Chapter 5 Bennett
CHAPTER FIVE
bennett
Bennett woke up with a decision already sitting in his chest. Not a well-formed decision. No plan or checklist. More like a pressure point. A truth he could feel whenever he tried to ignore it.
This isn’t finished.
He stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the quiet of the room. Jasper’s breathing was even, but lighter now, like he was close to waking.
Bennett stayed still anyway.
He did not trust himself with movement.
Eventually, Jasper shifted beside him, rolling onto his back with a soft exhale. Bennett kept his gaze fixed above, as if staring at the ceiling could save him.
“Morning,” Jasper said, voice rough with sleep.
Bennett answered too quickly. “It is.”
Jasper turned his head slightly. Bennett could feel his attention without looking.
“You sound like you have been awake for hours,” Jasper said.
“I haven’t.”
Jasper hummed, unconvinced. “Did you sleep?”
“Yes.”
“That was not the tone of a man who slept.”
Bennett reached for the edge of the blanket and threw it back with more force than necessary. “I’m getting coffee.”
Jasper sat up, rubbing his face. “I’ll come with you.”
“No.”
“Yes,” Jasper replied, calm and irritating. “You are not escaping into productivity alone. We are a team now.”
“We are not.”
Jasper’s mouth tilted. “You said we’re not finished.”
Bennett froze.
He should have denied it. He should have pretended he had been talking about the project, about logistics, about anything else.
Instead, he picked up his phone from the nightstand and stared at the blank screen like it had answers.
“That,” Bennett said, carefully, “was not a formal statement.”
Jasper swung his legs over the side of the bed. “It didn’t need to be.”
Bennett turned toward the bathroom before his face could betray him. “Shower. Then coffee.”
“Look at you,” Jasper called after him. “Delegating.”
Bennett shut the bathroom door with slightly too much precision.
The shower did not help. It never helped. It only gave him a few minutes where the noise of water filled the space where his thoughts were trying to take over.
He dressed quickly. His hands were steady, but his mind was not.
When he came out, Jasper was already dressed, casual and put together, in a way that made Bennett resent him on principle. He was leaning against the desk, phone in hand, scrolling through updates.
Bennett tried not to watch the way Jasper’s mouth moved when he read. The faint crease between his brows. The way he looked up and met Bennett’s gaze was like he had been expecting it.
“Roads are still closed,” Jasper said.
Bennett exhaled. He told himself it was frustration, not relief. “What about flights?”
“Grounded,” Jasper replied. “At least through tonight.”
Bennett nodded, as if this were purely about travel logistics.
Jasper’s gaze held on him. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Lying,” Jasper said.
Bennett’s spine stiffened. “I am not lying.”
Jasper pushed off the desk. “You are telling yourself you only care about getting out of here.”
Bennett swallowed. “I do care about getting out of here.”
“That’s true,” Jasper said. “It is just not all of it.”
Bennett’s heartbeat kicked up. His instinct was to snap, to deflect, to turn it into banter and avoid the part where Jasper was right.
Instead, he walked past Jasper toward the door. “Coffee.”
Jasper followed.
The lobby was quieter today. Fewer people. More resignation. The kind of calm that settled when everyone accepted the world would move again when it felt like it.
Bennett reached for the coffee pot. Jasper arrived at the same time. Their hands brushed.
Bennett jerked his away, then hated himself for it.
Jasper paused. “Bennett.”
Bennett stared at the coffee as if it had suddenly become complicated.
Jasper’s voice was gentle. “You don’t have to flinch.”
Bennett forced his hand back to the pot. “I am not flinching.”
Jasper’s mouth curved. “You are flinching.”
Bennett poured coffee, black, because he needed at least one thing to be predictable. Jasper took his with too much cream and not enough shame.
They sat by the window again. It had become their spot. Bennett hated that it felt familiar.
The afternoon stretched long and quiet. They worked separately but together, the rhythm of it becoming almost domestic.
Bennett caught himself glancing up more often than necessary, watching Jasper work.
The furrow between his brows when he concentrated.
The way he bit his lower lip when reading something that required focus.
Professional interest, Bennett told himself. Understanding a colleague.
The lie was getting harder to maintain.
Around three, Jasper stood and stretched. “I’m going stir-crazy. Walk with me?”
Bennett looked at his laptop, at the emails that could wait, at the spreadsheet that didn’t actually need updating.
“Okay,” he said.
They bundled up and headed outside. The cold hit immediately, sharp and clarifying. The hotel had cleared a path around the property, and a few other brave souls were out, walking off cabin fever.
