Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a late April afternoon in Windermere after all the drama was settled. Hux was tending to his garden, looking for some more space to plant another batch of crops, and the rabbits were playing with each other next to his tomatoes. He was just finishing, when the youngest one (he guessed) raced the others toward their burrow.

His eyes landed on the house behind the gigantic tree. It was white and lovely and, most importantly, whole again. The product of Hux and Ben's handiwork. When they were still restoring the house, Ben had stayed in Hux's manor. They had settled into a nice, calming routine, revolving quietly around each other, and the animals around them.

However, since the little white house was habitable again, Ben had decided to move back, and Hux had no more excuses to keep him under the same roof. That brought some disrupture toward their comfortable routine. For example, Hux would wake up and, for the past two months, he was used to the warmth next to him, so his arms would sort of move on their own toward the origin of that heat, and hug it. They would stay like that for another 30 minutes before really getting out of bed.

Now, though, once Hux's arms moved further across the bed to the left (yes, Hux sacrificed his spot on the left side because someone preferred it over the right side), they found nothing but empty sheets.

Hux recalled the evening Ben carried his clothes and stationery back to his own house. And Hux was certain that it was 100% scientific that the house was a bit colder than usual that day.

Right now, however, it was an afternoon and the heat was getting less threatening. The sun was almost lost in the canopy of the forest, and the purple-blue sky made Hux think about that one painting in Ben's room. Kneeling in the garden, Hux picked up some tomatoes and potatoes and carrots and other greens for later. He was thinking about today's dinner when a voice called from behind. "Hey."

Hux turned around and saw him. Ben was looming over the fence. Hux always thought about how everything got that miniature look with Ben in the frame with them, being a soft-voiced giant in the middle of a doll house.

"Hey." Hux dusted his hands on his apron and stood up. "How's everything? You settling in okay?"

Ben shrugged. "That's my own house, Armie."

"I know," Hux said, looking at him pointedly.

Ben's eyes dropped to the ground -- or at the gate, Hux wasn't sure -- and he chuckled at himself. "What's for dinner?"

"Come on in," Hux told him, and looked at the freshly-picked vegetables. "I don't know." Ben opened the gate and came in to help Hux carry today's ingredients into the house. Hux thanked him and looked around once more to make sure he didn't forget any gear outside like last time.

"Salad?" Ben suggested after they were inside.

Hux nodded. "And spaghetti?"

"Sounds good." Ben walked to the sink and started washing their food. Hux opened the fridge and peered inside. He wasn't actually big on cooking, but he learned a lot while living in the countryside where delivery would take about two hours. Besides, Ben told him it was more economical to cook things themselves. And healthier, since almost everything came straight from Hux's garden.

"What about ravioli?" He leaned against the refrigerator's door.

"What?" Ben turned off the water, and turned toward Hux.

"Ravioli?" Hux closed the fridge.

Ben's eyes went uncharacteristically wide.

"That was rude," Hux said.

Ben laughed a little, and licked his bottom lip. "Sorry, I just..."

"What? You don't think I can make that?" Hux crossed his arms. To be fair, Hux didn't actually think he could make that either.

"Oh no, I'm sure you can." The corners of Ben's lips curved up a bit, and Hux couldn't help but walk toward him. "But let's not get too fancy." Large hand touched his wrist, and tugged lightly.

Hux put his arms around Ben, albeit a bit tentatively, and said, "You're going to eat my ravioli one day, Solo. Until then, salad and spaghetti it is."

When Ben reciprocated his touch, Hux sighed into his neck, glad that this was still okay.

They worked quickly and quietly after that, preparing for their dinner. Ben complained when Hux overcooked the pasta again, and Hux bitched a little because Ben put too much dressing into their salad, but all in all, Hux loved everything about that evening.

Except the part where Ben had to leave.

Hux knew that he could probably say something very simple like 'Would you like to stay the night?' or something totally outrageous like 'The bed's cold without you.' but in reality, he kept his mouth shut because he didn't know how Ben would react if he said that. Well, that might be a lie. He may be able to guess Ben's answer, but again Hux couldn't be sure if that was because he was pressured by Hux's question. And Hux would hate himself more than he did if he made Ben uncomfortable again. (He also hated the alarming fact that he had done that several times already.)

So when Ben said, "I have to go now," Hux only smiled and said, "See you tomorrow."

Hux knew that he should've just asked the damn question, but his brain was a ridiculous mess. He went to bed that night thinking over and over about what he should've said or done and maybe next time and Ben's eyes when he kissed Hux on the cheek before walking away.

In conclusion, yes, Hux was a coward.

--

One day in the beginning of May, Hux knocked on Ben's front door with a plan in his mind.

"Good morning," Ben said when he came to open the door. He was in his dark grey T-shirt and comfy-looking sea green trousers, rocking that 'bed head' look which Hux adored very much. And his face was a question mark that said, 'What brought you here so early in the morning?' Or maybe it was just 'What the fuck?' Hux wasn't exactly sure which.

