open Your Eyes

(Moodboard by @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: It's the new year and the new semester. Reunited in Barrow for the first time since her hasty departure, Lydia and Ben have some talking to do.

Word Count: 10.2k (they have a lot to get through!)

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (Lydia is 42, and Ben is 47); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; idiots-to-lovers; smut; fingering; PiV sex; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; serious self-esteem issues; references to panic attacks and anxiety disorders; references to past infidelity (not by Ben or Lydia); angst central.

A/N: The title of this chapter is inspired by something Ben says to Lydia, which then made me think of this song by Snow Patrol. The video is a slightly edited version of C'était un rendez-vous, a 1976 short by the French director Claude Lelouch, so I feel that it fits this pair of idiots on multiple levels. (I frickin' love this film and I think it works gorgeously for the song.)

youtube

Thank you to everyone who's shown so much love for this pair so far - every comment, reblog, like, interaction, ask is just a joy to me.

Further A/N at the end of the chapter.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Cross-posting to AO3.

Chapter 8 - Chapter 10

@lunapascal and @julesonrecord - this has been a tough chapter, again, and I've needed the guidance and encouragement along the way. Thank you, as always, for your love for the dorksicles as well as your incredibly wise and insightful suggestions and editorial eyes. Bendie are forever thankful. You may well spot some of your specific suggestions in this chapter...

Taglist:

@lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal, @khindahra, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @ruebyretro, @rhoorl, @red-red-rogue, @princessanglophile, @katareyoudrilling

Your father interpreted your tears at the airport in January as homesickness.

“Just think, Lyd, it’s only a few more months, really.” He pats your arm, reassuring you as he always has. “And then you’ll be back over this side of the pond again and back to your real job and your normal life. And not so far away from all of us!”

You cried into his shoulder as you hovered near the entrance to the security screening area.

A final hug, a wipe of your tears, a brave face, and a wave goodbye.

You were homesick, or something like it. In this case, though, you were homesick for someone, not somewhere; homesick for him, for his smile, his kindness, his eyes, his careful embrace, his humour, his gentle strength.

And you were sick to your stomach with the constant, nagging fear that you had already destroyed that new and fragile home, all by yourself.

You knew he wouldn’t be back in Barrow until just before teaching resumed for the new semester - a long-standing plan to make additional use of his time on the west coast by getting some research done in specialist libraries.

You are torn between relief at not having to see him yet, not having to deliver your promised explanation, and feeling deeply anxious about the impact of the prolonged separation on Ben’s feelings towards you. He had suggested before Christmas that space was needed, and you’d agreed. The more significant that space became, however, the more you worried.

It wasn’t as if you were back in normal contact. Save for an exchange on New Year’s Eve, when you’d received a message from him sent at exactly midnight your time (and you reciprocated, setting your alarm so that you would wake just before midnight California time to send the message), there’d been next to no communication.

Kate reassures you via FaceTime. “Lyd, calm down. Like I said at Christmas, if this is all it takes to change his feelings then it’s a doomed enterprise.”

“I think it might be a doomed enterprise anyway, what with me having to go back to my job over there in September.”

She rolls her eyes. “Alright, Apocalypse Lyd. Go on, catastrophise all you want. Not like anyone ever did a long-distance relationship or anything. Have you seen him yet?”

You shake your head. “He’s on research in California - pre-planned. Not back until next week.”

“You ready to talk it out?”

You pause, close your eyes, and take a deep breath. “Honestly? I won’t know until I see him again.”

“Happy New Year, Lydia!”

No such thing as January blues as far as Susan is concerned. You reach into your tote bag to retrieve a box of candies you’d picked up as a gift for her. “How were the holidays? I hope you got a well-deserved rest.”

You can hear her sincere expressions of gratitude and surprise as she starts to answer your question, but your mind is elsewhere. You cast your eyes along the rows of wooden cubby holes, each labelled with a staff member’s name.

B.E. MORALES

The sight of his full name makes your heart hurt.

“…and that is why Nick’s mother is never doing the holidays with us again, so help me.” Susan pauses. “Lydia, are you okay? Don’t take this personally, but you look terrible.”

Hard not to take that personally, Susan.

You try to rearrange your features into something resembling a smile. “It’s probably just jet lag or something. And I had my hands full at home with the niblings - they’re both under four so…” you make a goofy face and shrug your shoulders, hoping to distract from the bags under your eyes and your worn-out complexion.

Susan studies you for a moment and then beams. “Been there, done that! Nothing a cup of coffee won’t fix.”

Shit. The mention of coffee conjures up a mental image of Ben at your office door, armed with the two mugs. When you remember the smile on his face that last day you scrunch up your eyes, as if in pain.

You fucked it up, Lyd.

The rest of the week passes in a grey haze. You oscillate between anxiety and profound sadness, cortisol rushing through your veins as you try to work out how you can fix it, and then a feeling of absolute exhaustion as you realise you probably can’t. Your to-do list mounts, unable even to distract yourself with work.

The worst part is the knowledge that you did this. You’ve got no one else to blame. You freaked out. You ran away. You wrote your stupid note and you left him, all because you didn’t want to give in to the reality of your feelings - and the risk of loss that always comes with that.

Of course you fucked it up. You always do. You’re broken. Who would ever want you?

With a week to go before teaching, you lock into preparation mode. It’s a useful distraction, checking reading lists, planning seminar and workshop outlines, and catching up with some of your students who’ve already returned to campus.

You arrange a tutorial with Nia, one of the students in the additional workshop groups run as part of Ben’s equality and diversity initiative, to discuss her initial plans for an “un-essay” assignment - a form of assessment that allows the student to respond to the brief in any number of creative ways.

Her un-essay ideas include a reflective piece on food in poetry by Black women writers - with accompanying dishes. She’s a bright, smart girl, keen to tell you all the books she read over the break and compare notes on your choice of holiday movies.

Just before she leaves your office, she picks up her tote bag and rummages inside, producing a pretty, round tin and placing it on your desk.

“Made you some of my peanut butter cookies. I noticed you like Reese’s, so I assumed you might like these, too.”

You beam at Nia, heart swelling at the sweet thoughtfulness of her gesture. “You’re so kind! I can’t wait to try these.”

