#either way it would be the most pompous and annoying sweater ever. Which is my brand

[softly-and-suddenly]

How do I tell the nice lady at the yarn store that I’m learning how to knit in pursuit of the ultimate goal of designing a sweater that has a dead albatross hanging down on the front of it and says “'God save thee, ancient Mariner! / From the fiends, that plague thee thus!— / Why look'st thou so?” On the back? Time sensitive question pls respond

[the-blind-assassin-12]

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like... (part one)

A/N: Day Two of the 12 Days of Christmas Fics featuring my first foray into writing for Benjamin and even though writing for him makes me nervous, I decided to go all in and take the three requests I got for this sugarplum, and string ‘em together into one big holiday mess. Starting off with the prompts from @suchatinyinfinity​ WHO IS CELEBRATING A BIRTHDAY TODAY!! Happy Birthday Dani! Hope you had a great day lovely!! 

Word Count: 2,928

Prompt From: @suchatinyinfinity​ 

“Don’t you dare throw that snowball at me. I’m warning you!” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.” 

**here goes nothin!**

With a final heave, you cleared the last of the snow from the driveway, tossing it off to the side before you stuck your shovel into the sizable pile that you’d created. It had finally stopped snowing after three days of consistent flurries, the airy, dry flakes floating down like icy glitter, and amounting to much more than was predicted. You were caught off guard entirely by the storm, having only ever gotten this much snow in December once before, and after you’d finished panicking that the loss of time would cut into the to do list for the Christmas Eve party you’d be hosting, you’d actually found it quite lovely.

It had taken nearly an hour longer to get home on Wednesday night due to the weather, nearly doubling your commute from London, which felt like triple as your mother’s chiding tone filled your head. You know, most of your work is in London. Your family’s in London. It would make more sense for you to move back, really. You tightened your white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, your thick mittens slipping over the leather covering. Thanks but no thanks, mum. You thought to yourself, imagining the horror of surprise pop-over visits and the pressure for you to reciprocate them if you lived just a short tube ride away. You loved London, for all its culture and history. You’d grown up there, gone to school there, University, too. But when your first internship took you out to a church in the shore suburb of Southend-On-Sea to help restore an old bronze relief, you quickly learned that you also loved the slower pace and quirky charm that the town had to offer.

Before your tenure with that first job was through, you’d found a place to rent and followed the whim of your gut. You continued to commute into London 4 days a week, traveling as needed when your work took you to Leeds or Liverpool or any other corner of the UK, renting the same cottage all along until last year when the landlord sold it to you for a price that you couldn’t pass up. It was the only place you’d ever lived outside of your parent’s house, and now it was officially your home. Even crawling over the ice covered roads through this storm at a snail’s pace couldn’t keep the swell of pride from your heart or the smile from your face when you thought about how hard you’d worked for what you had. That feeling grew as it got closer and closer to Christmas- your first since the house belonged to you, the first one that you’d host your family for. The first one with Benjamin.

You’d already accepted that your great love affair  would be with your career; that your passion wouldn’t be placed with a person, and the love that you had in your heart would be poured generously into the carvings and sculptures that you painstakingly restored. You were independant and you enjoyed being so, able to come and go without limitations, no one to complain about your long hours or about the lack of time you were spending with their family. So when you met Benjamin, you weren’t looking for him, and honestly he wasn’t looking for you either. 

You were starting a new restoration in a library in London, a painted dome ceiling in the research room that depicted a deep navy sky full of silvery stars, constellations and celestial designs swirling overhead. After the library’s development director and the chairman of the restoration committee had given you the run down on the project, you’d asked to be allowed to spend some time studying the artwork. You liked to get acquainted with your work before you started digging. It helped you better understand what needed to be done, let you know what areas would need special attention. They’d agreed happily, nodding and shaking your hand, thanking you for taking on the work, astounded that you said you’d be done and out of their hair in just over a week. Once the door had clicked closed behind them, you slipped your shoes from your feet and climbed atop one of the long mahogany reading tables, laying on your back gazing up at the indoor sky. 

I’ll need a sample of the plaster. You made mental notes of your observations, taking stock of what you’ll need to do to get started. Some paint chips so I can mix color to match. I’ll have to even out the- You sat straight up as the sound of the closed door opening pierced the silence followed by two hard soled shoes slapping the marble floor. Swinging your legs over the side of the table, you turned to face the door and the stranger that had just interrupted your prep list. “This room’s closed for-” 

“Restoration?” He finished your sentence for you, adjusting his glasses so that they perfectly framed the spark in his dark eyes. “I know. Well, they’ve been talking about it for ages. I think I finally convinced them to get on with it when I brought them the piece of plaster that landed in my lap last week.” He smiled, stepping up to the table next to the one that you ocupied, setting his bag down and draping his jacket over the back of one of the chairs. “I made them promise that they’d let me work while the restoration was going on, and they said it would be fine so long as I cleared it with the restorer.”  Rolling up the sleeves of his tan sweater, he leaned casually against the table, eyes sharply focused on you. “I’m Benjamin, by the way.” 

