SO COLD

[Benjamin Burke]

show me how it ends, it's alright
show me how defenseless you really are
satisfied and empty inside
well, that's alright, let's give this another try

When Benjamin first received news of Rose being in the hospital wing, he honestly didn't know what to think. There was a part of him, the same part that had been driving his behavior for the past month, that wanted to ignore it. That wanted to pretend like he hadn't heard anything, like he didn't really care what happened to her. But then there was a larger, more prevalent part of him that knew he couldn't not care anymore. That thinking he could stop in the first place had been stupid. And it took him all of ten minutes to give into the latter side of him. As soon as he did, he was heading off towards the hospital wing, taking steps two at a time and landing in a half-sprawl on the landing when he jumped the last four steps. He hesitated for a moment to catch his breath and then continued towards the double doors, barging through them without a thought for the patients. All that really mattered right now was Rose. Was her being okay. His gaze immediately took in the large room, falling on the closest drawn curtains; a familiar head was poking out of it. He recognised it as Sophia, Rose's younger sister. Her expression, which had previously been tight with worry, transformed to surprise and then, just as rapidly, turned to anger as she stepped from behind the curtains, drawing them tightly behind her before he could catch a glimpse of the prone figure lying on the bed behind them. "Soph-" he started confusedly, stepping towards her, but her hand rose, cutting the air between them, pushing at his chest. It was her eyes, flashing with rage, more than the shove that made him step back. Sophia was normally a very level-headed girl, very calm and collected; Benjamin didn't think he'd ever seen her look so angry.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" she hissed, venom lacing her tone and piercing his skin with the harshness of her words.

"I'm - I'm here for Rose?" It sounded stupid when he said it out loud; what else would he be doing here. "I'm here for my best friend," he added, his temper, which bubbled to the surface entirely too easy lately, flaring up. "Now move out of the way, Sophia. I want - no, I need to see her."

But Rose's sister remained rooted to the spot, glaring up at him with all the ferocity a fourteen year old girl could muster. "You do not just get to waltz in here after weeks of being a complete prick to her! This is your fault. She's been so worried about you, she hasn't been eating properly, she hasn't been sleeping, and she certainly hasn't been taking her medicine."

[/color] Benjamin's eyes widened in surprise; had things really been that bad? How could he have not noticed? "But of course she hasn't told anyone, because how could Rose bring attention to herself when her beloved best friend was grieving? How could Rose bring attention to herself period? So when she collapsed in the middle of class, it was a huge surprise to everyone because she's so damn good at hiding her own pain for other people's benefit. But you were her best friend. You're the observant one. The one that always notices. She needs you. And now she's sick and it's all your fault. So no, you can't see Rose, Benjamin. Not until you fix whatever the hell is going on inside your head. Okay? And then - and only then - you can come visit her."[/color] She stood in front of him with arms akimbo, and even though she was tiny she gave the impression of a giant barrier between him and Rose. Her words sank into him, piercing his flesh, all the way down to his bones. Had he really been that selfish? That blind? Finding himself unable to look her in the eye anymore, Benjamin dropped his gaze to the floor, his vision blurred. He realised with a start it was because he'd begun tearing up. Upon that revelation, he jerked around and walked out of the hospital wing as quickly as he'd come, wiping his arm viciously against his eyes, glad they weren't streaming -- yet.

Benjamin kept his head low as he walked as quickly as possible back to the common room, his mind bringing images upon images of Rose lying on a bed, deathly pale. Because he hadn't actually seen her, it was worse, and since he had a writer's mind it was simply too easy to exaggerate her appearance. With every step he took, he cursed himself a little harder, hated himself a little more. He'd been so stupid; so stupid, and now he was paying the price. And not just him, but Rose, too. How could he not have noticed something amiss with her? He always noticed. He always asked about her Tonic. Sophia's words echoed back to him -- she needs you, Benjamin -- and he cursed himself all over again. She was completely right. Rose needed him, and he'd been too caught up in his own drama to even realise it. Life didn't stop with Marlene dying; there were other people who needed him. Other people who relied on him. And he'd failed Rose, one of the most important people to him. His stomach rolled at the idea of losing her, too, and he barely heard the question that was supposed to admit him to the common room. Taking in several breaths in order to compose himself, Benjamin asked for the question to be repeated, thought about it for two seconds and gave the first answer that popped into his head. Thankfully, the door swung open and he stepped through, intent on crossing to the dormitories without stopping. The sight of a familiar head, bowed over an essay of some sort, gave him pause, and he felt his heart tumble out of his stomach, his breath catching, wheezing in his chest. He coughed, cleared his throat, swallowed, but the lump in his throat remained. His feet seemed to move on their own, towards her rather than away. His mouth worked noiselessly at first; another cough, and he could speak. "Imogen." His voice came out cracked, hoarse, absolutely wrecked.

A lot like the way he felt right now.
[/blockquote]

ooc: idk luv me[/blockquote][/color]

imogen sauveterre

[Imogen Sauveterre]

life's too short to even care at all
i'm losing my mind, losing my mind
losing c o n t r o l

[/color]

For the first time in her life, Imogen forgot about an essay.