She reciprocates your smile as she heads to the door. “There’s plenty there for you and Professor Ben to share. See you in class!”

Wait. What? Did the students think… shit. Maybe she just said that because he ran the programme. That was probably it.

You open the tin, take out a cookie, and try not to think about it.

ANI: Hey Lyd! I’m just in the neighbourhood, you home?

LYDIA: Yep, just putting away some laundry. You want to pop by?

ANI: Great! See you soon.

You buzz Ani in, leaving your front door open as usual once you hear their steps on the stairs. “Hey, Lyd. Just thought I’d call round to say hi,” Ani explains, taking off their big winter coat and hanging it on the coat rack in the hallway.

“You want some tea? Or something stronger?”

Ani nods, settling themselves on your couch. “Tea would be amazing.”

“Sure thing.” You continue the conversation from your tiny kitchen. Ani reminds you of the drinks party at Jen’s house on Friday night, in two days’ time - it’s her wife, Rachel’s, birthday, and she’s invited some faculty colleagues.

Given how close she is to Ben, having joined the faculty at the same time, he’ll almost certainly be there - assuming he’s back by then. You feel nauseous.

Ani gratefully takes their cup of hot tea - made strong, as they prefer - crosses their legs, and looks at you with what you suspect is concern. “Lyd, are you doing okay?”

“Why’d you ask?”

They sigh, placing the steaming cup down on the coffee table as you join them on the couch. “Lyd, you’ve been completely out of sorts since you came back. And I’m pretty sure it’s not just homesickness, as you claimed when Evan asked you if you were okay earlier this week.”

You open your mouth, ready to protest, but Ani shakes their head and places a hand on your knee to still you.

“We’re worried about you, Lyd. Obviously, it’s up to you what you do or don’t want to tell me, but just know that I am here for you. That we’re here for you.”

You sip your tea and nod, averting your eyes.

Ani purses their lips, hands wrapped around their cup. “I could be way off with this, and yell at me if I am. But - Lyd, is there - was there - something happening between you and Ben?”

You stare at the floor, afraid you’ll give too much away in your expression if you look at them directly.

“Lydia? If I’ve got this wrong, tell me. If it’s something else…”

Your voice is almost inaudible. “It’s not. I mean, you’re not wrong. That is… yeah. How did you know?”

Ani sips their tea, allowing themselves a little smile. “I mean I didn’t know know, I just had a feeling. I knew you guys were close but it’s academia, y’know? That’s not unusual, and he really wanted to help you settle in. But then we went out for your birthday, that’s what made me really wonder.”

You raise your eyebrows, still hunched up staring at the floor. They take their phone out of their bag, swiping through their photo album back through the weeks and months to your birthday weekend. “Look, we’re academics - we love the evidence, we search for proof. So here’s my source.”

Ani presses play on a video that, at first glance, is a selfie of them dancing at the bar with Evan, making faces into the camera.

“Lyd, look at the action in the background.”

Even the slightly out-of-focus footage has captured the huge smiles on both your faces as Ben reaches for you and you move together in time with the music. He beams at you, eyes crinkling as he laughs when you throw in an extra move. Your eyes are shining. Your joy is so obvious, so beautiful after so many years of numbness and hurt, and so painful knowing what you would do to him just a few weeks later.

Ani breaks the silence and tries to lighten the mood. “Basically, since then I’ve been waiting for you guys to finally wise up and just fuck. It took ages to convince Ev, for some reason. I think he was pissed that I saw it first. And then it turned out that David was on the ball first. Evan was furious.” You huff a laugh, covering your face with your free hand.

“When I heard you’d spent Thanksgiving together, I thought the Eagle had landed. Wrong, of course.”

“We, um - we did kiss on Thanksgiving. But we thought it was by mistake.”

Ani rolls their eyes. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Fucking dorks. Fucking idiots, in fact.”

You giggle in spite of yourself. “And - David. He saw it in how we were together. He - he told me he thought Ben had feelings for me a couple of days before I went home for the holidays, and -”

“And I think he might have told Ben the same, to help you two realise. Or at least, to help you act on what you already knew.” Their voice is gentle and kind. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“I…shit.” You stammer, tripping over your words and trying not to cry. “I did something really fucking stupid. I ruined it, like I always do, and now I can’t fix it and -“

The tears start to fall.

“I don’t know what to do. I… he’s really hurt. I hurt him, Ani. I care about him so much and I fucking hurt him. I don’t think I can make it right.”

Ani wraps an arm around you, pulling you in for a hug.

“Start at the beginning, Lyd. And whatever happened, you probably can fix this, you know?”

Ani puts their hands on your shoulders as you stand on Jen and Rachel’s doorstep. Their dark eyes are serious but kind, their face framed by an enormous black faux fur Cossack hat.

“What do you got, Lyd?”

You bite your lip. “I…I got this.”

“You got this. Let’s go, girl.”

At first, you think he didn’t come. You move through the hallway into Jen and Rachel’s spacious, open-plan living and dining room, scanning the clusters of guests for a familiar face. A mixture of relief and disappointment floods your brain. You can relax now, right? In search of a drink, you head for the kitchen, and -

He’s talking animatedly to a couple of colleagues from literature, those kind eyes crinkling behind his glasses as he smiles and laughs. He’s wearing a plaid Henley shirt in a sort of blue and purple flannel, with a dark blue cardigan over it. Hair neat, but long enough to brush the top of his shirt collar. As gorgeous as you remembered - more so, even.

Your heart races and your stomach leaps at the sight of him. Sure, you’re nervous. But it’s not just that. The physical symptoms of anxiety have much in common with the physiological manifestations of sexual and romantic attraction, after all, and a quick glance at him is enough to confirm just how bad you have it.

You reach for a glass of red wine from the selection of drinks set out on the kitchen island, and you beat a hasty retreat before he spots you.

He saw you, of course. He’s been watching and waiting for you, observing the other guests just as you’d done, simultaneously hoping and fearing he would look up and meet your gaze across the room.

Now that you’re there, he’s not entirely sure what he should do. Like you, he’s wary of confrontation, of taking action and getting it ‘wrong’, without knowing the consequences ahead of time.

