Archive of Our Own

It was nearly 10 p.m. in City Hall, and the conference room was quiet except for the hum of the overhead lights and the occasional scratch of Leslie’s pen.

Ben glanced up from his laptop and watched her.

She was cross-legged in her chair, highlighter tucked behind one ear, a stack of budget reports in front of her like they were bedtime reading. Her hair was a little frizzy from the long day, her heels kicked off under the table, a smudge of ink on her cheekbone that he’d been tracking for the past twenty minutes.

She looked completely in her element.

She looked perfect.

Ben cleared his throat and went back to pretending he was reviewing the parks department’s maintenance schedule instead of memorizing the exact shape of Leslie Knope’s smile.

She didn’t notice. She was humming softly to herself, the kind of barely-there tune someone only sings when they feel safe.

Safe with him. His heart thudded.

A knock at the door broke the moment.

Mark Brendanawicz popped his head in. “Hey, Leslie.”

Leslie looked up. “Oh, hey Mark. What are you doing here so late?”

“Forgot to take this home with me earlier." he said, holding a rolled-up blueprint tube. "I need to catch up on some work this weekend, so I had to come back for it. And then I saw your car still parked out front. Thought I'd stop in and say hi.”

Ben watched closely. Mark’s eyes flicked over Leslie in her rumpled blouse and bare feet, and then he smirked.

“You two still working? This late?” he asked, cocking a brow at Ben like he’d caught him in something.

Ben gave a polite nod. “Just about to wrap up though, probably.”

"Oh yeah?" He returned his full attention to Leslie. "Well, if you want I can wait and walk you out?"

Ben saw a slightly pained expression pass over Leslie's face. Just a flicker, quickly replaced by a subdued smile.

"Thanks Mark, but it's ok. Ben can walk me out." She locked eyes with Ben, her smile softening. "Right?"

Ben smiled back. "Of course."

Mark’s gaze lingered on Leslie a second longer. “Ok. Well...don’t work too hard, Knope.”

Leslie gave a tight, closed-mouth smile. “Don’t worry. I make time for plenty of snack breaks.”

Mark gave a half-laugh and left.

Ben sat back in his chair, biting the inside of his cheek.

The air felt different now. He could see it in her—the small way her shoulders hunched, the way she immediately busied herself with her notes like she needed a shield.

He stared at his screen. Didn’t type.

“Hey,” he said after a moment, voice soft. “Can I ask you something?”

Leslie glanced over, wary but curious. “Sure.”

Ben hesitated. “What’s the deal with you and Mark?”

She blinked.

Then blinked again.

Her laugh was light and deflective. “What do you mean?”

Ben didn’t smile. He met her eyes. “You don’t have to answer. I just… I’ve seen him around. The way he looks at you. And the way you don’t really look back.”

She exhaled.

For a long moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she sat up straighter, pushed her hair behind her ear, and said quietly, “Do you want the short version or the one where I confess embarrassing things and overshare and then probably cry?”

Ben gave her a small smile. “I’d never ask for the short version from you.”

She huffed a laugh. “You say that now.”

She went quiet again. Gathering her thoughts.

And then, gently, she began.

“It was about seven years ago,” she said. “Mark and I were already friends, coworkers, governmental sparring partners… whatever. I don’t know what we were, exactly. But I liked him. And I thought… I thought maybe he liked me too.”

Ben listened, utterly still.

“We were at this bar downtown. This divey place with sticky tables and great curly fries. It wasn’t a date. I told myself it wasn’t. But I’d spent an hour picking out an outfit and curling my hair. I wore this red dress I’d gotten on sale. Tight, which was… not my usual thing. But I felt good in it. Confident.”

She laughed softly, self-consciously.

“Anyway. We were at the bar. Talking about zoning permits, of all things. And this guy comes up to me—some total stranger who was very clearly drunk—and starts hitting on me. Asking if I was an ‘escort’ and how much I charged for certain...services. Gross stuff. So Mark—Mark steps in. Wraps an arm around me and says, ‘Get lost. She’s with me.’”

Ben’s jaw clenched.

Leslie didn’t notice. Her eyes were fixed on the table.

