"Sorry, I know it's late," Benny said, finally breaking the silence. You stayed stood by the door, not sure where to place yourself.
"It's okay. Did you need something?" You asked, faking confidence.
Benny only smiled, but you could see something brewing beneath his expression. He looked somewhere between bursting into tears and bursting into laughter. It scared you. You hadn't seen him this way before.
"You spoke about him today," He said, and now you knew why this conversation couldn't have waited until morning. "It just—took me by surprise."
You let out a huff, staring at the floor. "Wasn't just you," You spoke, feeling the tension in the room start to settle. "I don't know why, I just—,"
"It doesn't matter why," He interrupted, and you got the sense he was trying to slow himself down, as not to overwhelm you. "I'm just glad you did."
He stood up then, taking in a deep breath through his nostrils and staring at the lake. "Can I be honest with you for a second?" He asked, and the breath caught in your throat. You laughed awkwardly, feeling your cheeks blush from your rising adrenaline.
"I thought you were always honest with me,"
"I am," He said sternly, turning to face you. "But I mean, brutally honest."
You paused. "Of course."
"I'm going to ramble, so just—stop me. If I'm being too anything." You nodded, astounded that he was fighting against his words spilling onto the floor. You'd never seen Benny so worked up about something on his mind, especially when it came to something that he wanted to tell you.
"I feel like for your first three months here, I didn't actually know you. I knew your name and your family and their history—I knew your father—but every time I tried to place my finger on you, I'd end up with nothing." He placed a hand to his forehead, trying to make sense of his own thoughts. "It was infuriating, to say the least."
Infuriating. You didn't know he'd felt that way about you.
"I wanted to know you—the same way that I know a chessboard is eight squares by eight and the Queen can move anywhere. I still want to know you; it's like every day I find out something I wasn't aware of and end up kicking myself because I didn't see it before,"
Your lip began to quiver. "I'm sorry—,"
"No, don't be sorry—," He said quickly, stepping toward you with wide-eyes. "That's not what I wanted to get across; you don't owe me any apologies whatsoever. I'm trying to say that I—," He paused, his eyes glued to your own. His lip curled into a smile. "I'm glad I feel like I know you, now. Like you've opened up, or let me in, or something."
You finally understood that it was odd for Benny to speak so freely like this, to let his words flow. You could tell he struggled with it, with placing his feelings into any kind of sentence. It was something you understood well—
And it only made that warm feeling in your gut grow evermore strong.
"Benny—,"
"I'm sorry if that came out all wrong," He laughed to himself; you could tell he felt vulnerable.
"It's—,"
"God I probably sound like an entitled prick." You didn't know how else to react to such human behaviour, other than wrapping your arms around his neck. He stopped talking immediately, allowing your head to settle in the nook between his neck and shoulder. When he wrapped his arms around your torso you closed your eyes.
Your smile was from ear to ear, your cheeks the brightest of reds, not that he could see them in the dim light. You felt how fast his heart was racing beneath his ribs and you wondered if his face was the same level of flushed, or even more so.
Benny Watts was an overthinker—
It was something you'd never even imagined he'd be until you were embracing him, hearing his incessant heartbeat finally beginning to calm down. As it did, he became less rigid, falling deeper into the hug.
When you pulled away, you thought he'd try and avoid your eye, but he didn't—
He looked right at you, exposed, out in the open, guts spilled all over the rug.
"Do you want a night-cap?" You said, almost patronisingly, as if he were a child who'd just said his first words. He took it light-heartedly, letting out a chuckle.
"Whiskey sounds good right about now."
You woke early, adrenaline still pumping through your veins after Benny's impromptu visit to your room the night before. Fresh snow coated the ground outside; the lake had frozen overnight.
You dressed casually, grabbing Wuthering Heights and choosing to sit on the windowsill in the living room, gazing out at the picturesque landscape surrounding Maude's cabin. A white blanket stretched for miles, making the world so incredibly bright that it was almost blinding to look at.
You sat and you read, not realising how fast the time had gone until Maude emerged from her room. She smiled at you, heading towards the kitchen. "Coffee?"
Benny and Matt later emerged into the living room, chatting away at their plans for the day. "Happy Thanksgiving everyone," Benny said enthusiastically, sending you a playful look. You were always stunned at how someone so wise and intelligent could look so boyish at certain moments in time—the way his eyes-widened and the grin spread across his face would make anyone think he were still just a boy.
You went back to your book, a half-drunk cup of coffee resting in your lap as you curled up on the sill. "Is there any more coffee?" Benny asked, sliding into a chair at the dining table. Matt picked up the empty pot with a smirk.