But, despite the slight thaw caused by your sporadic contact over the break, he’s also hurt and more than a little stubborn. You left with just a note. You casually brushed off the night you spent together, in spite of everything he tried to show you about how he felt about you. Surely you needed to make the first move now?

Even so, his heart lifts when he sees you across the room. Photos on his phone don’t do you justice, don’t capture the way you move, the way your eyes catch the light, the essential you-ness that he has been so enamoured with.

He decides not to let on that he’s noticed you.

Ani catches up with you near one of the floor-to-ceiling fitted bookshelves that line the living room. “I know it’s easier to just hide here feigning interest in their book collection, Lyd, but -”

“I’m not feigning interest! I’m curious about other people’s books.” You tilt your head and continue reading the titles from the spines, until Ani moves their body between you and the books.

“Lydia. I swear to fucking God. He’s right fucking there,” Ani hisses, jerking their head in the direction of the kitchen. “I will march you in there and I will make you talk to each other.”

You can feel your palms getting clammy, and you place your wine glass down on a coaster in case it slips from your nervous grasp. “And what do I say, Ani? How do I do this? It’s not exactly private…”

They nod over at Rachel, who’s just come into the room, smiling and mouthing birthday wishes before turning back to you. “You’re a forty-two year old woman with a PhD, Lyd. It’s not beyond your capabilities to ask him to speak to you outside, or in their guest bathroom, or bedroom, or wherever.” Their tone is irritated, and you close your eyes as if shielding yourself from further hurt.

“Lyd, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be harsh. It’s just - come on. We talked about this. I know exactly what you feel for him. I have a hunch he feels the same for you - everything you said suggests it. You fucking care so much about each other.” They inhale deeply, lightly reaching for your hand. “Why not just tell him? From what you said about that night, you made it pretty clear you were into him, and vice versa.”

You open your eyes and meet Ani’s kind expression. “And if it’s what I fear? What if all the space we’ve had has convinced him nothing more can happen?”

They squeeze your hand. “Neither of us know what he’s going to say. But you’ve been through so much worse, Lyd. You survived the kind of shit that could destroy some people. So, if it’s bad now - well, you’ll survive again. And if it’s good -”

“Then I have to leave it all behind in a few months, when the fellowship is done.”

Ani cocks an eyebrow. “Now you’re just making fucking excuses. Come on,” they take your hand and usher you towards the dining table, laid out with snacks, “let’s get some chips and dip first. Call it sustenance for the campaign ahead.”

Ani’s strategy, it transpires, is to take one of the vintage Chip n’ Dip dishes and to saunter into the kitchen with it, moving steadily towards the cluster of literature professors as you trail behind.

They greet your colleagues enthusiastically and starts passing around the food. You can feel your face starting to burn as you try to cast a glance at Ben, to gauge his mood from the look on his face. You furtively take in his expression, and it breaks your heart. From the smiling, talkative man you’d seen when you arrived, his eyes have darkened and his lips are set in a firm line.

Ani quietly nudges you, encouraging you to make the first move and break through the invisible shield he’s placing between the two of you.

Your mouth is dry and your palms are clammy as you start to speak to him. You try not to think about the last time you’d seen him. “H-h-hi. D-did you enjoy the holidays?”

He turns slightly towards you, still avoiding looking at you directly. “They were good. Nice to be with family.” He sighs and takes a large sip of his wine.

Silence. It’s all you can do to avoid your natural tendency to fill the gap with rambling chit-chat. You nudge him slightly out of the group to avoid being overheard.

“Could we talk, just for a few minutes? I need to -“

At this, he finally makes eye contact with you, and the hurt in his brown eyes is almost more than you can bear. He responds quietly but firmly.

“You want to talk? You want to talk, here? Now? At a party?” He sounds incredulous.

“I told you I’d explain, and I told you it would be easier to do that face to face. So, here we are.” You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from starting to cry or lashing out, channeling your anxiety and irritation into sarcasm. “Forgive me for taking this rare opportunity to have a very important conversation with you,” you hiss.

He huffs and rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what you really need to say, anyway,” he mutters quietly, “you made your feelings clear.” His expression is hard as he steps away and moves to walk out of the kitchen. In a reflex action, you reach out and lightly touch his wrist. He turns back for a moment.

“I told you I was sorry and that I could explain. That note… that’s not my feelings.” You drop your head to stare at the floor, before lifting it back to meet his gaze. “If you want to talk to me, I’ll be out at the front porch, okay? I need some fresh air, anyway. But I also really want a chance to talk. Please.”

And he’s gone.

You didn’t think through the whole ‘outdoor chat’ thing. New England January nights are colder than anything you’ve regularly experienced before, and you have been sitting on the front steps of Jen and Rachel’s home for what feels like forever. In truth, it’s been about ten minutes - but the more time that goes by without any sign of Ben, the more you despair. Although you’re snuggled into your bulky winter coat, face barely visible underneath your warm, red cable-knit hat and scarf set, the cold is starting to bite.

You tug off a glove and reach into your pocket for your phone, composing a message for Ani:

Hey. I asked him to come out and talk but he doesn’t want to. I’m going home - just can’t be in there. I’m sorry - please apologise to Rachel and Jen for me, say I’m sick or something. x

You start off down the path from the front door to the pavement, double-checking the route on your phone. The house isn’t too far away from your apartment building, and a walk might help clear your head.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

The snowflakes cling to your coat and hat, the flurries intensifying quickly. You swipe open the app on your phone, fingers stiff in the freezing weather. No cabs.

“Fuck this.”

As you round the block and head for home, the tears start to fall, soaking into the woollen scarf wrapped around your mouth.

“Where’s Lyd? Did you talk to her?”

Ani finds Ben sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the shelves displaying Rachel’s substantial record collection, flipping through the vinyls as if he’s looking for something in particular.

He isn’t. He just can’t bear trying to be normal and socialise with everyone else again, not after seeing you. There’s an ache in his chest as he thinks about the pleading look in your eyes when you asked him to come and hear what you had to say.

His stomach churns as he wonders if you’re still waiting for him.

He feigns interest in a copy of Blonde on Blonde, staring at the liner notes like he’s never seen the record before in his life. “She said she wanted to talk, that she’d meet me outside, but I - I couldn’t.”

