When you woke, it was the afternoon. Your head was stuffy, groggy, but not at the same level it'd been after you'd beaten Harmon at a chess board. You downed the water you'd remembered to leave yourself by your bed, as your body started to feel more alive with every drop.

You got up, making certain to check the floor for any chess champion's lying around, when the sudden realisation of last night hit you like a freight train—

You'd kissed Benny Watts.

Or, he'd kissed you. Or you'd kissed each other.

You remembered when Monte's had gone dark, when he'd pulled you towards him just before the clock had struck midnight, placing his lips upon yours with a ferocity as demanding as the Sicilian Defence.

You even remembered thinking about that very morning and how you'd react after the image of the champion, face to face, lips to lips, was etched into every corner of your mind. You tried to halt the anxiety from eating you alive, but it was almost too much to bear as your heartbeat increased rapidly, making your entire body throb.

"Fuck," You let out, trying to expel the fluttering butterflies that were bombarding the sides of your gut. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—,"

You stopped when the shrill sound of your phone ringing blasted your ear drums. You turned to it, imagining it was on fire, blazing away and about to burn your apartment down if you didn't pick it up—but you were also terrified that you had a feeling you knew who was calling.

Nevertheless, you willed yourself to stroll over and pick it up, swallowing down your nerves as you placed it to your ear. "Hello?" You let out, hearing the coarseness of your voice.

"Wow—you sound rough," You immediately relaxed at the sound of Matt's voice.

"I feel it, too," You chuckled, taking a seat on the floor and resting against the windowsill. "How're you doing yourself?"

"This pounding headache is only a sign of the masses of fun we had last night, so I think I'll survive," The way his voice went silent made your stomach drop. You took in the white, static noise from the phone, just praying that he wouldn't bring it up—"Have you spoken to Benny today?"

Fuck.

"Uh, no. I haven't. I just woke up, actually," You fiddled with the phone cord, desperately trying to cling on to your logical self and not be dropped into the pit that had opened up in your gut.

"Y/N," Matt began, half seriously, half in a comforting tone. "Are you freaking out, right now?"

"What gave you that impression?" You replied with a hint of sarcasm. Matt only chuckled gently.

"Intuition. Or, the fact that I know you," You could sense his reassuring smile from the other end of the line. It only made you want to cry, just a little bit. "What's said on this phone call, dies at the end of it, okay?"

"Are you trying to therapy me?" You let out jokingly, trying to change the tone of the call away from something deep.

"I'm trying to get you to open up. You're trying to stall the inevitable."

You paused, frowning. "The inevitable?"

"Spilling your guts on the floor after a long back and forth," Matt replied simply.

"God—you do know me, don't you?" You raised a palm to your forehead as you took in a few deep breaths. Matt's voice was comforting, gentle. After spending a month with him at his mother's cabin, you knew him exponentially more and, evidently, he knew you more too.

"So—what're you gonna do?" Matt said, and it felt like you'd been slapped. You clamped your eyes shut, trying to divulge a coherent sentence from the words that bombarded the sides of your skull.

"I've never had this problem before," You let out, and Matt's silence was an indication to continue. "I—think I like him. But I also don't understand him. And now I'm talking to his best friend about it,"

Matt chuckled down the line. It wasn't insulting, it was comforting. You had a feeling he'd always been the friend to talk to about deep things in the group. You could imagine him talking to Amanda the same way that he was talking to you.

"Like I said before, what's said on the line, dies with it."

You took in a deep breath, before you told him everything. The day you met properly, your father's note, not telling him about moving to NYC. You told him about the evening phone calls and about him inviting you to Matt's mother's cabin—

You told him about the chess piece, and the breakdowns, and the late-night room calls, and his promise to your mother about taking care of you, and about dinner the night before.

"This is a lot to unpack," Matt said, but there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. You furrowed your brows.

"You already know about all of this, don't you?" You were ready to scream.

"Benny likes to talk when he's drunk. He laid it all out to me, last night," Matt said truthfully. You were grateful for his honesty, even if you were just slightly peeved about having to explain it all to him when he already knew. "I wanted you to want to say it, Y/N, before I just randomly told you I knew,"

Your face immediately softened at that. He'd been kind to wait for you.

