(A/N: I'm having this chapter stray from the original story so that the Bella/Ben arc can get more attention. Hope you don't mind that! This will also be a sort of mini-flashback bc I'm running out of ideas for the Roa/Autumn arc)
THIRD PERSON, LIMITED TO BEN:
He doesn't know how they do it. Autumn's only reason for not falling was because she and Roa had firm grasps on the other's forearm. The crowd watched them with widened eyes and didn't breathe until the music started playing again. The screams of delight overwhelmed me, drowning my prayers for their safety. If either one makes the smallest mistake, Roa could let go and Autumn plummet to her death.
No wonder all these people are here— the thrill of seeing these two lovers dancing on the thinnest railings and no safety net. Speaking of safety net, some days Ben worries about Roa's heart in the hands of Autumn. Her past suitors have called her the softest prison to be trapped in— all her lovers blissfully, beautifully unaware before she eats them alive. Of course, not literally; they say she has her pet do that for her.
Then Autumn made the dumbest decision she'll ever make in all the thousands of years he'll end up knowing her. She jumped off the railing, the audience cries going from of entertainment to fear. Roa grabbed the railing, the two of them dangling from the highest tower of the palace. The microphone they clip on their hair was never so useful.
"My love, what are you doing?" Roa whispered almost harshly to Autumn, his voice going almost unheard through even the loudest speakers the kingdom would use to hear these performances.
"Trust me dear, let go."
"If you're saying that, it makes me trust you even less."
Autumn got her way, letting go of Roa's sweating hand and falling with the same grace as her dances. The rush to her rescue was worse than a Taylor Swift concert— the gasps in unison as she ascended just as fast as she fell. Ben completely forgot she could fly, like the moron he was. But over the cheers, he managed to hear the groans of an injured civilian. She wasn't from here, maybe a few planets away from home, but what mattered is that she was hurt and needed help.
"Miss, you're bleeding."
"Yes, I can see that; from various places, even."
He sighed, picking her up and walking nonchalantly to the nearest healer's office. Someone else would guess that it's just another day in the life, but this was the first time he was helping such a pretty girl. She leaned into his chest and traced over it with her finger, breathing deeply and shallow at the same time.
"Might as well ask what my rescuer's name is," She said, voice raspy and cracking. "It'll help me when I'm doing my next random thing."
"Benjamin, but just Ben works fine, too."
"Well then, you can call me Bella."
The rest of the walk was done in silence until we ran into an idealist healer's tent. Luckily, he knew her well enough that she wouldn't question anything he brought in. Anymore, that is. He lifted the flap and set Bella down on the lounge.
"Looks like you're back— and so soon, too."
"Hi again, Danielle."
She was a blonde woman in an unbelievably tight dress, probably going clubbing again later. She immediately perked up in seeing Bella lying down on the chair.
"I see, the princess had another show with our good pal Roa. She'll be fine— the cuts aren't too deep and the bruises aren't too bad. Just gotta disinfect her and everything is going to be alright." She said, taking out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.
"Just summon me when you're done, and I'll have her rest at my place." Ben tried leaving as she grabbed his arm. Looking back at her, she was on the verge of tears. Face dirty and red and left so vulnerable to the world around her, she only whispered one sentence.
"Please don't leave me."
He sighed, sitting back down and grabbing her hand. Why'd she have to look so easy to trust? Like a drug that someone would get addicted to just by looking at her for a split second. She looked like the kind of person that someone would see in their dreams, the kind of dream that would make anyone lose their grip on reality over how beautiful she was. Something in her was screaming at him, like her brain had claimed its glory over her.
She looked like she knew what someone would mean saying to bite the hand that feeds her, love the sinner and hate the sin. It was heart wrenching to hear her shallow breathing, the quiet shudders and shivers. Ben figured he'd stay and at least get to know her, if not just for her comfort, than to ease his own nerves.
"Do you like poetry?" Ben asked, watching her eyes light up at the question.
"I love it. To read it, to write it, to let myself enter a world that's mine and completely different than mine, to look into others' inner turmoils and see my reflection. It's wonderful, isn't it?" She sighed, leaning into the pillow of her cot. "Of course, no one else I know wants to admit that poetry really is an art. I wouldn't be surprised if you were one of them."
He thought for a little bit about what she said. She wasn't wrong, after all— poetry and art are more alike than people give it credit for. Heck, when the Olympics had a section dedicated to the fine arts, poetry was one of the competitions. It's crazy how everything worked like that— art was seen as an equal to physical sport until it wasn't. He looked at her again.
"Hey, Bella. Would you mind if I asked you a question?" He asked, his hands still intertwined in hers.
"Hit me." She said, using her other hand to draw random shapes in the air. He looked away, before looking back at her.
"Lots of people I've met over the years tell me about a bittersweet feeling they've had at least once in their lives— a longing, if you will. For a home that they can't go back to, but not because it's shunned them, rather they can't go back because it that wasn't real to begin with. Is there a word, or maybe a metaphor or something? I wanna feel a bit smarter and know how to answer them." Ben said, looking the other way as he finished his sentence, taking off his heavy cloak and folding it on his lap. Bella thought for a second, her hand now resting on her stomach.
"Hiraeth. It's Welsh, but means exactly what you told me about. But the way you describe it, a homesickness for a home that you can't go back to because it isn't real. I like that. I'll need to write that down," She said, smiling at him. "I think we're going to be friends."
"Best friends?"
"Best friends."
(Word count: 1164)
YOU ARE READING
What Was Your Name?
RomantikI can't remember anything. All I recall is my name. I want to know who my visitor is to me. They seem kind and ready to help. Maybe I'll remember through the silly stories told by his fond smile.