Ani looks murderous and runs a hand over their dark curls.

“You couldn’t? Or wouldn’t?”

“Does it matter? Given that you’re asking about this, I’m assuming you know what happened.”

Ani scoots down to sit beside Ben on the floor. Their voice is low but intense. They are not mincing their words.

“I know what happened. I know that she messed up. I have told her she messed up. She knows she messed up. But I also know why she messed up and that you need to hear her out. If not for your sake or her sake, then for all our sakes. I can’t take much more of the two of you moping around like this.”

He shrugs. Ani rolls their eyes.

“So help me, Benjamin Morales, you can be a stubborn fucking asshole.”

Ben furrows his brow and sucks his teeth.

Jen appears, her attention caught by the sight of Ani visibly berating Ben from their spot on the floor. “Have you spoken to Lydia, Ben?”

Ani raises their brows. “How did you know?”

Jen waves her hand, as if exasperated by her old friend. “I had my suspicions, eventually got it out of him earlier this week, now he’s being an idiot because he’s not doing what I told him and going to speak to Lyd.” She looks around her living room. “Where is Lyd?”

“Outside,” Ben mutters.

Jen, face like thunder, pokes him in the back with the toe of her block-heeled boot. “I love you like a brother but if you don’t get the fuck out and find that woman, I will never speak to you again.”

You wrap your scarf tighter around your face, trying to shield yourself from the increasingly heavy snowfall. You have never been so grateful for the solid strength and warmth of your dark red Dr Martens.

Thank fuck I wore jeans and a blouse, you think. Could have been the wrap dress.

You pause for a moment to give your face a break from the onslaught of the snow and wind, turning your back to the persistent flurries.

“LYD?”

At first, you think you’re imagining it. It’s a noise on the wind, whipping snow at your face and burying your heart cold and deep.

“LYDDIE?”

That is definitely not a noise on the wind.

You turn around to see Ben steadily walking towards you, his black Dr Martens shoes crunching through the fresh snow that’s already covering your footprints.

He’s wearing the merino wool watchcap you made him for Christmas, the Prussian blue perfectly complementing the navy wool of his pea coat. A little voice inside you pipes up that he couldn’t hate you, at least, if he was wearing something you’d made for him with your own two hands.

“What the hell, Lyd?” He’s beside you, now, covered in a dusting of snow, big dark eyes staring intently into yours from behind his slightly fogged-up spectacles. “What are you doing out here?”

You are physically shaking with nerves and cold. “I wanted to talk to you, I wanted to explain, I told you where I would be, and…” you sniffle, glad of the snow as an excuse for your tears and red eyes, “And you didn’t even want to hear it. You didn’t even want to talk to me.” Your teeth chatter. “So…so I d-d-decided to g-g-go h-h-h-home.”

You wipe at your eyes with your gloved hands. “Stupid snow makes m-m-me cry,” you offer, by way of an explanation.

He doesn’t quite know why he does it. Maybe it’s his own need for reassurance, his instinctive urge to give you comfort, or maybe it’s the fact that, deep down, he’s missed you.

Ben steps closer to you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you to him for a hug.

“I’m so sorry, Lyd.” He holds you tightly for a moment before pulling away. “I was being a dick. I do want to talk.”

“I’m g-g-going home. Come with me if you want, and hear m-me out.”

“Okay. Fuck, it’s freezing.” He reaches into his coat pocket for his phone.

“No cabs. It’s not that far.”

He nods. You reach over, instinctively, doing up the top button on his coat and pulling the knitted hat a little more firmly over his ears.

He brings a gloved hand to meet yours, and for a moment you think he’s going to push you away. Instead, he gives your hand a little squeeze.

“Let’s go.”

“Okay, heating is on, thermostat’s up, kettle is boiling to make some coffee - um, I know this is going to sound weird, but are you hungry? I think I had a single tortilla chip to eat at Jen’s.”

Ben is standing at the door of your tiny kitchen, an old, baggy hoodie of yours over his shirt and cardigan as an extra layer of heat, arms crossed over his chest and hands rubbing his upper arms as he tries to warm up.

“I’m fucking s-s-starving.”

You have an urge to wrap your arms around him and get warm by sharing your body heat. But you haven’t even talked about it, yet.

“Okay, well…” You poke your head into the fridge and freezer in succession. “I’ve got a frozen pizza.”

“F-f-fucking perfect.”

It all feels a little too normal as you sit in the living area with your coffees, waiting for the pizza to cook. You’ve wrapped yourself in your crocheted blanket while you warm up, legs tucked under you on the couch and hands gripping your mug for warmth.

“I feel like I should be starting to explain,” you say, glancing down at your coffee.

Ben shakes his head. “Let’s eat, first, and then we can talk. Better not to do that hungry.”

There’s still a few minutes before the pizza will be done. You try to make the most of these moments of “normality”, before you have to try to explain your actions to him and hope that he feels the same as you.

“I did love your holiday makeover, by the way.”

He turns to look at you, a little smile creeping across his lips.

“You know I only got the polish off two days before I came back? Glitter is resilient.” He laughs to himself. “I think Jules liked doing it, though. How’s your gift-wrap injury?”

“Healed up. More worrying is the fact I don’t think I’ve located all of the stickers Cora put on my person over the break. I’m concerned one will turn up in some strange part of my body.”

Ben raises his eyebrows. “If I spot any unexpectedly I’ll be sure to signal it.”

“You had a good time at home, though?”

He nods. “It was great to be with them all. You?”

“Same. Good to be home.”

You are reminded of the tears you shed at the airport, homesick not for your family but for him.

“Thing is, I was glad to come back.” He looks up at you, eyes curious. “Because this feels like home, too.”

You eat the pizza companionably on the couch, washed down with cans of soda. Ben offers to stack the plates in the dishwasher. As he returns to the couch, you broach the subject.

“Can we talk?”

He nods and settles beside you. Your stomach does backflips at the prospect of having to finally say the words you’ve been mentally rehearsing since the day you left.

“I want to explain, and I want to - well, I want to try to make things right, because I did something wrong.” You look up at him, his dark eyes meeting yours, and it’s all you can do not to ditch the speech and try to show him what you feel in ways beyond words.