“I laughed. I remember that. I was nervous but I laughed, because he kept his arm around me after that guy left. And it just felt good. To be held. To be protected. Like I mattered. And after that, I couldn’t stop looking at him differently. I kept thinking, maybe this is something.”

She paused. Her voice dropped.

“He walked me home that night. And I… I invited him in. For coffee. Which is the dumbest code in the world, because who drinks coffee at midnight? Well...I do sometimes. But it's mainly whipped cream. Anyways. He just followed me inside.”

Ben didn’t move. Barely breathed.

“I remember everything,” Leslie said quietly. “The way he stood behind me at the counter. The way he wrapped his arms around my waist again. The way his lips brushed my neck, just under my ear. I remember the sound I made—how surprised I was to feel that much from just… that.”

She swallowed.

“I turned around. He kissed me. And we didn’t make it to the bedroom. We didn’t make it past the couch. I still had my dress on. He just pushed it up around my hips, kissed his way down my thighs like he knew what he was doing. I’d never had someone touch me like that before—like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.”

Ben stared at her, his stomach tight, heart racing. Not from jealousy—but from the ache in her voice.

“He said I was sexy. Smart. The whole package. And I believed him. Because I wanted to. Because I needed to.”

She looked up then, eyes glassy.

“I fell asleep on top of him. Arms around his chest. I felt safe. And warm. And maybe even happy.”

Her next words landed like a punch to the gut.

“And then I woke up at 3 a.m., alone.”

Ben didn’t say anything. He couldn't. He was too busy trying to fathom how any man could be in that position, with Leslie Knope, and then choose to leave.

Leslie was watching him now, her expression a mix of embarrassment, defiance, and sadness she hadn’t quite buried.

“I looked around, but he was just… gone,” she said, softer now. “No note. No text. Just this cold spot on the couch and the worst feeling I’d ever had in my chest. Like I’d made something up and believed it so hard it cracked me open when it turned out to be a lie.”

Ben’s fingers curled into fists on the table.

“He told me later—like, days later—that he hadn’t intended to stay. Said he didn’t want me to ‘get the wrong idea.’” She gave a bitter laugh. “As if I had misread things. As if he hadn’t said all those things just to get me into bed.”

Ben stood up.

Not suddenly. Not dramatically. Just… with purpose.

He walked to the other end of the table and sat down beside her, not too close, but closer than before.

“He made you think you didn’t matter,” Ben said, voice low. “But you do. You matter more than he ever could’ve handled.”

Leslie shook her head, eyes brimming. “It’s stupid. It’s old news. And I’m fine. I’m over it.”

“No,” Ben said gently, “you’re not. And you don’t have to be. What he did… it wasn’t just a one-night stand. He knew how you felt.”

She nodded once. “Yeah. I think he did.”

“And he still walked away.”

“Yeah.”

She exhaled, long and shaky, fingers threading through each other on the table like she was bracing herself.

“There’s… more, unfortunately.”

Ben stayed silent; eyes focused entirely on her.

“I tried to let it go after that. Told myself it was a mistake, a stupid one-night stand, and that I could just move on.” Her voice dropped. “But I couldn’t. Because I had to see him all the time. At work. In meetings. At parties. Just… around.”

Ben’s jaw flexed.

“And he still talked to me like he always had. Still flirted sometimes, whether he meant to or not. Gave me just enough attention to keep me hanging on. And it worked. It freaking worked. I spent the next five years carrying a torch for him. Letting that one night live on in my head. The more time passed, the more I built it up—romanticized it. Turned it into this perfect, meaningful moment that it probably never really was.”

She let out a hollow laugh.

“Then one night, after a particularly awful date my mom set me up on—he was sixty-two and kept calling me ‘young lady’—I ended up back at a bar. And Mark was there.”

Ben’s brows drew together, but he didn’t interrupt.

“We started talking. Laughing. And for the first time in a while, it felt like it used to. It felt real. Like maybe… maybe the moment was back.” Her mouth twisted. “When the bar closed, he suggested we grab beers to go, and then somehow we ended up on that old bench by the pit. Giggling like idiots over something, or nothing.”

Ben’s voice was quiet. “And then?”