"I don't know what I'm doing, Matt. I don't even know who I am yet, whether I want to play chess the way Benny wants me to play it, or at all, even. I've never been very good with feelings."

"Well—I think he knows that much. Benny's approach to women has always been like a game of speed chess, but with you..."

"With me?" You urged, wanting to know every single secret he knew about the champion.

"He's playing the long game. He's waiting until you get into the flow of it, I think."

You rolled your eyes. These boys were all the same—comparing feelings to a chess board, just to make any sense of what they actually felt. It was good you knew the game back to front, because you could understand every single word.

"I can't leave him waiting forever,"

"No, you can't," Matt agreed, but it wasn't harsh or accusatory. "Benny appreciates honesty as much as he appreciates the King's Gambit. Start there."

You could feel just how much love Matt had for his friend. It was a nice change, compared to the way boys behaved back in England—too much toxic masculinity for anyone's liking.

"You really care about him, don't you?"

Matt let out a pent-up breath. "He's like family, even if he does wear that stupid fucking knife on his hip at all times. He's been coming to Mom's for Thanksgiving and Christmas for over ten years. He's a genius with a massive ego—I know—but looking away from first impressions, he's probably the most genuine friend I've ever had. He was there for me when my Dad passed, and I'll never forget that."

You went silent as Matt finally spoke about his father. You were transported back to Maude's cabin, when she'd mentioned it to you. "I'm sorry. I never asked you about your family,"

Matt only chuckled. "It's okay—I don't talk about them much. You're now part of the exclusive club that's experienced the holidays with my Mom, though. Congratulations,"

"She's a great mum," You confirmed. "With an equally as great son." You meant it.

"Happy New Year, Y/N." Matt said, and you could hear how genuine his voice was, like he truly wanted to wish you the best year imaginable.

"Happy New Year," You repeated, beaming down the phone.

"Call him," He added, finally, before you heard the line go dead.

You got yourself a cup of coffee after the call, sipping at it as your body started to feel somewhat normal again. Despite the anxiety you still harboured, you couldn't deny that Matt had been a massive help. He'd cared enough to see how you were doing, after Benny having spilled everything to him the previous night.

You wondered how long Benny had been keeping all of this inside for him to suddenly let go of it all in one night.

The final week at Maude's after your birthday had felt different. Like a switch had flicked on for both of you. He'd always insisted on skating with you in that time, in taking walks around the neighbouring mountains, in starting another game of chess and chattering away about moves like you knew he loved to do.

On the final night at Maude's cabin, you'd seriously considered knocking on his door in the middle of the night. You'd had a feeling that he wasn't sleeping, even getting as far to your door, before you decided against it.

You wanted to slap yourself at the fact you still didn't fully believe his feelings. Despite his borderline confession, the kiss on the dance floor and the tension with dinner before, a tiny part of you still believed this had nothing to do with him liking you.

You were scared, that he was getting underneath your blockade. You were terrified of him knowing everything about you.

You willed yourself to pick up the phone, finally, punching in his number.

You prayed, to some imaginary god, that you wouldn't fuck this up—

That you would find the right words.

Benny picked up immediately, not giving you time to prepare yourself before his excited voice boomed from down the phone.

"Ah she's finally awake! I was just about to call you actually— I have news,"

You swallowed down the sick feeling in your stomach. "News?"

"A tournament in Chicago in February. Beth's going to compete again. Thought I'd sign up just to make it more interesting, and..."

You furrowed your brows. "And?" You repeated once more. You didn't know how to make the conversation less one-sided just yet.

"I signed you up, too."

The way your gut coiled was almost excruciating. You immediately wanted to smash the phone on the floor, hammer it until the line cut off. You wanted to scream, but you couldn't, as a rage began to overtake your anxiety from before.

You felt your walls immediately go up.

It was a rage you'd never felt before.

"Why— why would you do that?" You let out, your jaw clenched to the point where your teeth were almost grinding.

Benny's excitement faded. "It's not a big deal, Y/N. You don't have to compete, it's just if you ever wanted to,"

"You know I don't want to, Benny. I told you—,"

"I know, but—,"

"No," You said it demandingly, dismissively, aggressively. Your blood was boiling beneath your skin. You felt embarrassed, vulnerable— all because he'd put you in this position.