You crossed your arms, slightly annoyed by the attitude of entitlement. What, does he think he’s the only arse to ever write a research paper? Special permission from the librarians...and now I’m the bad guy if I say no. You told him your name and that it was fine as long as he didn’t touch anything and stayed out of your way. 

“You won’t even know I’m here,” he insisted, a grin pushing the tops of his cheeks up into his eyes. 

And for the most part, that was true. You an Benjamin had worked in peaceful silence for the first three days, only breaking it with a “Good morning,” or a “see you tomorrow, then.” He’d come in and set himself up at one of the tables before disappearing into the stacks and not coming back out until his arms were full of titles that he hoped held the references that he could use to prove his thesis. Then he’d skim through them, searching each tome and typing up notes on a laptop that looked older than some of the books he was surrounded by. When the stack on his tabled had dwindled, he’d dive back into the sea of information to pull out more pearls. Taking a break around noon for lunch, he’d be back in less than half an hour, back at it and armed with a cup of tea. 

You would get there before him, climb the scaffolding that your team had sent over, and arrange the tools that you’d be using that day. Spatulas and brushes of all sizes, chisels and hammers, paints, plasters and adhesives laid out before you for easy access. You’d know Benjamin was there when you heard the door open, and he’d know you were there from the metallic clanging of tools and the dull scraping of caked on residue. By the third day you’d cleared most of the damaged surface of the mural, leaving large portions of the ceiling exposed and unpainted. I’ll start the base layers tomorrow. Cleaning your tools, you dangled your legs over the edge of the scaffolding, looking down at the library and the only other person in it. You’d expected him to be pompous and cocky after he basically demanded access to a closed section of the library. But as you watched him more closely you realized that he was just dedicated to his work, to learning and to absorbing as much knowledge as was possible, and that was something that you understood and respected. So when he invited you out to grab dinner with him on day four- “Not a date or anything. You can pay for yourself and all, just,” You’d laughed at his offer to let you buy your own damn meal and he shrugged. “People need to eat, right?” - You’d said yes and actually found his conversation as enjoyable as his silence. 

You weren’t looking for Benjamin in the patterns of the painting that you were bringing back to life. He wasn’t searching for your name among the millions of words that he scanned. But somehow you’d found one another despite having both closed yourselves off to anything but your work and accomplishments. Four days turned into ten, the two of you sharing dinner three more times before your contract was finished. You’d continued to meet up with him when you were in London for work, and eventually, just as unexpectedly as you found him, you found yourself in a relationship with him- one that worked because he wasn’t jealous of your career and you weren’t sick of hearing about his endless research topics. 

He’d been hesitant at first, sharing that he’d just been through a divorce and that he certainly didn’t want another one. You’d shared just the opposite- a severe lack of any long term or meaningful relationship to draw experience from. “We’re genuine rubbish at this, aren't we?” He posed the question through a smile that lit his whole face, and you agreed with a laugh that he cut short with a kiss. When the last four months of his lease ran out, he left his flat in the city and moved in with you, insisting on splitting all household costs evenly despite your considerably larger salary. You knew that money and the fact that he’d been accused of using his ex-wife for hers played a role in the destruction of his marriage, so you understood his need to put those accusations to rest before they could crop up again. He’s protecting this. You appreciated the proactive move, even though he’d already shown you in plenty of ways that he was only interested in you. Truthful and honest, and all in due, natural time. That’s how it was, learning Benjamin; when he was ready, he’d show you another piece of himself, the way the pieces you worked on slowly revealed their original beauty. 

You were good for one another, and happy together, supporting the other’s endeavors, nurturing thought and becoming the best, strongest, most complete versions of yourselves. “All I had to do to find you was give up on romance entirely,” he joked one night as he held you close in the dark. 

You playfully smacked his arm, his chest rumbling with laughter beneath you.“Oh, just what any woman wants to hear right after-“ 

He brushed the hair away from your ear and pressed his lips to your skin. “I wish I’d have thrown in the towel sooner.” 