They walked in silence at first, boots crunching in the snow. The world felt muffled, peaceful in a way Bennett rarely experienced.
“You know what I realized?” Jasper said.
“What?”
“I’ve enjoyed this,” Jasper replied. “Being stuck here. With you.”
Bennett’s heart kicked. “That’s Stockholm Syndrome.”
Jasper laughed. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just nice to spend time with someone who doesn’t require me to perform.”
Bennett glanced at him. “You perform?”
“Everyone performs,” Jasper said. “But yeah. I do. Charm is a currency. I learned to spend it well.”
“That sounds exhausting,” Bennett observed.
“It is,” Jasper agreed. “But effective.”
Bennett recognized the echo of his own words from days ago. They were more alike than he’d thought.
“You don’t have to perform with me,” Bennett said quietly.
Jasper stopped walking and turned to face him. “I know. That’s why I like this.”
They stood there in the cold, snow falling softly around them, the rest of the world feeling very far away.
He wanted to say something. Wanted to acknowledge what was happening between them. But the words stuck in his throat, tangled up with fear and uncertainty.
Jasper seemed to understand. He always understood.
“Come on,” Jasper said gently. “Let’s head back before we freeze.”
As they walked back toward the hotel, their hands brushed once. Twice. On the third time, Jasper’s pinky hooked around Bennett’s for just a moment before letting go.
It was nothing.
It was everything.
Outside, snow still covered the world, but now there were tire tracks, evidence of movement. A few people walked bundled in thick coats, heads down against the cold.
Jasper tapped his spoon against his mug. “You know what I realized last night?”
Bennett’s stomach tightened. “I do not want to know.”
“You want to know,” Jasper said.
Bennett took a sip. The coffee burned his tongue. It did nothing to soothe the heat building under his skin.
Jasper looked at him for a long moment. “You’re not mean. You pretend to be mean.”
Bennett’s brows drew together. “That is your realization?”
“Yes,” Jasper said, as if it mattered. “You use sharpness like armor.”
Bennett held his gaze. “And you use charm like a weapon.”
Jasper smiled. “Fair.”
Bennett tried to keep his voice steady. “What is your point?”
“My point,” Jasper said, “is that the armor is slipping.”
Bennett’s fingers tightened around his mug. “You’re imagining things again.”
Jasper’s smile faded. Not entirely. Just enough.
“I’m not,” Jasper said quietly. “I’m watching you.”
Bennett’s throat worked. “Stop watching me.”
Jasper’s voice was soft. “Make me.”
Bennett stared at him. The words were teasing, but there was something under them. Something that felt like a line being offered.
He could say something clever. Something sharp. Something that would return them to safe banter.
He did not.
He set his mug down carefully. “This is not a game.”
Jasper’s gaze held steady. “I know.”
Bennett swallowed. “And I am not going to be… that for you.”
Jasper tilted his head. “That.”
“A situation,” Bennett said, voice low. “A curiosity. Something you pass the time with because we are trapped together.”
Jasper’s expression shifted. The teasing fell away completely.
“Is that what you think I am doing?” Jasper asked.
Bennett looked at the table because looking at Jasper’s eyes felt like standing too close to the edge of something.
“It’s what I would do,” Bennett admitted, before he could stop himself. “If I were you.”
Jasper was quiet for a beat. Then he said, very calmly, “You are not me.”
Bennett forced himself to look up.
Jasper’s eyes were serious now. Clear. No performance.
“I do not want a distraction,” Jasper continued. “I do not want an experiment. I am not interested in being someone’s secret.”
Bennett’s pulse thundered. “I am not saying you would be.”
“You don’t have to say it,” Jasper replied. “I can hear it in the way you keep trying to turn this into something small.”
Bennett’s chest ached. “You’re the one making it bigger.”
Jasper leaned forward slightly. “I’m making it honest.”
Bennett’s mouth went dry. “I don’t know how to do that.”
Jasper’s expression softened. “You do. You’re just terrified.”
Bennett gave a sharp laugh that sounded wrong. “I am not terrified.”
Jasper’s voice dropped. “Then look at me and tell me you do not want this.”
Bennett’s body went still. His mind scrambled for escape routes, for logic, for anything that would pull him back into control.
He looked at Jasper.
He could not speak.
Jasper watched him for a long moment. Then he sat back, giving Bennett space without withdrawing completely.
“Okay,” Jasper said quietly.
Bennett’s breath shook. He hated that Jasper could see it. He hated that Jasper did not seem to judge him for it.
They returned upstairs in silence. Not angry. Not awkward. Just full.