She was in Ancient Runes that morning when Professor Babbling asked the class to turn in their essays on the development of Marcomannic runes, and Imogen had completely frozen in her seat. All colour drained from her face as she frantically tried to recall when she’d written the essay and where she would have put it, but nothing came to mind. She didn’t even remember Professor Babbling assigning them an essay, but since everyone else was getting one out, she realised that it was her mistake, not the Professor’s. Her nails dug into the wood of her desk as the mortification came over her that she, Imogen Sauveterre, Ravenclaw prefect in the running for twelve OWLs (and expected – expected, by herself and her parents – to get O’s in each of them!), had forgotten completely about an essay in her favourite class. Breathing hard, she had checked her homework planner and saw that she had written about the assignment when Babbling gave it on Monday. She just had never done it.

She must have looked sick or something, because Professor Babbling asked her if she felt all right as she’d passed her desk to collect her essay. Imogen had shaken her head before bolting out of the classroom and running to the loo, trying hard not to hyperventilate, because she did not just forget about a bloody homework assignment and oh god she was going to fail and there went her O average and she was bloody done for—

It took her almost ten minutes to calm herself down, only leaving back for class when Moaning Myrtle decided to pay a visit outside of her own bathroom and tell Imogen that if she died too, the prefect loo was Myrtle’s territory. Imogen told her to stuff herself in a U-bend and left while the ghost splashed indignantly into a toilet. She rejoined the class, trying to appear as small as possible, but didn’t manage to get away fast enough when it was over. Professor Babbling had called her name as everyone else filed out the door, and Imogen approached her desk, eyes down and cheeks reddening with humiliation.

“I didn’t get an essay from you, Imogen,” Professor Babbling had said. Too ashamed to speak, Imogen had shaken her head. There was an uncomfortable lump in her throat and pressure behind her eyes, but she was not going to cry. “On my desk before breakfast tomorrow.” Imogen barely had time to process the fact that she was getting a second chance before Babbling explained that this was a one-time-only shot, and she was only allowing her another chance because of her exceptional record. Imogen had tried not to burst out in tears as she thanked her and promised that the essay would be on her desk first thing tomorrow morning.

She’d skipped supper that night, choosing instead to head straight to the library after classes ended. She’d almost completed her rough draft of the essay there before Madam Pince said she would have to leave for dinner, so she gathered her things, checked out some books, and went straight to Ravenclaw Tower to finish. And that was where she’d been since, partially hidden behind a pile of books, hunched so close over her parchment that she’d almost smeared the ink on her cheek at one point. Now, she was on her third – and hopefully final – copy of the essay, but she still had today’s homework to finish… she was definitely going to be up all night with this.

How had she managed to completely forget about an essay, anyway? It wasn’t even that she’d written a rough copy and just forgot to write a final version; no, she’d forgotten the entire damn thing. Doing a shitty job of taking care of her friends wasn’t an excuse, because she was really doing a shitty job of that. Nothing she said or did helped in any way, and Imogen was starting to wonder if she should stay away from them all in case that did. Maybe she was only making the problem worse. It was possible. Maybe by trying to help them get better, she was pissing them off and only making them retreat further from the world. Maybe she was a virus, a disease. Maybe she was the one who should be alone. Maybe it was best that Stefan and Lyle work things out without her support because it wasn’t doing any good anyway. Maybe it was best that Ian stay away from her too, before he caught whatever Bad Luck Syndrome she seemed to spread. And Benjamin, well, maybe it was better that Benjamin had pushed her away. (“You left!”) Maybe it was better that they never really got together, because it’d be easier for him to forget about her and whatever feelings he might have had for her. He was the smart one, clearly, because he recognised that he was better off without her.

Oh, fuck.

Imogen Sauveterre hated crying. She did not cry. It was just... a way to show how weak you really were, or so she’d been taught. Well, she was definitely showing herself how weak she was, and unless she changed parchments and started over – again – she would be showing Professor Babbling, too. Furiously blinking back the rest of the tears, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and grabbed another roll of parchment and started from scratch again. Whatever mood she was in had to stop. It was selfish. She was being selfish. There was nothing wrong with her life, so she needed to stop being so fucking ‘woe-is-me’ and get over herself and focus on keeping her grades perfect and helping her friends be okay again.

She’d been at the fourth copy for only a few minutes before the common room door swung open and someone stepped inside. Imogen ignored him; people had been going in and out of the doors for the past hour and none stopped to bother her. It was like there was an unspoken rule amongst Ravenclaws: if someone was at a desk with books in front of them, don’t interrupt the—

“Imogen.”

“What?” she snapped, coming off meaner than intended, though it was more from surprise than impatience. She looked up at whoever it was who decided to bother her. “… Oh. What… Why’re you… Hi.”

She was so shocked that Benjamin was actually talking to her that, for the next bit, her essay was completely forgotten again.

