Benedict Cumberbatch Imagine- The Girl in the Window

Will You Love Me?

Imagine this, just imagine; for a minute I will call your attention away from whatever it maybe that you are engrossed with or bored about, and I will draw you into my world, and let it become yours.  Welcome home.

You are in the kitchen, the light and dark, sleek modern kitchen gleaming at you as you poke about, your bare feet padding on the soft deep brown hardwood.  You grab the kettle, opening it and placing it under the tap, filling it with water.  You light the fire under it on the gas stove and stroll over to the pantry, opening the tea draw, taking your time as you select your tea.  You always have a hard time deciding which tea you love the most, and you settle on a casual black tea over the others, the peppermints, berries, green, earl greys all left behind as you slide the draw back and get your mug, filling it with hot steaming water and the bag minutes later. 

The windows are wide and open, letting the gorgeous fall day seep in, yellowing leaves on the old trees visible from your third story balcony.  You shake your long sleeved hoodie over your hands as you picked up the mug.  You were wearing your favourite jumper of Benedict’s, the sleeves too long, the body to large, the material encircling and engulfing you, his perfect crisp musky scent woven into it. 

You sink down into the couch that was placed against the far wall, allowing view of either the telly or the window that it was set by.  You set the mug down on the side table, positioning yourself on the furniture, readjusting your jumper.  You pick up your teas and then let you head drop to your chest and breathe Benedict in, your eyes falling closed.

You missed him immensely:  he was so busy working lately, his projects and films taking up his time.  Frequently, he had to stay at the sets or a hotel, unable to make it home for the night.  He always called though, and you would sit in bed, nodding and sighing into the phone, listening to his day and telling him of your problems, knowing that he smiled and nodded the same, his nose crinkling with the sarcastic joke you just made, his forehead settling into concentration as he took into account the menaces of your day, listening contently, lovingly.  One time, you had fallen asleep, nodding off to his deep voice, arms curled around his pillow, stimulating the sensation of him being there.  You knew he disliked being away from you just as much as you did and you both longed for the hours, no matter how short, that you were in each other’s arms. 

You had been together for three months now since he had come and swept you from your life where you had first met.  You could and would always remember perfectly how he had been aghast at how you thought he could forget you, and the way his eyes twinkled when he asked you to the premiere.  

It had been two months since then, when he had led you down that carpet, his hand on the small of your back, silently telling everyone that you were his, the grin that never left his face saying how exponentially happy he was.  

You had worn a lilac dress that complimented your every feature perfectly, your hair done up in a loose bun and make up drawn on lightly and beautifully, so you were told by a beaming Ben (as well as several of the cast that you met).  He had taken you into his arms as he stood behind you while you looked in the mirror, his head falling to your neck, kissing it as he murmured how unbelievably beautiful you were and how in the world could you be his, how exceptionally lucky he was.   You had closed your eyes and opened your neck to him, bringing up your hand and cupping his cheek, your thumb tracing his face.  You had walked down that carpet, his suit and your dress matching up, the people screaming, the music pounding, and the compliments on what an excellent couple you were.  You would look up and see how Benedict was capable of looking even happier and prouder when someone commented on the dazzling woman he had on his arm.  You blushed deeply and he would bend down and kiss your forehead or your nose.  Once he grabbed you in his arms, swinging you down and capturing you in a passionate and deep kiss, the cameras falling into feverish clicking, bright camera flashes and wolf whistles filling the air as you draped your arms around his neck, never wanting it to stop.

At one point while watching the movie, shaped to Ben’s side, hands woven together, your eyes were wide and mouth slack as you watched him dominate the screen with every ounce of majesty, ferocity and perfection he had, yet you knew he was holding back.  Suddenly you found yourself leaning closer and murmured ‘Isn’t he amazing?  I can’t believe what a great actor he is!’  It wasn’t until the words left your mouth that you realized that the man you just complimented was sitting beside you, his hand in yours.  He chuckled and gave you a kiss.  “You think so?  I thought he was a bit too unhappy for my taste.’  You just grinned at him, because on Ben’s other side was Chris, who shushed ‘the two love birds, save it for later’.

You could remember it all perfectly, and how when you got home that night you knew you would never stop feeling like the teenager you were, wishing the boy in the window would look up and notice you.

You had moved into Ben’s third story apartment: it was wide and open, handsome, sleek and modern with touches of old times, and had a beautiful view of London.  You had added bits of you to it, a thing that Benedict always smiled at when he came across them.  Like the blankets you curled up under together as you sipped tea and watched Doctor Who or whatever was on, the pillows you would throw at him as he told you that he loved you.  He would snatch them from the air and advance on you, backing you, a giggling heap, onto the couch, crouching over and kissing every inch of your face.  ‘But it’s true!’ he’d say.  “I know it is.” You would reply.  “I love you too, so much.” 

You sipped your tea, smile on your face as you remembered.  You decided you’d go to the balcony, where a plush outdoor couch sat, pillows covering it lushly.  You opened the door and closed it behind you, starting up the IPod jack you had out there, soft and pretty music wafting through the air.  You settled into the cushions with your tea, an overwhelming joy flitting through your chest as you took in the beauty of London in fall. 

You had been there for perhaps five minutes, your knees tucked up onto the couch, the sleeves of Ben’s jumper covering your hands which held your steaming tea.  You couldn’t hear the front door open and close softly, nor the feet that made their way across the floor in the apartment, stopping at the door to outside.  Quietly, the door opened, almost silent as the sounds of your favourite music danced in the air.  Suddenly arms are around your shoulders and lips upon your jawline, making you jump gently.  Immediately a grin bloomed across your face and you leaned into the touch, the smell of Ben even stronger and more dominant as the man was there behind you, hugging and kissing you.

‘Guess what?’ he said, the deep familiarity of his voice making you shiver.  You turned your face to him and ran your fingers through his hair, which was slicked back originally but was now falling loose and in his eyes, that goofy grin you loved lighting up his face.  ‘You’re home?’ you replied cheekily.  ‘God, you’re so smart.’ He joked, eyes shining.  ‘How did I ever manage to get someone like you?’ he said, more seriously now.  ‘I must be some master in wizardry.’  You laugh softly and he climbs over the back of the couch and snuggles up next to you, draping his arm around you and bringing you closer to his chest.  You obliged happily, getting as close as was humanly possible, breathing him in as deeply as you can.  “I’m so glad you’re home.”   You could feel his smile.  ‘I wanted to get you something, but I couldn’t stay away any longer.’  He admits.  You shake your head and bring your head up to kiss him on the lips.  ‘You’re the only thing I want and the best thing to bring home, even when you aren’t here, you’re the best thing I have.’ You tell him.  He hugs you tighter, wondering aloud what he could have possibly done to deserve you.  You wonder the same.

You fall asleep that night with his strong arms around you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, lost in the reality of the boy in the window lying beside you, finally.