"You missed your chance," He said, chuckling to himself mischievously.
It was quiet for another minute as your eyes slid over the book pages, but that was disturbed when Benny approached, stealing the coffee right out of your lap and depositing himself down beside you.
"Hey—," You went to protest, but he'd already put his lips to the mug, taking a few large gulps. He handed you back the dregs, shuffling on the sill to slot his legs between the window your thighs, and leaned back, taking in the view. "I didn't want it anyway," You said sarcastically.
Maude clapped from the kitchen, alerting everyone. "The lake froze over last night, so that means you guys better get your skates on,"
"Are you sure you don't want some help prepping dinner, Maude?" You asked, but she only waved her hands at you in dismissal.
"Go skate—enjoy the ice. I've got everything under control."
It wasn't long after when the three of you were bundled up in coats and fluffy socks, penguin walking to the lake in your skates. You'd be lying if you said you weren't incredibly excited at being able to skate. Benny, however, looked less than enthused.
"We do this every year and somehow you still look like a deer in headlights, Watts!" Matt yelled, gliding onto the ice with ease. You stopped at the edge of the lake, looking back at Benny as he held onto a tree uncomfortably.
You stuck your hand out to him, cheeks flushed from the cold, sending him an encouraging smile. He paused to suck in a deep breath before taking your hand in his own, letting you guide him to the edge of the lake.
"Have you skated before?" He said, and you knew he was stalling.
"When I was younger. A friend from school was a competitive figure skater. I'd go to her practice sessions sometimes,"
"Are you any good?" He said curiously, raising his eyebrows innocently in genuine interest.
"Step on the ice with me and you'll see,"
Benny clutched onto your arm as you took your first step onto the ice, slowly guiding forward to give him some motion. You turned to face him, holding both his hands as you skated backwards, pulling him along with you.
"You're already going backwards," He huffed out, his breath curling around his face. "That's just not fair."
You tried not to laugh at his expense, but Matt didn't care. He skated over with ease, hooking his arm with Benny's and separating him from you. "I've got the kid, honey," He joked, tipping Benny's hat to see his face—he was positively enraged. "You go. I've got him for now,"
You smiled at Benny's pitiful look and went off on your own, making your way around the perimeter of the small lake. You glided smoothly as you rounded the corners, telling yourself to put one skate in front of the other and not to look down.
You closed your eyes, raising your arms to your sides and feeling the cold air whoosh all around you—
That's when you let out a yell—
Screaming to the sky as the cold invigorated your lungs and body, waking you up inside and out. You picked up speed after that, lowering your centre of gravity and placing your hands behind your back, going faster and faster until you whizzed past Benny and Matt, hair whipping behind you as you let out another freeing yell.
You straightened out, glancing back at the two boys as you slowed to a smoother pace.
"How the fuck are you good at everything!" Benny yelled, shaking his fists theatrically as Matt skated circles around him.
"I haven't spent my entire life inside playing chess!" You yelled back, smiling as you approached Benny and latched onto his arm to stop. "Come on, skate with me." You said, pulling Benny along behind you. He swapped your forearm for your hand as you both glided round a corner, sniffing as the cold air caused his nose to run.
You were patient as he got used to the skates, the ice, the motion of going forward and turning with ease.
"See? You're a fast learner, you've just gotta have faith sometimes."
"Faith is for five-year olds, and the elderly." He said sulkily. You inhaled, a thought coming to your mind.
"You put your faith in me, though," You said, facing forward and avoiding the stare that you knew he'd placed upon you. "Without you I probably would've never played chess."
"You don't need help with playing chess," He began, getting into a skating rhythm with you. "You just need to realise you're good at it."
You didn't reply, unknowing of what to say. Instead, you focused on picking up speed. Benny winced as you zoomed forward, tugging him along behind you until he found the momentum to be back by your side.
"Is there a chess board in the cabin?" You asked suddenly. Benny's eyes widened, and the next thing you knew his skate had caught on the ice, making him trip up immediately—
Bringing you down on top of him.
You both fell, landing with a thud as you continued to glide while not being on skates anymore.
When you'd stopped sliding, you were practically straddling the world champion, as he winced in pain at the burning cold on his fingers, his hat having been flown off his head in the crash. Your cheeks immediately flushed when he opened his eyes, staring at you as you sat on his lap.
Matt died right then and there, laughing so hard he almost fell over himself.
"I— I'm sorry— fuck," You stuttered out, finding grip with your skates to try and get yourself up.
Benny only pulled you back down, keeping you in place on top of him.
"Say that again." He said sternly.