[Benjamin Burke]

show me how it ends, it's alright
show me how defenseless you really are
satisfied and empty inside
well, that's alright, let's give this another try

Her snappy what? made him cringe and begin to question whether going to her, after everything he'd put her through, had been a good idea. There was so much he had to apologise for. So much he couldn't expect her to forgive him for, but that he naively hoped she would anyway. There was so much he wanted - no, needed - to tell her. But mostly he just wanted to apologise for every harsh word he'd spoken, every time he'd ignored her or pushed her away, because he hadn't meant any of them at all, he hadn't meant any of it at all. Well, maybe he had at the time, but he didn't now. But now that he was presented with an obviously-stressed out Imogen who had more important things to worry about, he began to rethink whether he ought to talk to her right now or not. But it was already too late. He should have noticed it earlier, but now that she'd acknowledged his presence, seemingly less exasperated now that she recognised it was him and not someone else (although that could be his own hopeful mind playing tricks on him), it was too late to leave her alone now. She might think he was acting up again, he might hurt her again, and that was the last thing he wanted. His lips moved soundlessly as he simply took a few moments so stare at her openly, at the tiredness not-so-well-hidden in her deep brown eyes, the exhaustion rolling off her in waves, the lankness of her hair, the spark that seemed to have diminished. He didn't know what had caused it, but he hoped to Merlin he wasn't responsible for it.

"I'm sorry," he started. His voice sounded off, not his own, unrecognizable in the amount of emotion he couldn't keep from it. He licked his lips and felt himself sink into a chair next to hers, sitting with the back of it against his side so that he could face her. He scooted forward until his knees brushed against her thighs, as close to her as he could get without completely invading her personal space. He swallowed slowly. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, but mostly I'm sorry for...everything. Everything I've done and said for the past few months to you or around you or..." He trailed off and shook his head, blatantly frustrated because, out of all the times for words to fail him, it was quite inconvenient for them to fail him now. His brow forrowed and he raised a hand to his face, rubbing against his skin. He was caught off guard when he felt moisture gather in his eyes and he blinked rapidly, determined not to give into tears. Not now. Not in front of her. Not before he got out everything he needed to say.

Benjamin buried his hands into his hair and sighed loudly as he tried to gather his thoughts into coherent words. "I've been acting really stupidly lately. I don't think I need to tell you that. You already knew that. I handed Marlene's-" His breath hitched over the next worth, "-death really badly. It brought up too many pains, I wasn't thinking straight at all, and I took it out on everyone. I took it out on you and I shouldn't have done that, but I'm going to make up for that now. Because I see that now. I see how...how horrible I've been, how stupid I've been. How blind." He swallowed, the image of Sophia standing front of Rose's bed, defiant and angry, rose to the forefront of his mind and slashed at yet another heart string. "Christ, I've been so unbelievably stupid. Just...please forgive me. Please, please just say that you forgive me. I just need to hear you say it, even if I don't deserve it. Just...please." He reached for her blindly, gathering her ink-stained hands in his and clutching them as tightly as one would cling onto a lifeline, his eyes desperate and pleading.

ooc: this sucks sorries :3

[/color]

[Imogen Sauveterre]

life's too short to even care at all
i'm losing my mind, losing my mind
losing c o n t r o l

[/color]

Seeing Benjamin there, right in front of her and by his own choice, was such a shock that Imogen didn’t know what to say at all. For a moment, she felt herself tense up, wondering what she’d done to annoy him enough to talk to her. Or maybe he saw her meeting up with Fabian last Hogsmeade weekend and going into the Shrieking Shack and thought it was another betrayal. Oh god, did he think they… because they didn’t, they just… it was just for fun, going in there, and it actually was fun, but not that kind of fun, but maybe Benjamin thought—

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” She stared at him with her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide, fully aware that she probably looked (and definitely sounded) stupid, but too surprised by Benjamin to fix it. He sat down next to her and she squeezed her quill harder as his knees rubbed against her legs. What did he mean, he was sorry? For what? And anyway, why was he talking to her? He should be talking to Ian, or Rose, or someone he was actually close—okay, they’d kissed and he said he wanted to ask her out, but that wasn’t the same. They weren’t… they weren’t close like she was with Ian, or like he was with… well, Ian. When Benjamin was in the hospital wing after being beaten up, Imogen wanted to cheer him up with cake. Ian told her he liked pie better, and she’d felt so embarrassed for not knowing that when she and Benjamin had been friends for over a year that she hadn’t sent him anything. Imogen let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in, listening to Benjamin as he continued. “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said when he trailed off, but her own voice was so hoarse and quiet that she could barely hear herself, much less have Benjamin hear her.

He seemed to find the words to keep going, but Imogen just kept staring at him in confusion. Yes, it hurt to have him push her away, but hadn’t she deserved it? She left right when he needed… well, not her, but someone. Death would never be easy to handle, and everyone took it differently. When Ian’s parents died, he seemed to grow up faster than a normal kid should – at least, that was the impression Imogen got. Stefan’s parents just died, and she believed he was desperately avoiding that fact by trying to control his relationship with Lyle – which was just making Lyle worse off. When Leo died… that was different, she decided. That was her doing. But when Leo died, she… what did she do? She thought Leo’s death had been some huge incident in her life, but now that she thought about it, she didn’t really do anything. She didn’t attempt to numb the pain with drugs or alcohol, and she wasn’t drowning in a crippling depression like Benjamin. Leo dying had been her fault, and she didn’t even have the decency to react properly. With Marlene’s death, Benjamin had been so grief-stricken that he’d forced away everyone he cared about, and everyone who cared about him. That was out of a need for control as well, she thought. Maybe he wanted to be in control of when and who he lost. Maybe he had the false idea that if one of them happened to drop dead, it wouldn’t hurt him as much. Or – worse – maybe he believed that if he dropped dead—no. No. She wouldn’t think that.

