AN: Hi. For the fact I got confused about Matt and Mike (the twins from Beth's high school) being Benny's friends (Hilton Wexler, etc.), the Matt and Mike in this fic are original characters. Sorry!

After the funeral, your mother went to stay with her sister, leaving you at the family house. You had your own place a drive away, but your lease was almost done anyway.

You had plans to go to university in New York City; you'd be leaving in just under a month. But instead of packing and planning, you were sorting through your father's will.

He'd asked for certain people to be called and read what he'd written for them. You spent the days after the funeral calling up old chess players, friends, acquaintances, and reading your father's last words to them—

It was hellish.

It wasn't something that a daughter should ever have to do, but still, you pushed on.

You couldn't put this on your mother—she wouldn't have been able to handle it in the slightest.

You sighed as you hung up yet another call, your emotional stability crumbling by the second. You only had one more phone call to make, but it was one you'd been dreading from the very beginning.

You quickly ran to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of red wine and uncorking it aggressively. You took a few large gulps, breathing heavily as you looked back at the phone, laid on the ground, surrounded by various papers and letters sprawled across the floor haphazardly.

You had no idea why your father specified to call, instead of just sending a letter. That would have certainly made your job easier—

But you were on the final one. Just one more to go.

You sat on the carpet and picked up the note you were meant to recite. You read it through three times over, gulping at wine as you did so.

You inhaled deeply, before grabbing the phone and placing it between your shoulder and cheek and punching in the telephone number.

It dialled four times before he picked up.

"Yeah?"

"Benny," You said, and the line went silent, nothing but white noise piercing your ears, until he finally spoke.

"Y/N, hi," He said, but you could tell his heart had just dropped. "How are you? I mean—what a shit question, but—how are you?" You let out a shaky breath.

"I've been better," You let out. You didn't want to stall this. "Look, my father left something for you in his will."

"Right, okay," Benny said, trying to comprehend your words.

"I'm gonna read it out for you, okay?"

"Okay," He replied, but you could tell he was frozen. You took another gulp of wine before you began, too anxious to have this over and done with.

"He added this a week after the tournament in Jacksonville, in 1956."

Benny was silent. You pressed on.

"He writes to you, 'Never before has a teenager made me fumble like that. Those seven hours of play was one of the greatest games of chess I've ever played. Thank you, Benny Watts. Don't stop playing.'"

Benny stayed silent. You didn't blame him at all.

As you breathed in and out, you felt your stomach begin to crawl up your throat. Your eyes began to water, your brow began to sweat. You tried desperately to stop yourself from letting out a cry, yell, wail—

But this was all too much, now.

"So, that's it," You said, quickly, determined not to break down. Benny didn't speak for another minute, only when you asked for him. "Benny?"

"Yeah, I'm here," You let out a relieved breath you hadn't realised you'd been holding. "Thank you—uh, I'm sure it hasn't been fun doing this."

"You could say that again." You replied, your break down subsiding. The tension began to ease as you listened to Benny's breaths on the other end of the line. You gulped down some more wine, feeling slightly tipsy after this entire ordeal.

Benny cleared his throat. "Look, if you're ever in New York, Y/N, don't be a stranger."

You could have told him you were moving to New York City in a month. You could have asked if he wanted to grab a coffee after you'd settled. You could have done anything other than what you actually replied.

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

But you didn't—

Benny was a chess player. Benny was part of your father's world.

It was a world that had pained you for a while, but now?

It was agonising.

You hung up the phone, sitting in silence as you tried to feel some sort of relief from getting all the calls done, but all that came to you was a numbness.

It floated through the air in the house, obscuring the chess books, the collection of boards in the sideboard by the dining table and any other semblance of your father. His photos, his suits, his toothbrush—

None of it felt real anymore.

You didn't want to think of it as real, because if you did, that would just cement what had actually happened—

Your father died of a heart attack, before he got to play his final game of professional chess, without knowing that, perhaps, you could one day have beaten him.

Instead, you allowed that numbness to flow throughout the house, into his belongings, his memories, his presence. You let it flow into your body, covering all your memories of him that were good, or hateful, or selfish—

And then you stood. And you drank.

And you forgot the last two weeks had ever happened.

-

It only settled in your mind that you'd be living in New York City when you first sat on the plane.

You'd been to America multiple times to see your father's games, but this was different. You'd found a small apartment, close to your university. It was yours, and yours alone.

You were already thinking about how you were going to fill it with books, plants, good art. How you'd sit out on the fire escape and drink a coffee, or smoke a cigarette. How this was the beginning of something new; a clean slate.

You'd got a scholarship studying English Literature at Columbia for four years, and you were determined to do well—

You had to do well. Otherwise, what was the point?

By the end of your first week, you started to feel more settled. The university was a maze to navigate at first, but as you got more familiar with its winding hallways, you felt more prepared. You'd even made a few friends from your classes.

"It's Kayden's twenty-third this weekend. We're going to Monte's," Amanda, a girl from your class, said while you sat in the library. Kayden studied engineering; they'd gone to high school together.

Amanda was blonde and perfect, with round, gold rimmed glasses that sat atop her nose. She was sweet and loved to gossip.

"Monte's?" You asked, folding the corner of your book page.