"Good morning." Hux was a little embarrassed for waking him up, and had to mentally slap himself twice before he could say what he came here to say. "Let's upgrade the rabbit's home." Okay, that was a bit straight to the point.

The corners of Ben's eyes crinkled and Hux thought about the dreams he had about them. "Come in for some toasts first, then? Have you had anything?"

Hux shook his head and thanked him before following Ben into the house. There were many new paintings he'd never seen before, so he made a note to himself to ask Ben later about them. Also, he forgot he should've asked Ben first if he was busy today, but since he already memorised the entirety of Ben's regular schedule, he just failed to remember to act like a proper bloke and at least ask for decency's sake.

The smell of crispy, warm toasts filled his nose when he stepped into the kitchen. Ben was already taking two out of the toaster and buttering them lavishly before giving them to Hux. He didn't expect Ben to remember how he preferred his toasts, so it was a nice surprise for him. "These are the best toasts I've ever had."

Ben scratched his nose shyly, and said, "You should smile more, A. You're not as tense when you do."

Hux swallowed his food. "I- am- uh, sorry."

"No, no," Ben rushed to say. "It's just that- ah- I like your smile, Armie."

"Oh. Thank you." The honesty in Ben's brown eyes made him feel a bit drunk, so Hux looked at the half-eaten toast in his hand instead. "I-" You. "I like when you smile, too."

He supposed this situation might appear a bit silly. Two grown men complimenting each other. But Hux didn't feel silly in the slightest. Rather, Hux feel very serious when he said -- or, more precisely, choked out the words -- "I love you."

Hux's fingers were shaking, and Ben -- he looked up -- and Ben was red to the tips of his ears. "You, too," he said finally, voice soft and lost and he was smiling like it was not a big deal, but Hux knew him better than that. Had they met at Harrods, Hux would have suggested that he go to the second floor where they would be all sorts of bears for him to choose from. But they were here, in Windermere, in Ben's lovely kitchen, with only each other across the room, so that would have to do.

Hux breathed him in, and Ben still had that same scent he left on Hux's pillows.

At this moment Hux knew it'd be okay. "I miss you."

Ben's arms got tighter around him. "Can I-"

"Please come back?"

Ben inhaled. "If you don't mind." His voice trembled.

Hux stroked his hair, and spot the rabbits outside one of Ben's window. They were watching curiously, and maybe if he really listened, there were even some giggles. He felt a bit guilty, but the burrow's upgrade would have to wait. Today it was his -- their -- turn.

Hux planted a chaste kiss at the mole on Ben's temple, and felt the dark-haired man melt against him a little.

"You're needed there."

Chapter Text

It had been two months since Ben moved into the manor. Permanently. He was still hesitant to use the word. It bore too much weight. But at the same time, Ben was glad he could stay there for as long as he wanted. As long as Armie would let him.

He still went back to his house to paint. The light was better there. And he could concentrate better when he was alone. Armie made a face when he first saw that Ben's tools and easel were not moved from the little house, but he came to understand later that Ben needed a creative space that was his own. Armie settled by buying one more easel, four sets of premium-grade acrylic tubes, and three more gigantic watercolor paint sets for Ben, which he really appreciated, but couldn't possibly use them all in his lifetime.

Armie tended to do things to an extreme, like the way he cleaned everything and the way he looked after his garden (He made sure everything was in their best quality possible and had a tendency to sort everything without clearly visible alphabets by their colors). Ben couldn't understand how, but the garden looked even more organized than when the old man had stayed there.

They had falled into an easy routine after a while. When the weather was nice, like today's, they would go outside together, and Armie would read while Ben would paint whatever interested him (he was pretty repetitive lately because he couldn't find it in him to draw something else rather than his boyfriend).

Armie was fun to watch, and capture into ink. He was always buzzing with actions, so much energy for such a lean person (but he was incredibly strong where it counted). He usually moved around all the time, doing something or the other. It was as if he was proving to someone that he was useful after all.

Ben remembered that day vividly afterward because the sky was bluer than usual and the wind was stronger than usual. Armie was also more energetic than usual, so instead of reading, he was using the binoculars Ben gave him to watch the birds. Ben thought it was adorable how Armie could distinguish robins from pigeons now. At the beginning, when Ben peeked at his notebook, it was all 'bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, rabbit, bird, bird' for eight whole pages.

That day Ben was on the bridge painting the river after they had their lunch. After some time passed by, he stood back, and studied his work. He decided he quite liked today's piece because he was in a very good mood and the overall atmosphere was inspirational. Armie was noting down every rock he spot on the other side of the bridge when Ben looked over.

When the sun was setting, the glow of the last light was golden on the river and trees and Ben needed to capture that, too. He was dipping his brush into the water when he saw Armie in his periphery. "Hey," he began to say when the other man swung the binoculars toward him, knocking his frame out of the easel-

-and into the rushing water below.

They froze. Ben noticed the moment it drawn on Armie, and the panic in his eyes. Ben, though, he was just standing there, listening to the sound of water below. His arm shot out to catch Armie's forearm when he started to strip. Armie tried to snatch his arm away, but Ben's hold was determined. He felt like he was floating when all this was happening.