She had read somewhere about the five stages of grief. Unless things changed behind her back, she believed Stefan was still in denial. Benjamin… Benjamin sorta skipped denial and went straight to anger. If there was any bargaining, she missed it; for the past few months, he seemed to be going back and forth between anger and depression. So what was this? It didn’t feel like acceptance, because she hadn’t fixed him yet it was too… out-of-nowhere. Had something happened? Did Ian get through to him at last? Or Rose? The envy that started to prod at her belly was quickly pushed back by the idea that maybe this was still depression, that he was making last amends before he—but no, he wouldn’t do that, Imogen knew that.

“It’s okay,” she said softly when he gave pause. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t blind. He… he wasn’t horrible, he was grieving. There was a difference. Benjamin took her hands and Imogen dropped her quill without thinking, noticing that it was now stained black and cramped from squeezing it so tightly, and that the ink was making its way onto his hands now as well. She looked back up at him, and he looked so sad, so… honest… that she felt her heart skip and stomach twist. “Benjamin, I…” Her voice still wasn’t there, so she swallowed, trying to wet her mouth and throat. “It’s okay,” she said, this time audible. “Really. Loss is… it’s something we have to deal with our whole lives, but that doesn’t mean we have to get used to it, or that it should be easy. You loved her.” For a moment, Imogen faltered and almost pulled back, but managed to compose herself and keep going. “There’s no ‘right way’ to deal with something like this. So whatever you needed to do… it was what you needed to do. Maybe you did need the time and space to yourself to heal. Some people do. That’s okay. … That doesn’t excuse me leaving you right after it happened, and you were right to say what you did. So for that, I hope you’ll forgive me, but I understand if you don’t.” She felt like she’d been talking forever, but had said nothing important, nothing worth him hearing. If anything, she was scared that she would push him back into his depressed avoidance, so she squeezed his hands tighter as if to keep him from running away again.

“You don’t have to apologise to me, Benjamin. Not at all. I… I think Ian might be different, though. If not for him, he’ll expect one for Rose.” From what she heard from Ian, Rose wasn’t doing all that well with Benjamin’s behaviour, but she left that part out. The last thing Benjamin needed was a guilt-trip. “You’re not stupid, Benjamin. You’re hurt. You’re sad and you’re angry. And that’s okay. You’re not made of steel; you’re human. You’re a good person. The fact that you can feel so much pain for losing someone… that’s what makes you different from the ones who… who did it. It’s what makes you better than them. You don’t need my forgiveness. You would be apologising for having the capacity to love someone. That’s not something you forgive, that’s something you’re grateful for. I’m sorry for how you’ve been feeling, and I wish I could have been more help to you. I never should have left. I just… I just want you to be okay.” She locked her gaze onto his. “I just want you to be happy.”

[Benjamin Burke]

show me how it ends, it's alright
show me how defenseless you really are
satisfied and empty inside
well, that's alright, let's give this another try

Benjamin couldn't stop staring at her. He didn't know why. He knew he should probably stop soon, before she began worrying about something being on her face or, worse, she began to feel creeped out by his staring and he really didn't want that, but he just couldn't bring herself to look away. That is, until she actually spoke, telling him he didn't have to be sorry, and he shook his head automatically, frowning because she didn't understand. Of course she didn't understand. This was Imogen. She wouldn't accept an apology from someone who's been hurt, because of course she wouldn't think any of this was Benjamin's fault. She probably wouldn't have thought badly of her if he'd actually physically hurt her - and the latter thought made a chill cascade down his spine, because he could have. He'd been so far gone that he could have gone as far as physically pushing her away and potentially harming her. It was a frightening thought, because Benjamin would never want to hurt someone like Imogen. Not when she was so...so...Imogen. She was too...good for that, for him. Too wholesome and pure and...not naive. Not quite naive, because she was too smart to be completely naive, although there was an innocence to her about certain things that he just couldn't quite put his finger on. But she was just too...Imogen for him to even consider ever hurting her. He wondered if he had hurt her emotionally. If, after telling her that he'd had feelings for her, treating her so cruelly and heartlessly had hurt her. Then again, maybe he was being too conceited in thinking that he had that sort of influence on her.

It's okay, she said. It's okay. Benjamin caught himself staring at her again, wondering again over her ability to forgive so quickly, so easily. Or, rather, to think she didn't need someone to be asking for her forgiveness - to think that she didn't require or deserve it. Maybe she wasn't the first person he should be apologising to. Probably Rose was the first person on that list, followed by Ian, and then maybe Imogen. Or perhaps not. Either way, she still deserved one, and a huge one. All she tried to do was help him, and what had he done? Pushed her away. Insulted her, practically. And God he couldn't even remember what else he'd done or said to her because that phase in his life had been a blur of unshed tears and bottled up anger and a whole lot of depression. Had it really been a little over three months? He'd been in this state for three whole months? No wonder Rose was such a wreck. No wonder. He doubted she'd taken a sip of her medicine in those past few months, even if Ian had reminded her. Which, of course he would have, but Benjamin wouldn't have just reminded her, he would have taken the bottle of tonic he'd bought for her out of his own bag, poured it into a spoon, and made her take it right then and there if she told him she had forgotten. Not that Ian was any less caring or concerned - he just trusted Rose not to forget again, while Benjamin preferred to be better safe than sorry, especially when it came to Rose. Or perhaps he was simply more controlling than Ian.