“I’m so, so sorry, Ben. I…”

And then he’s bridging the gap between your two bodies; gently caressing your face with his hands; tilting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes ask the question, and before you’ve finished nodding your assent his mouth is on yours and he’s kissing you like he’ll never get the chance again: hungry but tender, urgent but loving.

He brings his hands to wrap around your body, gently encouraging you to lie back on the couch and quickly pulling a cushion into position behind your head.

Your brain is shouting at you about how you need to do this properly, to talk first and then act, if you both want to.

Your body is responding rather differently. It couldn’t be any smoother if you’d rehearsed this: your legs opening wide to accommodate Ben’s gorgeous broadness, knees hitching around him as you try to pull him closer, hands tugging at the old hoodie, easing it off over his head, and fingers fumbling to undo the buttons on his flannel shirt.

He breaks away from the kiss, moving his mouth to the side of your neck and working his way down to your chest with a succession of kisses, gentle nibbles, and light sucking, interspersed with little moans and whispers of your name. You can feel his hands roving under your blouse, loosening your tank from the waistband of your jeans so he can feel your soft, warm flesh in his hands.

You gasp at the sensation. Your body is silently screaming for Ben, begging wordlessly for him to unzip your jeans and slip his hand between your soaking folds. Even so, your brain still wants to have a say.

“Ben…Ben… wait.” He pulls away but remains close to your body, looking up at you.

“You want me to stop, Lyd?”

You shake your head. “No, never, but… we were supposed to talk and -”

“We will.” He places a soft kiss to your exposed décolletage, and you moan.

You pull him towards you and kiss him firmly on the mouth, lifting your hips towards his and feeling the friction of him, already hard in his dark jeans.

“Fuck, Lyd…”

“Fuck it, we can talk later.” You encourage him to move off you and wriggle yourself off the couch, taking him by the hand. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

You’re lying on your bed, Ben’s solid, comforting weight on top of you, both of you working urgently, desperately, to undress each other. You’d eased him out of his flannel shirt as soon as you got into the bedroom, pausing for a moment to admire his beautiful body in the slim-fit grey T-shirt he was wearing underneath before peeling it off him as you fell onto the bed.

He’s murmuring into your ear and trailing his lips down the line of your neck as his fingers undo the buttons on your blouse. “Fucking missed you so fucking much, Lyd,” he mutters, sucking so perfectly at your neck that you feel like your entire body is arching off the mattress. He sits you up slightly so he can tug away the blouse and peel off your tank top, tossing it aside as he reaches around to unhook your bra.

His big hands grope your tits, fingers gently pinching your nipples before his tongue swirls over them, triggering a cry of pleasure from you.

“FUCK, Ben, I really missed you, too…need you, baby.”

He moves his hands down to undo your jeans, slipping his long fingers inside. You’ve already unbuttoned his jeans and you pull down the zipper before sitting up to tug them - and his boxer briefs - down. His cock springs free, already hard and weeping, and you grip it gently before giving it a few strokes.

Ben groans loudly as he looks down, wanting to see your fingers working his cock. He pulls off your jeans and panties and meets your gaze again as you open your legs wide.

“This okay?”

You nod frantically. “It’s fucking perfect.”

He smiles and reaches between your legs to drag two long fingers over your folds. The look on his face is one of surprise and arousal.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, Lyd. So wet for me already.” He looks down to watch his fingers working through your slick, occasionally dipping his fingertips into your cunt and making you cry out with need and desire. “What do you want, baby?”

He keeps fucking you with his fingers as he looks into your eyes. It seems that’s what triggers your first orgasm: his big eyes gazing at you, so warm and so kind, while his thick fingers are pushing in and out of your pussy, making lewd, wet noises.

“Oh, fuck!” You come on his fingers, a wicked little smile on his face. “You, Ben, I want you. Want you to fuck me hard. Need you.”

He pulls his fingers out of you and sucks them clean, closing his eyes as he feels your taste on his lips and tongue. The sight makes your pussy throb, but you need more.

“You ready for me, Lyddie?”

You nod and spread your legs as he quickly lines himself up, pushing inside you in a single, fluid motion that seems to knock the air clean out of your lungs. You reach up and take his head in your hands, pulling him down for a kiss as he starts to move. He drags his cock in and out, slowly, deliberately; dark eyes watching you writhe and mewl under his broad body.

“Please, Ben -”

He begins to fuck you harder, deeper, rarely taking his eyes off you. Despite the urgency it’s imbued with a tenderness and a desperate need that matches your own. Your body responds intuitively as you hitch up your knees and shift your hips slightly to meet his firm thrusts and take him even more deeply.

You fuck each other as though you’re trying to fuse yourselves irrevocably together, using your bodies to take the first step towards overcoming the rift and separation. The sensation of soft, warm skin, of fingertips trailing over a breast, a bicep, a thigh, begins to say the words you still don’t quite know how to articulate.

Your hips are moving quicker now, fucking him as much as he is fucking you, and Ben leans back a little to look down at where your bodies are joined. He looks up at you from under his lashes, half-smiling as he admires the way your body moves in perfect sync with his. You reach for his strong forearms, fingers gripping his firm, lightly golden flesh to give you greater purchase as your hips roll upwards, trying to sate your longing and your frustration. Ben lets out a deep, guttural cry.

“Fucking hell, Lyd!”

“Want to fuck you, baby,” you murmur, not letting up the rhythm. “Please. Want to get on top.”

He rolls carefully onto his back, holding you in position around your hips as you shift your knees and brace your core. The change in position has his cock hitting you at a different angle, grazing against that perfect, spongy spot just inside your cunt, and you take a moment to savour the feeling before beginning to ride him.

You move with intention, purpose, determination, trying to let your body speak for you before you use your words, later. The sight of his beautiful face, eyes screwed up in pleasure and mouth slightly open, sends a pulse thrumming through you and almost gets you off again. You want more. You want to give him more. You want to give him everything.

Your hands reach down your body, seeking his broad palms and thick, gentle fingers; you place one hand over your left breast and encourage him to use the other to start massaging the slick-soaked pearl of your clit.