"It's a club, on 47th Street. They do the best cocktails," Amanda was practically grinning from ear to ear. "Wanna come? Your first night out in New York City, baby!" Amanda called everyone baby. It was something you were getting used to.

"I could use a fun night. Kayden won't mind me coming along?"

"Not if you're invited by me," Amanda replied. "Besides, some of Kayden's other friends are coming along. Everyone wants to meet you, anyway. We don't get many Brits in our friend group,"

You couldn't help but smile at that.

Since you'd landed in New York City, every cab driver or store clerk you'd spoken to had all commented upon your accent. It was charming, sometimes annoying, but mostly a bit of fun.

You were excited to finally be relaxing. Moving had been exhausting, and the weeks before that had been even more so. Some part of you felt guilty for leaving your mother behind, but she insisted you still go.

When you looked around places in New York City, you didn't get hit with small memories of your father, or constantly bombarded by the image of his face in your mind. It wasn't like back home; it was somewhere free to explore, to grow—

To move on.

To forget, in peace.

That's what was going through your mind when you got off the Subway at 47th Street that Saturday, arm in arm with Amanda.

She wore a pink pinafore over a striped jumper. Large earrings dangled from her lobes and her shoes clicked on the floor every time she took a step. This was a world you'd never known until now, and when you looked at your own outfit you felt underdressed, wearing only black denim jeans and a random off-the-shoulder top that you'd found while unpacking.

Amanda chatted all the way to Monte's, her purse swinging by her side along with her gleeful strides. There was a line outside the club, but Amanda dragged you right to the front, teeth shining beneath her lipstick as she smiled at the bouncer.

He let you in immediately, smiling back at Amanda as she dragged you inside.

You laughed to yourself as Amanda let you go, rushing towards Kayden's table. You took a breath as your eyes soaked up the club—it was all bright lights and beer mats, a full disco-style dance floor was down a flight of stairs. The bar was up top, with bar tenders pouring more pints and shots than you'd ever seen.

Being raised in a family where chess was everything didn't leave you with many opportunities to get, well—drunk. Since you'd moved out when you were twenty-one, you'd done nothing but study and work. And before that, your mother had a constant watchful eye over you—

The feeling that washed over you as the lights shone and the music boomed was something you'd never felt before—

Freedom.

Pure and unadulterated freedom.

Away from chess, away from England, away from people who only knew you as your father's daughter.

"Y/N!" You turned at the sound of Amanda's voice, rushing toward her and the others at the table. "Everyone, this is my British friend. She's never had a night out in New York City, so we have to show her a good time!" You accepted everyone's greetings, despite feeling slightly awkward. You got shoved into the booth, next to one of the boys.

"I'm Matt—friends with Kayden," He shouted over the music, offering his hand for you to shake. You took it and smiled. He had shoulder length hair and an intellectual, unbothered look about him.

Matt moved his gaze to above your head suddenly. "Benny, this is Amanda's friend,"

You froze as someone took the booth seat next to you, too afraid to turn around and it be him. It couldn't be—surely? New York City was huge; it would have had to be a massive coincidence for Benny Watts to have mutual friends with you already.

You forced yourself to turn around, meeting his eye—

Benny Watts sent you a classic quizzical look. He furrowed his brows like they were about to fall off. "Hey..." He said, and you didn't know what to respond without sounding like an asshole.

"You guys know each other?" Matt chimed in, and you bit your lip.

God, I'm a fucking asshole.

"Yeah," You turned to the table, not placing your eyes on either of them. "I know Benny from chess tournaments."

"Chess?" Kayden piped up, shouting over the rest of the conversations round the table. "You play chess, Y/N?" When you didn't answer immediately, Benny spoke up, taking his hat off and placing it on the table. He combed his fingers through his hair.

"Y/N is a spectator. We bumped into each other a few times. I know her father." Benny let out a long breath after he said the word "know".

He knows your father—

No. He knew him.

You tried to keep your voice steady as you swallowed down a sudden sick feeling.

"Grandmaster L/N." You saw Matt and Kayden's faces drop as you said his name. There was a sort of sullen silence that fluttered over the table, between the four of you. The others sat, waiting, for anyone to add or change the subject.

"What's a Grandmaster?" Amanda said, her eyes sparkling in innocence as they hit yours. You took in a breath and sent her a smile, not sure if you could even string a sentence together yet.

"You get awarded a Grandmaster title for extraordinary plays of chess in a small amount of time." Benny chimed in. "It's a title higher than World Champion. L/N got it in 1940. He was 33 years old."

Amanda eye's widened. "Wow—he must be, like, amazing at chess."

You were waiting to see if any of them were going to say it—if any of them were going to tell her he'd dropped dead, not even two months before. When no one did, you forced yourself to speak.

"Yes. Amazing," You replied, trying your best not to be rude. She didn't know, it wasn't her fault. "I'm gonna have a smoke in the fresh air." You added, and Benny got up from the booth to let you out.

You started walking away, when Benny grabbed your arm.

"Hey—," You turned to him, trying not to frown. "Let me get you a drink."

"Surprise me," You replied quickly, before heading outside without so much as a backwards glance at the table.

You tried to ignore the way your throat was closing up, or the way you could feel your heart beating through your entire body. You focused on plucking a cigarette from your tote bag and lighting it without your hands shaking—

You breathed in, one, two, three—

You breathed out, one, two, three—

You wouldn't cry.

You would forget.