She was making excuses for him, and it was, to be honest, starting to rile him up. Not at her, never at her, not anymore. Just at her words, because he didn't deserve her making excuses for him. Not after what he'd done, not after...not after Rose. But she just kept talking and all he could do was shake his head every now and again and wait for her to stop. He was momentarily distracted when she squeezed his hands and his gaze dropped to them in surprise, almost as if he'd forgotten he'd held them in the first place. His fingers curled a little tighter around hers, hard enough that he could feel the shift in her bones but not hard enough to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her again. "Don't make excuses for me," he whispered hoarsely, his lips barely moving. With some effort, he tore his gaze away from their interlocked hands to look at her again. "I don't deserve it." But she continued speaking and he fell silent, simply listening to her. He'd almost forgotten that it could be one of his favourite activities - simply listening to Imogen. Her voice had a comforting nature about it, but more than that, her words always served to be unique and logical at the same time. Well, sometimes anyhow. Other times, when she spoke about herself - not so much. Regardless, when she spoke, he listened, because it was almost always worth it.

When she mentioned Rose, he flinched visibly and wondered if she knew. Ian might have told her, they were best friends after all. Did she know that Rose was in the hospital wing because of him? He felt the bile rising in his throat and wondered how Imogen could even stand to look at him if she knew. I just want you to be happy. A harsh laugh left his mouth at that one, and he let go of her with one hand to cover his mouth afterwards, looking slightly regretful as he shook his head again. "Sorry. Happiness isn't something I'm looking for right now, Imogen. Not...not yet." He licked his lips and then swallowed hard. "Rose is in the hospital wing, Imogen. Because of me. Because I've been...because I've been a mess. She hasn't been taking her medicine and now she's in...seriously bad shape, Imogen. Sophie wouldn't even let me see here. I just came back, and I just...it just made me realise how dumb I've been. How...fuck. How could I just forget everyone like that? Rose needs me, and I've been so cooped up in my own world, that I just..." He gritted his teeth. "I'm not the only one that lost Marlene. Ian loved her, too. But you don't see him..." He trailed off and shook his head again, raking his free hand through his hair while the other maintained it's grip on Imogen's fingers, almost afraid that if he let her go now he'd never be able to find her again. He could feel the tears that he'd been pushing down for the last three months building up, pushing past his defenses, burning his eyes, and then his cheeks as they fell.

"She's really gone, isn't she?"

[/color]

[Imogen Sauveterre]

life's too short to even care at all
i'm losing my mind, losing my mind
losing c o n t r o l

[/color]

Benjamin didn’t think he deserved her forgiveness. Imogen could relate to that. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to forgive him for everything that had happened.

Of course she forgave him. She forgave him months ago, when she got back from the island and confronted him, and told him she was sorry, and he’d pointed out that she left. She forgave his anger then. And she forgave every time he snapped at her, every time he ignored her, every awful thing that had happened – she forgave it all, because that was what Imogen did. She couldn’t hold something like that against a person. She couldn’t blame Benjamin for having emotions, or feeling betrayed or abandoned when he was hurt and lonely and needed someone. She couldn’t blame him now for trying to control whatever he could in his life, including isolating himself from those he cared about and who cared about him.

“I promise it’s okay,” she said, and then something happened that completely stunned her.

Imogen didn’t have a lot of experience with tears.

Her mother had taught her that crying only showed people how vulnerable you were, and vulnerability meant weakness. It meant that the other person had power over you and that you had no choice but to submit to them. If she cried whenever she felt extreme emotion, she’d be crying forever, and no one liked a cry-baby. She couldn’t let herself be open to people, she couldn’t be vulnerable, because then she’d lose all sense of power and self-control to them. Crying was the coward’s way out of trouble; crying made people pity you, and it made you pity yourself rather than fix the problem. Keep your tears to yourself, Florence had taught her. Save them for some real, physical pain.

Benjamin was crying.

And everything Florence had ever said to Imogen was bullshit.

He was vulnerable – extremely vulnerable – and Imogen didn’t think he was weak or cowardly at all. Crying in front of her was one of the bravest things she’d seen him do.

Maybe she was biased. It was Benjamin. He could have belched the alphabet and she’d think it was better than Mozart’s symphony or whoever those composers were and whatever music they wrote. All right… admittedly, that was an exaggeration, but… no. Benjamin had always been on some odd pedestal in Imogen’s view. He’d always been above average, he’d always been surrounded with some sort of glow that made him better than everyone else. It made him unattainable, even back in December when he’d kissed her – she had been okay with it, and okay with the idea that he could even have been cheating on Jordan with her, all because of that damn pedestal. But she believed that none of that mattered. Her perception of him, her opinion of him – none of that had anything to do with him crying. His tears were brave.