You cry out his name as you come, rhythm faltering a little. Ben encourages you to lift yourself off his cock for a moment, pushing himself up to a sitting position against your headboard before you straddle him again, taking his hard length deep into your warm, wet cunt and making him groan loudly.

The two of you, again. You and him, him and you, clinging to each other in mutual desire and reassurance. Bodies pressed together, the heavy weight of your tits pushed against the broadness of his chest, the warm softness of his tummy grazing against yours. You kiss, his tongue swiping at your lips and exploring your mouth: two as one.

He breaks away as he fucks up into you, arms still wrapped around you. You close your eyes, keening with pleasure.

“Open your eyes, Lydia.”

You blink, meeting his coffee-brown gaze. He smiles and caresses your face, slowing down the pace as he does so. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Just slowing down a little or I won’t last, baby.”

You pepper his neck and shoulders with tiny kisses, seeking out the little freckles and marks you love. Each press of your lips to his skin is a silent apology, an unspoken explanation, an attempt to convey through touch what you feel for him, how much he means to you.

I am so sorry. I missed you so very much. I need you. I care about you. I hate that I hurt you. Please forgive me.

And I love you.

“I’m close, baby. Gonna lie you back down, is that okay?”

You nod, kissing Ben as he eases you onto the bed. He pulls out for a moment as you change positions, and you whine a little at the loss of his cock inside you.

“Hey, it’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, planting a soft kiss to your breast as he slides back inside you, “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

You twine your hands around his neck and reach to run your fingers through his dark curls, listening to the obscene sound of your wetness against him as he fucks you. You hitch up your legs and slip down a hand to grip his ass as he drives in and out of you.

“Fuck-fucking hell, baby - jesus, that feels so good. You feel so fucking perfect, so fucking wet. Taking me like this -”

He stutters as he buries his face in your neck, thrusting harder and faster as he gets closer. You wrap your arms around his broad back, finding arousal and reassurance in the warm softness of his body.

“I love having you inside me, y’know,” you whisper in his ear. “I love taking you, all of you, feeling the stretch in my cunt when you fuck me.”

Your dirty talk has the desired effect and you watch as his body stiffens and expression changes. He groans as he comes hard, continuing to fuck into you as you feel him fill you, hot and deep.

He doesn’t pull out immediately, pausing while he’s still on top of you to plant a lingering kiss to your lips. He takes in your fucked-out expression. His own is similarly wrecked, eyes hooded and pussydrunk, perspiration glistening on his face and body.

“Fuck, baby, that was…”

“Fucking incredible.”

You trace your hand over his jaw, gently feeling the scratchy hair underneath as you move your fingers to his lips.

“I missed you so fucking much, Ben. I’m so sorry.”

He takes your hand in his and kisses your fingertips, then pulls out and lies back beside you on the bed, still holding your hand.

“I missed you so, so much, Lyddie.” He looks up at the ceiling, suddenly puzzled. “How did we end up at this end of the bed?”

You giggle. “I didn’t keep track of the logistics but we covered a lot of ground tonight.” You kiss the firm skin of his shoulder and sit up. “I’m going to freshen up. Be back in a minute.”

When you return, Ben is under the comforter, lying back on the pillows at the head of the bed. You stop for a moment to take in the image. You had forgotten this was the first time he’d ever been over to your place, and he looks right at home.

He smiles warmly as you climb back into bed, shivering a little as you discard your robe. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close to his side, tucking the comforter around you to keep you warm. You nuzzle into his chest, humming contentedly to yourself.

“Lyd?” His voice is quiet and soft and it makes your heart sing to hear it like this, in bed, naked and sated and cuddled together.

“Mmmhmm?”

“You - you framed my card.”

You had framed his birthday card, and it had sat on your nightstand since November. And you forgot he would see it.

Shit.

You look up at him, a little panicked. The look on his face immediately reassures you, and you reach up to trace a finger along the grey patches on his jaw.

“I just really loved it, the card, the message. And it…it meant so much.”

He blushes a little. “That’s really…it’s great.”

He holds you a little closer.

“Ben?”

“Mmmm?”

“I’m going to explain.”

He brings his other arm around you and plants a kiss to the crown of your head. “Okay, Lyd. I’m here.”

You take a deep breath and lightly rest your hand on his chest, trying to ground yourself with the rhythm of his heartbeat and the feeling of his warm skin.

“I left the way I did because I was scared.” You tilt your head up to look at him. “Not scared of you, I’d never be scared of you. Scared of - well, scared of a lot of things. And I’m not even sure if I can explain them all properly, but I’ll do my best.”

You nuzzle a little more into the warmth of his side, cheek pressed lightly to his chest.

“I had such a wonderful time with you that night. It was amazing. You know that, right?”

Ben looks down at you. “I do.”

“But then I woke early, and it was like the little bully that lives in my brain decided it was going to do its worst. I panicked, Ben. All I could think was that you would realise it was a mistake, eventually, and see how I was old and unattractive and broken, and…” You pause for a moment, trying not to let the tears fall. “And that I didn’t deserve someone like you.”

“Oh, Lyddie. No, Lyd.” Ben squeezes you gently, planting another kiss to the crown of your head.

“I tried to talk myself down, I really did. But it’s one thing doing that in the light of day, it’s another altogether at five in the morning. So it was like the defences just went back up.”

“Defences?”

“Like… I dunno. Defences against feelings, or wanting someone properly? Shit. I’m not explaining this very well.”

He shakes his head. “You’re doing perfectly fine. If you want to stop, just say.”

Another deep breath. “It’s not the only reason. But…the way everything fell apart with my last relationship, it - it made me harden myself because…I don’t know, I convinced myself if I kept up defences around my heart and soul I wouldn’t get hurt again? Something like that. It was fine to have hookups or one night stands, but anything more serious - couldn’t happen.”

“So you pulled up the drawbridge.”

You nod. “And it wasn’t just about protecting me from getting hurt again, it was about protecting others from me fucking everything up, like I always do. Ruining things, like I always have. And then there’s the visiting thing.”

“You don’t fuck everything up, Lyd, you don’t ruin things, and it’s so sad that you think you do, because - well, have you ever considered how much you make things better?” You look up at him, eyes disbelieving but filled with emotion at his words.