That was roughly two weeks ago, and the precise moment that you knew that you loved him. But the next morning you were leaving for work, and you didn’t want to drop that word and walk away from it, from him, so you held onto it as tightly as you held onto the steering wheel upon your return home. The light by the door flicked on as your tires crunched over the gravel, and before you’d put the car in Park he appeared on the front step. Hi, B. You smiled, already feeling some of the tension built up from the drive leaving your body. You saw him stoop down, assuming that he was fixing his boot, and you gathered your things and got out of the car. 

“Hey, you, welcome home,” he said, arms folded behind his back. “I missed you.” 

“Missed you too, Benjamin.” His cheeks twitched when you said his name, like they always did. You sighed, adjusting the shoulder strap and swiped a snowflake away from your eyelashes. “I’m glad to be home. That was such a stressful drive. The roads are terrible, and all I could think about was how much I still need to do before Christmas Eve.” You hadn’t noticed that he was walking towards you, focused instead on the fact that yours was one of the only houses without lights yet. “We have to do the lights and all the baking and the indoor decorations and-” 

“I took care of some of the decorations inside,” he said, surprising you. “You know, lights on the banister and,” he shrugged. “Relax, we’ll get everything done. I promise. Soon as this snow stops we’ll get the lights up and,” he was finally close enough to touch you, and he reached for your waist to drag you closer. Your foot hit a patch of ice obscured by the fresh powder and you felt yourself slipping when his arm tightened. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” he said as you clung to him. But as sturdy as his words were, they couldn’t help the fact that you were going down. “Not without me right behind you anyway,” he laughed, wrapping you up so that he took the brunt of the fall, cushioned by the snow. You joined in, feeling the remaining tension disappear. 

“How do you do that, Benjamin, hmm?” You kissed the corner of his eye, the skin crinkling under your lips. “How do you make me feel better so easily?” 

He swallowed, eyes dancing over your face to read every change in your expression. “It’s because I... “ He pulled you fully onto his chest before he continued. “It’s because I love you.” 

The night twinkled above you as snow fell in your hair and on your clothes, covering trees and shrubs, sidewalks and streets. But you were warm from head to toe as you saw the love he spoke about swimming in his eyes. “I love you, too,” you told him, so happy that you’d waited until you got home. Worth the wait. 

He pulled you into a kiss that felt different from any other. You could taste the word love on his tongue and feel it in the way that his body responded to yours, hips and shoulders, arms and chest. When you finally pulled back from lack of oxygen, you sat up and started to extend your arm to help him off the ground and into a hug, when you saw him cock his arm back, a compact white ball in his hand. It hadn’t been his boot he was stopping down for earlier. He’d armed himself with a snowball, carrying it over and dropping it right next to himself before hitting the ground with you. Sneaky trickster. 

“Benjamin,” you warned, the serious tone hard to hold from the happiness that you felt. “Don’t you dare throw that snowball at me.” His devilish grin only grew. “I’m warning you,” you scooted backwards, scooping up a ball of your own. “Don’t start a war now.” 

He smiled and narrowed his eyes before tossing the snowball behind him. It landed with a soft thud in the snow. “Nah,” he said, standing up and brushing himself off before reaching down to help you up. His hands wrapped around yours. “We’ve got too much to do,” he pulled you closer and pressed his lips to your ear, like he did the last night you’d spent together. “And you said you love me, so,” without warning he changed his level and picked you up over his shoulder. “I think that’s a conversation worth continuing.” He set you down laughing on the front porch. “I think we should continue it upstairs.” He leaned in again, nose brushing yours as he took your face between his palms and kissed you. “In bed.” 

Three days of bad weather kept you out of the cold and in one another’s arms, basking in that shift in your relationship, the one that neither of you wanted, expected, or thought possible. You finished the decorations, Benjamin’s arms never too far from your waist during the day, the two of you curled in the window seat with separate books at night. On the third day, the sun finally came out to shine on the facets of frozen wonder that blanketed the world around you, and the two of you grabbed your shovels to clear the walkways and areas that you’d need to access in order to hang the outdoor decorations. Sticking your shovel into that pile of snow you’d cleared, you took a breath, watching Benjamin clear the pathway that lead to the garage. It was still the same house, the same garage and the same pathways. It was the same home you’d had for years. But now Benjamin was a solid part of that home, of your life. You tried not to get too far ahead of yourself. There was still plenty for the two of you to learn about one another. But you knew that Benjamin was a smart man, and you knew he didn’t throw words away like trash. If he said love, he felt love, simple and easy as that. He waved over to you with one gloved hand, the other still holding the handle of his shovel. You beamed and waved back at him. I can’t wait to learn more about you, B.  

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