“Ben…” she began, but trailed off, her voice cracking before she could finish his name. “She… she is. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Her hands moved up his arms, holding them just below his elbows. She gripped tight and pulled him closer. “When people leave us there’s… not… a whole lot we can do, but… miss them… and keep loving them… and never let them truly leave, you know? And it’s okay to mourn, it is, and it’s okay to be sad. But… we can’t let that control our lives, you know? Because then you lose others even though they’re still here. Ian, Rose…” She hadn’t known that Rose was sick, but she did know that she wasn’t as… happy-go-lucky as she used to be. She was sad without Benjamin around, and now Imogen realised that she was sick, too. Apparently now she was in the hospital wing. Had everything really gotten so bad? She tried to think of the last time she’d seen one of her friends smile, not counting Fabian. It had been… months.

Fuck.

“You know they love you. They all do. It’s been… hard, I’m… I’m not gonna lie, but… I mean, what can we do? Tell you to stop caring about… about her? Of course not. But… please don’t stop caring about your friends, or yourself, and the fact that you’re loved too.”

[Benjamin Burke]

show me how it ends, it's alright
show me how defenseless you really are
satisfied and empty inside
well, that's alright, let's give this another try

If Benjamin were to try to remember the last time he had cried, he probably would have had to trace it back to sometime after Jamie's death. Or maybe it was before that, even, because he couldn't remember if he had cried over Jamie or not. It wasn't so much the notion that big boys shouldn't cry; it was the fact that he'd always thought it'd make him feel worse. That crying never helped, that you had to power through it and act strong and not vulnerable, that he had to be strong for everyone else. At least, that had been his excuse when Hawk died. But then when Marlene died, he hadn't cried because he had bottled everything inside, including his anger and sadness. And now? Now it had all come bubbling to the surface and exploded out of him and there was no stopping the flood gates now that they'd been opened. He wasn't accustomed to the feeling of hot tears spilling down his cheeks and he almost wanted to hide his face in shame, to leave until he'd gotten some sort of control over himself, because he shouldn't be crying in front of Imogen. He didn't want her to feel sorry for him, he didn't deserve her sympathy, not after everything he'd done, but he couldn't seem to be able to do anything but weep, lowering his head and pressing the heels of his hands to his temples, the tears now dripping off the bridge of his nose onto his shoes. He couldn't seem to control it. And quite suddenly, he didn't want to control it. He was tired of being in control. He just needed to let go for a little while.

He listened to her speak, letting her words wrap around him like a warm blanket, heating his insides. The feel of her hands traveling up his arms was shocking, mostly because Imogen rarely initiated contact with him, or anyone really, but it wasn't enough to lift his head. Instead, he continued to stare at the ground between his feet, silently hearing her and trying to process her words as they penetrated his mind, forcing him to think straight again. "I know," he whispered under his breath, his voice hoarse again, as if he hadn't used it in months. It felt like he hadn't. He raised his head to look up at her, hands shaking as the fell uselessly in his lap. "I know," he said again, more certainly. "I don't want to lose anyone else. I don't...I can't. I can't." He licked his lips, thought of the possibility of losing Ian or Imogen or, even closer to home, Rose, and he flinched and cringed away from the thought. He didn't want to imagine losing any of them, and yet here he was, pretty damn close to losing Rose and he'd only just realised what a complete ass he was being.

Swallowing audibly again, Benjamin wiped his hands roughly against his cheeks, the tears having stopped for the time being. This was stupid. He suddenly, childishly, wished everything could be okay again. That Marlene wasn't dead, that Rose wasn't in the hospital wing, that everything was just okay. But what was done was done. He couldn't bring Marlene back. But he could take care of Rose, and fix things with Ian and all his other friends. It wasn't too late for that, no matter how much it felt that way. No matter how much he just wanted to give up on everything because he seemed to lose everyone he cared about in the blink of an eye. But no, not everyone. He still had Rose, and Ian, and Imogen. He still had them, and that realization made him reach for her again, gripping her forearms securely, but not tightly. "I won't. I won't stop caring. I don't think I ever did. I'm sorry." He couldn't seem to stop apologizing, and he found himself swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat again, trying to swallow back the tears, too, but failing as his vision blurred and they fell. "I'm so sorry. I don't want to lose anyone. And pushing them away is accomplishing the opposite of what I want. I just didn't realise that sooner."

Hardly aware of his own movements, Benjamin found himself pulling her closer, pushing his face into the comfort of her neck, his hands falling from her arms so that he could wrap himself around her without warning. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognised that he shouldn't have moved so suddenly, knowing that Imogen and physical contact didn't get along very well, but it didn't seem to matter at the moment. He was selfish and, in that moment, he needed her. Needed her warmth and comfort and wisdom and suddenly it wasn't just enough to have his arms around her, he found himself practically lifting her off the chair and depositing her onto his lap, his grasp tight around her body and his face remaining buried into her neck, surrounding himself with her scent and her touch and just her. "I'm sorry," he murmured again into her skin, and this time he wasn't sure if he was apologizing for his past or his current actions.

ooc: idek this is short and weird love me.

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[Imogen Sauveterre]

life's too short to even care at all
i'm losing my mind, losing my mind
losing c o n t r o l

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What was it that made a person care about someone else? Nature and history always documented the biological aspect of “relationships” as being purely animalistic, something instinctual to find a mate and make sure your gene pool not only survived, but thrived. Friendship was often overlooked, as though it was something unimportant, as though it didn’t matter as much as romance because it didn’t result in offspring.