"I'm sorry?" You let out, your eyebrows furrowed with a mixture of confusion and mass embarrassment.
"About the chess board."
You stayed still, feeling him inhale and exhale beneath you. "I want to play."
Benny sent you his classic smirk. You would have found it charming if you weren't on top of him.
"Then let's play."
The afternoon went by in a whirlwind of black and white. You played Matt first, beating him in less than two dozen moves. He didn't look disappointed though—he'd basically accepted his defeat as soon as he'd sat down to compete against you.
"Did you win?" Maude said, rushing over to your set up on the living room floor, whipping cream in a bowl tucked beneath her arm.
"That was just a warm-up," Matt said, sending you an admiring smile. "You haven't even seen her at her best yet."
You rolled your eyes at him, but you couldn't deny that you felt good. It was nice to stretch your fingers and mind again, without twenty pairs of college student eyes staring down your every move. Instead, you had a world champion peering over your shoulder, trying to read your mind.
When Benny sat opposite you, your adrenaline kicked in involuntarily.
There was something about his stare when he was behind a chess board—it was almost predatorial. Benny Watts was a king with a pawn, a rook, a bishop, and he knew he was. It only made him more dangerous.
You could see him kicking himself for still not figuring out your methods. He couldn't see the story as it unfolded inside your head—neither could you, until the pieces were laid out before you. It was something that just seemed to click, as soon as you saw a board. It would simply come to you—and you'd know immediately where to move.
On a few occasions, you'd simply been lucky. As Benny analysed your games the more you played, you could see the cogs slowly whirring faster and faster behind his eyes. You knew that he was going to try everything to catch you out, as soon as he placed his hand over the clock starter.
"Shall we place bets this time?" He proposed. Matt raised his brows playfully.
"Ma—who do you bet on to win?"
"Oh!" Maude exclaimed from the kitchen. She fussed about, finishing what she was doing, before bounding over to the living room and sitting on the couch armrest. "We're betting, are we?"
"You know me, Maude," Benny said, and she only sighed, as if she'd had this conversation with him hundreds of times.
"I bet on Benny to win," Maude said, and you found yourself smiling at her with slight hurt. She raised her brow at you. "No one beats my son and gets away with it, I'm afraid."
"I've been getting away with it for ten years," Benny said smugly. Matt smacked him in the chest once, just for good measure.
"I bet on Y/N, because I know she's gonna whoop your ass," Matt said matter-of-factly.
"Okay—ten dollars each way," Benny said, rubbing his hands together. You rolled your eyes at him.
"You're a child, Benny Watts."
"A child who's about to beat you." A second of silence, and then Benny slammed his hand down on the clock—
It began.
And then it was over—
And you and Matt were ten dollars richer.
Benny didn't sulk—he never did—but you could feel the heat radiating from him as he scanned the end board for the fiftieth time. It had crossed your mind a few times that you could simply let him win—but you had a feeling that would enrage him.
It was offensive, to put yourself in a position of losing, just so he could take the win. He would've seen through you quicker than he'd fallen over on the ice.
Matt and Maude travelled to the kitchen to finish dinner, while you stayed cross-legged, just waiting for Benny to come back to reality.
"How do you do it?" He whispered, his eyes plastered on the fallen king. "I can't read you—not like I can read Harmon or Borgov. You're a blank piece of paper."
You thought about telling him about the way you played—the way the story in your mind guided you to victory after victory. You hadn't always had the ability, no—it had come with years of observation, of seeing the game played before you, of having the chance of playing taken away from you with every win your father gained.
You were nervous as to how Benny would take it. His mind worked in numbers and figures, in squares and pieces. Yours worked in narrative, an ever-evolving story happening right in front of you with every piece you moved.
You knew the methods—the plays—the gambits, the levels, the defences. That was all ingrained within you. When it came to playing, it was a reflex.
When Benny looked up at you, you crumbled inside.
His eyes were so wide, craving an explanation. You could see how much he wanted it. It broke you slightly, knowing that you'd made him question everything he knew about the game—
You wouldn't dare tell him that was how you felt, though. That was even worse than apologising for winning; than letting him win.
"It just comes to me," You started, and he was hooked onto your every word. "It's like an out of body experience, where the pieces know their move, and I'm simply a conduit." You thought he'd laugh, maybe tell you what bullshit that was, but his face softened. "I imagine they're alive, the pieces—," You pointed at his taken Bishop. "In this game, your Bishop betrayed the King. He spoke the false word of a god, and he was banished to the wastelands, where he was killed by a beggar." You moved to point at one of your pawns still on the board—the piece that had taken his own.