“And what do you mean, visiting thing?”

“Me being a visiting professor, me having to go home to my permanent job… the way I was feeling that morning, all I could think was how this would have to end, and how - how I couldn’t handle the thoughts of not having this, because of the way I felt - the way I feel - about you.”

You trace patterns on his chest with your fingertips, trying to quell the anxiety that threatens to overwhelm you.

“I didn’t come here looking for anyone. I was happy with my life the way it was - I wasn’t wandering around lost and lonely, desperate for a partner. My life was great, really. And then I met you, and I realised what I felt for you. I was starting to open myself up again, and I’d never, ever thought I’d do that. I never thought I’d have those feelings again, let alone…fall for someone. And certainly not someone as wonderful as you.”

“Lyd, you…”

You shake your head, wanting to get the words out while they’re flowing freely. “Over the holidays I realised that’s what was really scaring me. That’s what was at the root of it all, all the fear and panic - the way I feel about you, the way I care so much about you. It was so big, you know? The realisation of what I felt, of how much I cared, the knowledge that you had feelings for me, too. Sleeping with you, knowing how good that was, feeling like I wanted to stay with you like that forever.”

You pause for a moment. “And then my stupid, stupid brain kicks in, because it’s wired to run from things that feel like they’re going to overwhelm me.”

He gives you another cuddle. “That is not a stupid brain and you know it.”

“It feels like it is. It’s ironic, I thought I had to run so I didn’t ruin things. But turns out I might have ruined them anyway.” You pull away a little, still keeping a hand on his chest but propping yourself up so you can see his face properly. “I hate that I hurt you. I hurt you. And I feel so terrible that my own issues - my past - made me feel like I needed to do something stupid and in the process to hurt the man I…care so much for.”

You shake your head ruefully. “I don’t want to be scared any more. I don’t need to be scared. And I don’t need the past to affect my life now, I won’t let it. I just hope that, regardless of what you want to happen with us, that you can -”

You’ve been really good with the tears so far. You’ve managed to keep them at bay. But they’re prickling, gathering in your eyes and clouding your vision of Ben’s kind face and broad shoulders, and they won’t stay put much longer. You tilt your head upwards, trying to stave them off.

“Forgive me.”

Ben reaches up to wipe away the fat tear that��s rolling down your cheek, his thumb stroking softly across your face. He sits up in bed and wraps his arms around you.

He doesn’t say it to you, but he was ready to forgive you as soon as he looked into your eyes at Jen’s house.

“Of course, Lyddie. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt - still hurts a little - though, and that’s important too.”

You pull back slightly and take his left hand in yours, tracing your thumb over his tattoo.

“I know, Ben, and I’m so, so sorry.”

He takes a deep breath. “Thing is, you’re not the only one who was scared. Is scared. Love is scary, y’know?” He meets your gaze, his eyes and expression perhaps more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen them. “Especially when it’s new love. It’s exciting but it’s terrifying because… well, because it’s fragile, and it can be lost. And that feels even more of a risk when you - when you have lost love.”

“I mean it, I don’t want my past -”

He shakes his head. “I don’t mean your past, I mean mine. You’re not the only one who’s scared, and you’re not the only one who was fucked over.”

Oh, shit.

You nuzzle against his shoulder. “You can tell me, if you want.”

He rests his head against yours. “Shit. It’s…it’s a long time ago. But it fucks you up, doesn’t it?” You nod silently. “I met the person I thought I’d be with for the rest of my life during my doctoral programme. Six years, all fine, and then one day - that was it, out of the blue. The usual explanations: unhappy for a long time, we grew apart, all that kind of thing.”

“Sounds familiar,” you say wearily. You heard it all the day your ex left. It was like a script had been pre-circulated.

“You can guess what’s coming next, then.”

“Someone else?”

“There was someone else. Like I said, it’s a long time ago, Lyd. A lot longer than yours. It’s all in the distant past now, and therapy helped a lot early on.” He sighs. “But I guess I did something similar to you. Put up the defences, wasn’t looking for anyone, kept everything very casual, on the rare occasions it happened.”

You bring an arm around his torso, holding him close.

“And I was happy. I was really happy: I had wonderful friends, eventually I got a job I love, I have my family, my siblings, their kids. I was fine.” He pauses, jaw ticking. “I was fine, and then - then you came along.”

You pull back. His tone is confusing.

Ben turns to look at you, takes in your worried expression, and kisses the top of your head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean ‘you came along and ruined things’, please don’t worry.” You visibly relax and squeeze his hand.

“What I mean is - you came along, and you changed things. You changed everything. You think you ruin things, Lyd, and that just couldn’t be further from the truth. I… fuck. You changed my life, changed the way I thought about the future, about what I wanted, about opening up again.”

Tears threaten at your eyes again. “So when you woke up and I wasn’t there…”

He looks up, and his eyes are red-rimmed. “I thought it was happening again. And it just felt like I shouldn’t have opened up and let you in.”

You swallow, trying to stop yourself from crying. “Fuck, Ben. I’m so fucking sorry, I’m just such a fucking broken mess.”

“Lyd, for fuck’s sake.” His tone is firmer, more stern. You look at him, a little surprised. “You’re not a broken mess. You - fuck it, you just weren’t loved the way you should have been. The way you deserve to be.”

“Jesus, Ben, I -” You pause, and he looks at you expectantly. “Well, that makes two of us. You weren’t loved like you deserve to be either, based on what you’ve said.”

He smiles softly, looking at you from under his lashes. “We’re quite a pair.”

You caress his face, reaching up to gently bring your fingers through his hair, and place a tiny, soft kiss to the beautiful curve of his nose.

“I think we are quite a pair, actually.”

You blink awake in the wee small hours, eyes adjusting in the darkness as you take in the handsome sight of Ben’s sleeping face. The last time you woke up with him, you panicked and fled. This time, you smile softly, noticing that his hand is resting lightly on your hip, and lean in to gently kiss his warm, broad chest.

His hand shifts and he smiles, eyes still closed, as he traces the curve of your body over your hip, your waist, and onto the heavy fullness of your breasts. He seeks out your nipples with his fingertips and you sigh with pleasure, reaching down to take his cock, already stiffening, in your hand. He kisses you, moaning as you stroke him a few times, and then carefully rolls you onto your back, positions himself on top of you, and uses his knee to open your legs a little wider for him.