So then what drew people to each other? What was it that had drawn Benjamin and Imogen together in the first place? She had been bolder with him upon meeting him than she’d ever been with anyone else, which was entirely against her nature, yet it worked enough for them to become friends. Not best friends, not even particularly close friends, but friends nonetheless. She’d always felt like she was on the outside of his circle of trust, sometimes wavering on the edge of the line but never getting in. Yet somehow, she was the one he’d come to. She was the one who saw him break down, who saw him cry, who saw his composure not just slip but crumble to dust. Was it just coincidence that put them together? She had forgotten to write an essay for the first time in her life, which happened to put her alone in the common room at an unusual time – and Benjamin happened to walk in on her. Not Stefan. Not Violet. Not… anyone else. Just him, and just her.

He could have ignored her. Even if he’d come around and moved past his anger and depression, he still could have ignored her and saved his apologies and explanations for people who needed them more – Ian and Rose. Imogen didn’t need him to tell her he was sorry. If he truly didn’t want to talk to her about his feelings, she had decided that she wasn’t going to push him anymore. He needed to talk about them, yes, but perhaps it wasn’t her place. Kissing him didn’t entitle her to his secret thoughts and feelings; kissing him, having a crush on him, didn’t mean that he had to open up and spill his soul to her. But he chose to anyway, and why, Imogen couldn’t figure out for the life of her. But now wasn’t the time to ask him why; she couldn’t tell him to hang on so that she could quiz him on why he’d come to her now instead of someone he knew better. Ian never would have judged him for crying. Ian knew Marlene – Ian liked Marlene – so he probably could have related better. But Benjamin was stuck with her. At least she cared about him. At least she wanted to be there for him and give him whatever he wanted and needed for him to be okay, for him to feel better, even if she didn’t think she was the right person who could make that happen. He’d chosen her for it anyway.

So what had drawn Benjamin and Imogen together that night? Despite all of her thoughts, the answer was pretty simple: He needed someone, and she was there.

His face was suddenly in her shoulder and he had his arms around her, pressing her tightly into his chest. Imogen was surprised, since she’d never known Benjamin to be this intimately physical, and then she felt herself literally lifted out of her seat and on his lap. She’d had the sense to swing her legs around so that at least she wasn’t straddling him, but it was still a shock. Tentatively, trying to move forward, Imogen wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his embrace. “It… It’s okay,” she assured him, placing one hand on the back of his head. “It’s okay.”

She was quiet for a bit, letting him hold her while she gripped back, and the hand that was resting against the back of his head started to move up and down, gently stroking his hair in what she hoped was a comforting manner. He was scared – he was scared of losing his friends the way he lost Marlene, without warning and in violence. He was scared that he’d be alone because… because he couldn’t save them. Maybe Imogen didn’t know exactly what that was like, but she knew how it felt to feel responsible for other people, to want to save the people she cared about and feeling utterly useless when she couldn’t. She couldn’t let Benjamin feel that way. There was too much pain in it, too much guilt and shame. She held him tighter. “You won’t,” she said softly into his neck. She couldn’t speak for Ian or Rose or anyone else who mattered, but she could speak for herself, and it was better than nothing. “You won’t lose me, Benjamin. Ever. I promise.”

[Benjamin Burke]

show me how it ends, it's alright
show me how defenseless you really are
satisfied and empty inside
well, that's alright, let's give this another try

Benjamin didn't know what was more surprising; the fact that he was holding Imogen like this, or the fact that Imogen was letting him hold her like this. They were both people who appreciated their own personal space, both of them weren't particularly touchy-feely or intimate, at least not with their friends, and yet here they were, wrapped around each other. Or, rather, Benjamin was wrapped around Imogen, as tightly as he could manage without accidentally choking her, his arms crossing over her back. There was nothing romantic about the way he held her, nothing extremely intimate about it, even though he was holding her so close, because he wasn't thinking of it like that. This was purely platonic, just Benjamin Burke seeing comfort from his friend, Imogen Sauveterre. Maybe he should have gone to Ian first, because he, next to Rose, was the one who deserved his apologies the most. Or maybe he should have gone to Violet, who would have been more okay with him holding her like this, although she was so tiny he was afraid he might have crushed her without knowing it. Or he could have stayed at the hospital wing, apologised to Sophia and demanded that he see Rose so that he could talk to her, apologise for being such a complete fool and beg that she take him back as a friend, that she get better and let him take care of her again. But he hadn't. He'd come to the common room instead, he'd seen Imogen and he'd turned to her for comfort, even though she was the least likely to give it the way anyone else did. But somehow, she was being exactly the comfort that he needed right now. Or maybe that was because he'd take anything at this point. Even though he was fully aware he didn't deserve it, he was selfish enough to take it, and he shifted her more comfortably on his neck so that he could angle his face into her neck without getting an uncomfortable crick in his own neck.