Benny only listened. He didn't tell you it was stupid, or wrong, or childish—he cared. You were thrown back to what Maude had said the previous evening, and you knew that no matter what, Benny would always listen to what you had to say.
"How?" He repeated. "How does it just—come to you? I don't understand."
"Neither do I, truthfully."
Benny smiled. "You're like her, like Harmon," He uncrossed his legs, leaning against the couch. "She told me that if she looks at the ceiling, she can see the game happen right before her very eyes. She makes a board up there, and the pieces just move."
"Beth's a World Champion for a reason," You said, thinking back to how it'd felt when you'd heard she'd won against Borgov.
"You could be one. A World Champion." When you looked at Benny, his eyes were already plastered on you. "You beat me over and over like it's the easiest game of chess you've ever played. You beat Beth—I wish you could remember it," He smiled, remembering the game inside his head. "It was probably the best game of chess I've ever seen."
You looked at your hands as an excuse not to look at him.
You weren't used to being complimented, especially about chess of all things. It felt like you weren't in the room, like someone else was accepting all of your praise for you—
It made you feel sad.
It made you feel angry.
And you couldn't understand why.
"Right! Enough competitiveness," Maude boomed. "Dinner is ready and it's Thanksgiving, so we must eat more than we've eaten this entire year,"
"And drink," Matt added, waving a bottle of red wine in the air joyously.
"And drink." Maude repeated.
After you'd all piled your plates high, Maude grabbed Matt's hand. "This is my favourite part," She said, shrugging her shoulders with enthusiasm. Matt took Benny's hand from across the table as you grabbed hold of Maude's in your own.
Benny gave you a gentle look as he held out his hand. You took it, looking away from him quickly, ignoring the warmth spreading in your chest.
"I am a thankful for this," Maude began, shooting everyone a smile. "I'm thankful for the food we eat, for my son and his wildly handsome friend," Benny winked at Maude; Matt immediately frowned. "And, for a new face joining us this year, and hopefully the next." Maude shook your hand as she finished, you squeezed hers back.
Matt cleared his throat. "I am also thankful for this, for my cocky best-friend who's in need of a shave, and for being beaten by a brilliant chess player."
"You didn't have to mention me twice, Matthew," Benny said, smirk stamped on his face. Matt kicked him under the table quickly.
"Right—okay," Benny began. After seeing how he'd tried to talk sense with his feelings before, you had no idea how this was going to go. "I am thankful for—well, a lot of things, I suppose," He said, starting to ramble. You squeezed his hand encouragingly, causing him to face you. He smiled, calming himself down. "But mostly, I'm thankful for where we are right now, and who I'm with. I'm thankful for the people I know I can count on if things ever go wrong," He shot a smile at Maude and Matt in turn. "Or if they don't."
Three pairs of eyes landed on you in unison, and you felt your heart inflate under your rib cage. You had so much to be thankful for, but you had no idea what to begin with. You had no idea how to put it into words.
You settled on something within your mind that you knew would make some eyes widen, but you thought that was the point.
"I'm thankful for chess," You said, and just like you'd known, Matt and Benny's eyebrows raised instantly. "Without it, I would have never met Benny," You didn't dare meet his eyes. "And without Benny, I would have never met Matt, and without Matt, Maude," You sucked in a deep breath, forcing yourself to look up, even if it only meant staring at the wall. "Without chess, my father wouldn't have been the man he was."
A comfortable silence fluttered over the table.
And for once, you felt proud of yourself.
"Not bad, for your first Thanksgiving, y'know?" Matt spoke up jokingly. You accepted his smile with one of your own right back at him. "Now, we feast like kings."
Matt and Maude wasted no time tucking in as you went to pick up your fork.
You didn't even notice that Benny's fingers were still intertwined with yours until he circled his thumb over your knuckles. Slowly, gently, one by one, dipping in and out of the groves, until he went back to the beginning again—
It was the same rhythm he'd adopted when he'd brushed his fingertips through your hair.
You glanced at him, holding your fork in one hand. He was doing the same, acting like it was normal for two people to keep holding hands for the duration of a Thanksgiving meal. You could imagine his response if you'd ever ask why he'd kept such a tight hold on you—
"It's a Thanksgiving tradition. Didn't you know that?"
You got comfort from the fact that he was obviously comfortable himself; that he intended to keep a hold on you for as long as he could, where it was a novelty, and not an intimacy.
Benny held your hand for the entire meal, only daring to separate his grasp from you when you left the table to have a cigarette outside in the fresh air.
You grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around you as the cold seeped through everything it touched—
But you hardly felt it—
You could still feel Benny's hand, keeping you warm.