“’M still wet, baby,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep. “Fuck me.”

He lines himself up to take you: slowly, gently, still drowsy. You feel every inch of him as he fucks you to a slow, steady rhythm. Between the drag of his cock working in and out, and the silence punctured only by the sounds of you and Ben panting, your bodies moving against each other, you’re close to the edge before long.

He gets you there with a well-timed thumb to your clit, gently circling it until you fall apart again and he lets go inside you, kissing your neck and mouth as he pulls out before helping you clean up, moving in for some cuddles, and falling asleep again with you in his arms.

It’s definitely not the kind of sex that cheesy novels are made of, but it makes you happy because of that. It’s soft, intimate, settled - domestic, even, like you’ve been together a long time. You still need to talk about what you both actually want, of course, but - if this is anything to go by - it feels like you might well be on the same page.

He’s not there when you reach for him in the morning. You sit bolt upright, suddenly paranoid that Ben might have done to you what you did to him.

But then your eyes adjust to the morning light filtering through the blinds, and you can hear clattering and humming coming from the direction of the kitchen. You reach for a pair of pyjama pants and an old sweatshirt, and pad from the bedroom into the living and dining room and through the door into the tiny kitchen.

Ben is standing at the main counter, his back to you, measuring out coffee for your filter machine while humming random melodies to himself. He’s wearing the big, old Paris Review hoodie you’d loaned him when he came home with you the evening before, as well as his boxers and a strangely familiar-looking pair of brightly-coloured socks, covered with a pattern of books and pens and -

Oh, fuck. Those socks. Your Christmas present to him. He’d worn them to Jen’s party.

You take a few short steps across the kitchen floor and wrap your arms around him, pressing your cheek to his shoulder blade and inhaling deeply.

“Hi, Lyddie.”

He turns and shifts his body so he can see you properly. He’s got his glasses on, his hair is tousled, curls sticking up in every direction, and he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“You look a lot better in that hoodie than I do.”

He looks down at the magazine logo on the sweatshirt. “Were you a subscriber?”

“It was a gift from a friend years and years ago. We had a running joke about the idea of a magazine reviewing Paris, she saw it and ordered it for me. It’s cosy, isn’t it?”

He beams and puts an arm around you, gently pulling you to his side as the coffee machine splutters into life. “Very cosy, baby.”

“It’s nice, here.” Ben looks around the apartment as he sips the coffee, sitting beside you at the small dining table. “It’s very…”

“Basic?”

He arches an eyebrow over the rim of his mug. “I was going to say it’s very you. You’ve made it your own, even if it is basic.”

You reach for his hand and squeeze it, marvelling at the butterflies you feel at the simple sensation of the touch of his hand, even after having slept with him twice.

“Ben?”

He looks at you, eyes soft and warm.

“I want this. Whatever this is, right now, I want it. I want to try it, anyway. I want you. I want you and me, I want there to be an ‘us’. I meant what I said last night, I’m not scared. Well, I am, because I still don’t know what happens when I have to leave and what if that ruins everything and then -”

He squeezes your hand in return. “Lyddie, you’re spiralling.”

You laugh and take a deep breath. “I guess what I’m asking is - if I wasn’t a broken weirdo who ran out on you, what would you want? What do you want?”

“Lyd, please. You’re not a weirdo, and you’re not fucking broken. You’re strong, and smart, and funny, and beautiful, and - fuck, you’re a fucking goddess, Lyd, and I’ll tell you that every goddamn day.” He looks at you, expression deadly serious before softening into a smile. “Surely you know I want this, too? You, me, an ‘us’? How could I not?”

You put your hands to his face and pull him in for a kiss. No more fear, even if this was scary, in its own way.

And you remember something he said last night.

“Ben, can I ask you about something you said last night?”

He smiles beatifically and nods.

“When I was explaining about being scared, you said something like ‘love is scary’. I… I’m just wondering about your word choice.” Your mouth feels dry and you take another sip of coffee. “Was ‘love’ generic, or…specific?”

Ben’s eyes widen for a moment, a tiny flash of panic passing through.

“It was specific.”

You nod. “So…”

He rubs his hands together, one of his nervous ‘tells’. “So, I said ‘love is scary’ because - I love you.” The look in his eyes is cautious but warm, hopeful.

“I love you, Lydia. I love you very much. I hope that’s okay.”

You gently place your hand on top of his, quelling his anxious gesture.

“I love you too, Ben. Very much. So, yeah, that’s okay.”

The two of you burst out laughing for a moment before leaning in for a soft kiss. It felt so normal, so comfortable: both of you still with your bed-heads, dressed in random loungewear, sitting at your dining table in your little apartment, saying you loved each other for the first time.

Ben twines his fingers through yours, smiling. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to be able to say those words to you, Lyd.” He blushes a little. “Came close to saying it a few times before.”

You arch an eyebrow exaggeratedly and grin at him. “Oh, really? Well, that makes two of us.”

You lean over to rest your head on his shoulder. “And you know we said last night that neither of us had been loved the way we deserved?” He hums and nods in agreement, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

“Maybe we can try loving each other like that?”

“I’d like that very much, Lyd.” Another kiss, another squeeze of your hand - and, out of nowhere, his tummy rumbles audibly, triggering another fit of giggles.

“Think you and me deserve to have a nice breakfast, too.” He pushes himself back from the table and stands up, still holding your hand. He holds you closely. “And then…”

“And then - we come home and make up for lost time.”

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N: Like many of us, I'm sure, I have spent much of the last week listening back to the work of the extraordinary, late, great Sinéad O'Connor. This song, from her 2014 album I'm Not Bossy, I'm The Boss, leapt out as a perfect fit for Lydia - in general, but especially in this chapter. Rest in power, Sinéad. (And if you haven't yet read her memoir, Rememberings, do it - it's brilliant.)

youtube

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #mr ben au #mr ben x ofc #mr ben fanfic #professor ben x ofc #professor!ben #professor!ben x ofc #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #pedrostories #Youtube

86 notes · View notes