"It's no use," he heard his voice. "Watercolor-"

The force in his grasp stopped trying to pull, so he relented his fingers. "I'm so sorry, Ben."

"Let's go home, A." He started packing his tools.

"I-" He felt Armie touch his shoulder, but he was drained of all the energy to say anything to make him feel better. He felt really bad about it, but he just wanted to go back to his house as soon as possible.

Armie could probably take the hint, because he didn't say anything more, and let Ben walk home in silence.

He also didn't ask any question when Ben headed for his white house instead of Armie's big one. Ben didn't want to think about it so much, because what was past was past, but the house was hushed, and it couldn't mute the sound of his own thoughts.

It was just a painting. Yes. Just a painting. He knew he was being childish, but if only Armie had watched where he was going more carefully. If only. But it was just a painting. And he knew Armie was devastated about it, too.

Still, he was tired. He was sure he would feel better tomorrow. They would talk again, and everything would go back to normal. He couldn't sabotage everything because of a stupid incident.

Needless to say, Ben didn't get much sleep that night.

--

When he woke up, his limbs were sore, and the sun was just about to come up again.

He washed his face, and thought about yesterday and how it made him feel last night. He felt like shit, and he also missed Armie. He secretly hoped Armie would come to his door and knock last night, but Ben understood why he didn't. Armie always respected him and his decision. That was also why Ben accepted him.

He walked out of the house, and started to sense some doubts bubbling inside him. But he didn't turn back this time. He stopped at the gate into the garden, and debated with himself what he should do or say when Armie opened the door. He rang the bell and dreaded the response as he waited. And waited. He rang the bell again, and started to think about the possibility that Armie might be angry.

He felt so hopeless again when there was a tug at his left trouser leg. He looked down, and it was Cotton-Tail (Army -- the thougth of him hurt a bit -- told him her name was Cotton-Tail).

"Hi." He knelt down and patted her head. "What's up?"

She kept pulling at his trousers, and pointed to the direction of his house.

"You want me to feed you? It's really early in the morning." He stood up and started walking toward his house anyway. It was good to take his mind of Armie for a short moment. However, when he was about to enter his house through his front door, Cotton-Tail ran in front of him, and seemed to point (huh) to the other entrance. "Are your sisters and brothers there, too?"

Ben follow the bunny to the door to his drawing room, and he had to take a moment to compose himself when he saw whom Flopsy and Mopsy and Peter and Benjamin (he couldn't help but smile when he learned the name of this one) were snuggling against.

Cotton-Tail ran in and started jumping at the human among her siblings, as if trying to wake him up.

"Ugh- what-" Ben watched him start to stir. He was too amused to stay despondent. "Cotton-Tail? No, no, what ?"

"Good morning," Ben told him.

"Good morning," Armie told him, almost out of reflex, before realizing where he was. Outside and on the grass. At least he had one blanket over him.

"Why are you here?" Ben helped him up, and held Armie's icy fingers in his hand.

"I-" Armie rubbed his face with his other hand, and the blanket fell from his shoulder to the ground. "I came to give you this." At this point, Ben noticed the piece of paper in his arm.

He licked his lips. He didn't want to get his hopes up.

Armie handed him the paper. It was wavy. "I'm sorry, Ben."

When he saw what was on that piece of paper, his eyes were hot, and he had to swallow before he could begin to speak, and even then, Ben knew his voice would come out funny. So he pulled Armie in for a hug instead.

"I'm really sorry." Armie held him, very, very tightly. "It's- I tried my best. I'm so sorry."

Ben pulled back, and looked at the painting again -- the color was rough and the edges were hard and the shadows were all wrong -- Armie's craftsmanship, no doubt. "It was bad," he commented. And began to laugh.

Armie's eyes lit up then. The corners of his lips curved up into a small smile. "I tried to remember what you did when you painted, but, Ben, it wasn't as easy as it looked. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Ben touched his hair. "Thank you."

"If you're mad, then I get it. It's a poor replica. Besides, I totally deserve that."

"Hey," Ben called him. "It's bad, yes, but I really like it."

Armie looked at him, a sliver of uncertainty in his eyes.

"You know what, I'll make you something to eat." Ben led Armie by the hand into the house. "And you can help me decide where I should hang this masterpiece on. I'll have to find a proper frame for it first, though."

Armie squeezed his hand, and Ben squeezed back.  But, wait.

"Where did you get this drawing paper?"

"I retrieved it from the river," Armie told him, nonchalant. He used the word 'retrieved' as if he just picked it up from the ground.

"That was dangerous." Ben's eyes found Armie's, to make sure he understood his feelings.

Armie’s breath hitched. "I used to swim professionally when I was twelve."

“Even if that’s true, please don’t do that again,” Ben insisted.

“I will look where I’m going from now on.”

Ben sighed. “Come on, sit. I’ll fry you some eggs.”

They had a lot to discuss, and so It would be a long breakfast. But they were home, and not in any hurry at all, if Ben may say so himself.