𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 - 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚗

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚘𝚗𝚎

When the morning sun came beating through the curtains, Florence was buried under thin bed sheets that had been crumpled due to either her movements or Benedict's. She groaned as the sun invaded her sleeping peace and blinded her even through the sheets, she eventually grew tiresome with the ever blasting heat rays and threw them off her before whacking her hand down wickedly on her forehead.

Florence heard a slight chuckle from next to her and whipped around to face it, and smiled like a fool at the sight of a laughing Benedict whilst trying to sit up straight. And he smiled brightly back at her.

"How long have you been awake, and watching me?" Florence accused, Benedict kept flashing her his iconic smile whilst watching her, he saw her mouth move but was focused solely on her and not her words. However, she soon grew impatient with no reply, so instead Florence threw herself down onto the bed with some force, causing Benedict's eyes to tear away from her.

"What even happened yesterday?" Florence muttered, Benedict didn't look at her, knowing if he did his lips would spill his untold secret and he'd prefer to have those unsaid words to turn stale on his tongue rather than them being poisoned by an unpleasant reaction.

"I mean, I know how I got here but in general, it's all a blur."

Florence is sighing whilst staring upwards at the ceiling, they have never been more interesting to her before then. Benedict stops raising his head on his palm and lies beside her, and his hand travels downwards to loop his fingers with hers, she allows it but pulls his hand to her mouth and plants a kiss on it, when she pulls away his hand tingles with the way her lips had caressed the skin, and the way her hot breath set his whole skin on fire with his desire for her, it makes him unravel. She can twist and torture him into spilling all his desires and secrets no matter her likeliness to it. She rises that buried confession of his and even her touch sets him crazy.

"Flo," He whispers in a shaky tone, one that he himself didn't notice, Florence picked up on that immediately, she turned her head to him, addressing him and unfortunately dropping their linked fingers and deflating his hand lowly to the bed. She nods, urging him on.

"I love you, you know that. It's unwavering, my affections, you will truly be the only ever woman for me, God created you especially for me but besides you I have passions that don't manifest into anything I can balance with you, and that's not me saying I want to be rid of you but I have received a letter explaining my newly accepted place at a renowned art centre." He gasps it all out and doesn't delight in how fast Florence's face steels and hardens, he cannot read her, if she's upset, he can't see that but he'll need to know if she is.

"Oh," Is all Florence can manage to utter. I'm withchild is at the front of her lips, fighting against a closed stubborn mouth to stay vital, she swallows them done, unsaid words are unsaid for a reason, if Benedict is happy, then so is she.

"But what about us? What does this mean?" Florence speaks.

Benedict swallows, "I don't think our engagement would be wise as my place requires me so far away from you, I think a we-"

Florence cuts him off, allowing him no room to continue his thought.

"I'm such a fool!" Florence exclaims, and Benedict's face falls, "Did you have your fun? Exploiting me? You're kukhuvud (dickhead) making me believe you would've wanted me as your wife! Dumhuvud (moron)!"