As your brain fired thoughts at you, dark ones began to appear from the crevices of your mind. Ones that told you he didn't like you— ones that told you he was only doing all of this because of the relationship he'd had with your father. You couldn't stop them from pelting your skull.

It was too late.

"I don't need you to try and fix me. I don't need this," You let out.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Benny voiced immediately changed.

"Why do you care so much? I don't understand you in the slightest," You rambled angrily. Benny's silence as he listened only made you feel sicker, but you were too angry to notice it, nor care.

"Why do I care? Y/N— do you not see why?" You rejected the subtle softness within his words.

"It doesn't fucking matter. You've crossed a line that you knew not to, but you still fucking did it—,"

"I did it because I knew you wouldn't, when everyone can see that you have an actual chance of making it—,"

"That wasn't your decision to make!" You screamed. Tears began to well in your eyes— hot, sticky tears that made you feel like a child.

Benny paused. You could hear his accelerated breaths down the phone. Still—your anger didn't subside. You were too far gone.

"How did we go from kissing last night to this?" Benny whispered, his voice cracking with a mixture of hurt and anger.

Something harsh rose to your throat. You were so blinded by the way you felt, you didn't even realise how it would affect him—

"It was obviously a mistake." The words slithered venomously from your mouth.

"What— what're you saying?" Benny stuttered.

"Last night shouldn't have fucking happened."

Benny let out a disgusted chuckle. It hit you right in the gut. "You still believe that everything I've done is because of your father, don't you?"

"Why the fuck would you, unless it was because of him?" You were utterly blindsided. You couldn't comprehend his actions anymore.

"Do I have to fucking spell it out?" Benny exhaled a shaky, rage fuelled breath.

He let out another disgusted chuckle, as his words finally made their way to you.

"I'm in love with you."

No warm feeling appeared in your chest as shallow breaths rose and fell. You felt nothing, other than the anger you had coursing through your veins. You felt numb and overwhelmed at the same time, too confused by his answer—

Why would anyone love you?

Why would Benny fucking Watts love you?

"I never asked you to love me," You stuttered out, as tears obscured your vision and your entire body throbbed. They came out smoothly—too smooth for the way you felt. They came out venomously—too venomous for the subject at hand.

"I guess not," He whispered. It wasn't soft or gentle— it was coarse. It was like he'd given up. "I never tried to fix you. I only tried to show you what you already are."

You stayed silent, as realisation of your words finally begun to sink in. The phone static crackled in your ear, opening a void in your heart. You began to panic immediately, as your heart tried to slither its way up your throat.

Benny let out a final, exhausted breath.

"Have a nice life, Y/N."

"Benny—," You spoke, as the line went dead.

His silence was deafening. His absence was agonising. As your anger began to subside, you finally realised what you'd just done.

You hadn't just rejected him— you'd banished him. You'd told him his actions, his care, his support, were nothing.

All because you couldn't get yourself out of the box you'd trapped yourself in from the age of fifteen— all because you couldn't understand why anyone would want to be a part of your life.

Did you really resent yourself this much?

Did you really feel this much hatred towards yourself, so much so that you shunned any sense of someone caring? That you rejected those who wanted to know you wholeheartedly?

You'd thought you'd healed, you'd thought you'd be able to understand—

But all you understood was the grey clouds that appeared over Manhattan, as drops of rain began to pelt the pavement outside. The rain mimicked your tears as it fell, thick and fast, encasing everything in a layer of cold.

Maybe you had moved on from your father after so long, but you hadn't moved on from the way you felt about yourself—

How inadequate you felt— ugly, despicable; a brick wall encased around you so tall that even those who tried to climb it would eventually fall to the ground below once again.

Benny had been on the precipice, so close that he was able to see you, curled on the floor in the dark, until your screams had made him tumble back down to earth.

His final words echoed through your apartment, as you stood with the phone still clasped to your ear—

Have a nice life.

You'd just moved him into check for the final time.

And he'd finally given in—

He'd dropped his king in defeat for the last time, too tired, too exhausted from giving you every piece of himself that he could fathom.

You clamped your eyes shut as you envisioned the chess table—

Benny stood, bowing at his loss, before he left you in a limbo of your own creation, as his hat faded into the distance—

You were alone.

And it was all your fault.