When he felt her fingers run through his hair, Benjamin automatically closed his eyes and relaxed his hold on her a little, his hands sliding down her back to lock above her waist, holding her more securely there. Strangely enough, the rhythmic stroke was calming him down. Or maybe it was the smell and feel of Imogen. Either way, he felt his heart rate start to slow down, the trembling of his body gradually lessening until it completely went away. Even though he knew that, logically, she couldn't promise him that he wouldn't lose her - especially considering Imogen's track record and her tendency to get in trouble simply because she was so bloody, thoughtlessly selfless, he was as likely to lose her as he was Rose - he couldn't help but feel comforted by her words anyway, no matter how untrue they might prove to be. And in this moment, he forced himself to believe her. That he would never lose her. That no one would try to take her away from him the way they'd taken Marlene and Jamie and even Penny. He sighed into the crook of her neck, unconsciously stroking her back, as if she needed his comfort, too. "Good," he murmured quietly. Because I'd really hate to lose you." He fell silent then, simply holding their position for a few minutes longer before he forced himself to pull away, one hand reaching for her face, cupping her cheek. "Thank you." He didn't think he needed to verbalise what he had to thank her for. Benjamin had never been one who used words excessively, and he knew it.

For a moment, he simply held her face, his other hand tightening a little around her waist before his lips twitched in what almost could have been a grateful smile if it wasn't for the fact that he was so wrecked, he could barely manage it. Gently, he deposited her back into her chair and shifted his legs. "Thank you," he said, again, because he felt like she needed to hear it. He unconsciously reached to tuck her hair behind her ear and then shook his head a little, getting rid of the dangerous thoughts that threatened to take over his mind and make him do stupid things. He'd think about Imogen and feelings and lost chances later. Now wasn't the time, not when he'd been crying all over her shoulder. "You should get back to your work," he told her gently, standing up, even though he really didn't want to leave. If he didn't think it'd be a bother, he would have sat next to her and simply watched her work. He hesitated and suddenly reached for her shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. "You're a...really good person, Imogen." Maybe she needed to hear it. Maybe she didn't. Either way, he needed to say it.

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[Imogen Sauveterre]

life's too short to even care at all
i'm losing my mind, losing my mind
losing c o n t r o l

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She should have been happy. In that moment, Imogen should have been all but weeping with joy.

There was happiness, yes, there was relief. Benjamin had found his breakthrough, whatever it happened to be, and had opened himself up to emotion again. He could heal now, really heal. And yes, she was happy for him because of that.

But in some sick, perverse way, it felt… almost worse. Because she hadn’t done anything. Imogen hadn’t fixed Benjamin. Imogen hadn’t helped Benjamin. All she had done was piss him off. And she was just there when he needed someone because he didn’t want to do this alone anymore. He hadn’t sought her out. She was just the person he saw first. There was nothing special about it, or her, or—But none of that mattered. It honestly didn’t, because Benjamin had broken down, and it wasn’t a bad thing at all. It was good. Now he could pick himself back up and move forward, and hopefully things could start being better.

Hopefully.

She was back on her seat and he was on his feet within seconds. Her skin was still damp from his tears, and her hair was a little wet, too. It didn’t matter. At his words, Imogen remembered that she was down there to work on homework, and she glanced at it in mild surprise. Shame it couldn’t do itself. She smiled at Benjamin, letting out a breathy chuckle and a “Oh, yeah, that” in agreement. Imogen picked up her quill, twirling it between her fingers for a few moments while she looked at her essay.

“You’re a… really good person, Imogen.”

She looked up, her eyes wider than usual with surprise. That had seemingly come from nowhere, but she appreciated it all the same. She smiled at him again – a real smile this time – and glanced down after a moment, her cheeks going pink. “So are you, Benjamin,” she said, getting herself under control enough to look at him again. “I mean it. You’re… full of good.” She blushed again, more out of embarrassment at having said something stupidly lame and cheesy, but hoped Benjamin would understand her intentions behind such a dumb statement. “If… if you need me, I’ll be here.”

She knew he’d understand the meaning behind that.

[Benjamin Burke]

show me how it ends, it's alright
show me how defenseless you really are
satisfied and empty inside
well, that's alright, let's give this another try

Benjamin wasn't sure why he'd said it. He'd meant it, of course he had. He did think Imogen was a good person - probably one of the best people he knew; right up there with his parents, Ian and Rose. It just felt like the right thing to say, at the moment. There were a lot of other things he would have liked to say, of course, but none of them were appropriate for the situation, or for anything at all, not in the far, far future. Because he couldn't have Imogen. Not now. Possibly not even in the future, although he didn't want to think about that when there was already so much other shit going on in his head; he didn't need the added depressing knowledge that he didn't deserve her. Because he didn't. She deserved someone whole, someone she didn't have to continuously fix. Someone who would treat her right, who'd ease her worries and not give her more. Imogen was the type of person who constantly searched for someone to fix, for someone to heal, someone whom she could get through to; but just because that was what she searched for didn't mean that was what she should have. But Benjamin couldn't pretend to know what was best for Imogen. It wasn't fair. All he really knew that, whoever it was, it couldn't be him. No matter how much he tried.

But really - let's not think about that. Especially when she was saying the opposite of what he thought of himself.

"Thanks, Imogen," he murmured, giving her shoulder a quick, friendly squeeze. And then, because he didn't trust himself to stay without saying anything incredibly stupid like I still have feeling-s for you or you're perfectly imperfect or are you free next Hogsmeade weekend?, he left

the end

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