“Then he kissed me.”

Ben’s eyes darkened.

“I kissed him back at first,” she admitted. “But then I pulled away. Because even drunk, even heart-sick, I knew it didn’t feel right. I told him… ‘This isn’t the way I wanted things to happen again.’ And you know what he said?”

Ben didn’t move, but the air around him changed.

“He said, ‘Leslie, it’s not that big of a deal.’” She said the words like they still tasted bitter. “And that’s when the penny dropped. That’s when I finally saw it.”

She looked at Ben, eyes glassy but fierce.

“I wasn’t some epic love story to him. I was never even close. I was just this… option. This fallback. A trump card in his back pocket he could play whenever he wanted. That night we had? It didn’t mean anything to him. Neither did that kiss.”

Ben was still as stone, but his fingers twitched on the table.

“I remember looking at him,” Leslie said, “and for the first time, I didn’t see some charming guy who got away. I saw a drunk man who wanted to get laid and thought I was an easy target. So, I put a stop to it. Told him to go home.”

Her lip twitched, the faintest smile—darkly amused. “To his credit, he didn’t argue. He stood up to leave… and immediately fell into the pit and gave himself a concussion.”

Ben blinked. “Wait—he fell in the pit?”

“Oh yeah. Headfirst. Had to call an ambulance and everything.”

Ben let out a stunned breath that was almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it—just disbelief and fury being barely held back.

“He was in the hospital for a few days. That’s when he started talking to Ann more. They started dating not long after that.”

Ben’s eyes widened slightly. “He dated Ann?”

“Briefly. Maybe seven months? Then he told me he was going to propose to her.” Leslie huffed out a dry sound. “But Ann dumped him before he got the chance.”

Ben blinked again. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” She shook her head. “That's about when you and Chris came to town. And now… things are mostly back to how they were. He still occasionally makes eyes at me; says something he thinks is charming. But it doesn’t work anymore. It doesn’t pull me in. It doesn’t make my heart race. Now it just feels like a slap in the face. Like a reminder that for years, I let myself believe that something mediocre was the best I could hope for.”

Ben leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze locked on hers.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. You deserved more than that.”

Leslie gave a small shrug, like she’d practiced downplaying it over the years. “It is what it is.”

“No.” His voice sharpened just slightly. “It shouldn’t be. You don’t get to be treated like some fallback girl and just accept it.”

She blinked at him, startled by the edge in his voice.

“You are Leslie Knope. You are smart, and kind, and so passionate it knocks the wind out of people,” Ben went on, voice low and firm. “You care so deeply about everything—about everyone. You deserve to be with someone who adores you. Who treats you like you're the best thing that's ever happened to them. Because you are.”

Leslie’s breath caught.

Ben dragged a hand through his hair, suddenly aware of how intense he sounded. “Sorry. I just—God, I hate that he made you feel like that’s all you were worth.”

Her voice was soft. “I think part of me always knew. Knew I was just kidding myself.”

Ben looked up, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She gave a faint smile. “But I liked the fantasy. It was easier to live in denial, than to admit the truth. That he never really saw me the way I wanted him to.”

Ben’s heart ached. “You should always be seen, Leslie.”

She looked him in the eye, and the silence stretched between them. A current of something deeper, heavier, passed through the air like lightning waiting to strike.

“I see you,” he said, barely more than a whisper.

Leslie’s eyes went wide. Her lips parted, but no words came out.

Ben shook his head slightly, like the words had slipped past his filter before he could stop them. But then… he didn’t take them back.

“I see you,” he repeated, voice steadier this time. “Every time you walk into a room, I see the way you carry yourself. The way people light up when you talk. The way you fight for what’s right, even when it costs you. I’ve never met anyone like you, Leslie.”

She blinked quickly, clearly trying not to cry. “Ben…”

“I just want you to know,” he said, quieter now, leaning in like this was a secret only meant for her, “you don’t have to settle for someone who doesn’t choose you. Not when you deserve someone who couldn’t imagine choosing anyone else.”

The silence that followed was thick, warm, intimate. Her breath came a little faster. Her cheeks were flushed, her hands still clenched lightly in her lap, but she didn’t look away.

“Ben,” she said again, voice hoarse, “you’re gonna make me fall in love with you if you keep talking like that.”

He froze.

She did too.

Both of them stared at each other, stunned and breathless.

The silence was deafening.

“I—” Ben started, but she shook her head quickly, covering her face with one hand.

“Oh my God, I didn’t mean to say that,” she groaned. “That was supposed to stay in my head. Why do I keep oversharing with you?”

Ben swallowed hard. “Wait—Leslie, wait. You’re not the only one who—”

He cut himself off, stood abruptly, and started pacing. “Okay, okay, this isn’t how I pictured this going, but—since we’re being honest—Leslie, I’ve been falling for you since the first week I got here. Maybe the first day. I tried to ignore it. I told myself it was inappropriate, it was unprofessional. And once we became friends, I told myself it would ruin our friendship—”

She stood too, wide-eyed. “Ben.”

“—but none of that mattered when you walked into a room and smiled at me like I was someone worth knowing. You made this place feel like home. And I’ve wanted to tell you a thousand times, but I didn’t want to risk what we had. And now I’m—”

Leslie stepped in, grabbed his shirt, and kissed him.

It was immediate. Fierce. Hot. Messy.

Ben made a sound in the back of his throat like he’d been sucker-punched, and then his hands found her waist. Then her back. And suddenly they were stumbling together, laughing softly into each other’s mouths, pressed tightly together in the middle of the conference room like gravity itself had finally given up pretending they were separate planets.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathing hard.

“Oh my God,” Leslie whispered, dazed. “You’re a really good kisser.”

Ben let out a stunned breath. “You kissed me.”

“I had to,” she said. “You were spiraling.”

He grinned. “I was confessing my feelings!”

“And you were doing it really well. I just—couldn’t listen anymore without kissing you.”

Ben couldn’t stop smiling. “Can I kiss you again?”

“God, yes.”

And this time, it was slower. Sweeter. Her hands slid up to frame his face, and his thumb brushed against her cheek like she was made of something precious.

It was, without a doubt, the best second kiss of their lives.

Soft and slow, mouths brushing, then lingering. The kind of kissing that wasn’t about urgency but reverence. Like every touch was saying, I’m here. I see you. I want you.

Ben cupped her face delicately, something he’d dreamed of so many times but never thought he'd actually get to do. Leslie leaned into it, fingers curling in the front of his shirt like she no longer trusted gravity to keep him close enough.

When they paused, catching their breath, Leslie didn’t let go. She stayed there, forehead resting against his, her eyes closed. He could feel her heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Ben?” she murmured.

“Yeah?”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright and glassy. “Would you… want to come home with me?”

Ben blinked.

Her hands dropped from his shirt as she suddenly seemed to panic. “Wait, okay—I mean—I don’t mean that the way it sounds. Or, like, I do, sort of, but not in the casual, random, ‘come back to my place and let’s hook up in a haze of unresolved trauma’ kind of way—” She waved her hands frantically, cheeks flaming. “God, I’m explaining this terribly.”

Ben was blinking rapidly, stunned and enchanted all at once.

“What I’m trying to say,” she went on, slower now, more careful, “is that I don’t usually do that. In fact, what happened with Mark—that was the only time I’ve ever had a one-night stand. I that was just because I didn't know that's what it would turn out to be. I thought maybe it could be something more, and when it wasn’t, I felt so…” She trailed off and took a deep breath.

“I guess I just don’t want you to think I make a habit of doing that. Because I don’t. And this—” She motioned between them, a little helplessly. “This matters. I don’t want it to feel rushed or thrown together or… like something that’ll fade out by morning.”

Ben reached out and gently took her hand in his. “Leslie…”

She looked up at him, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “But I also don’t want to go home alone tonight,” she whispered. “I don’t want to walk out of here and pretend this didn’t just happen, or that it wasn’t important, or that I can just go back to how things were tomorrow. Even if we don’t… do anything. Even if we just talk, or watch a movie, or fall asleep holding hands like emotionally unstable middle schoolers—” She laughed wetly, wiping at her cheek. “I just want to be with you.”

Ben didn’t hesitate. He leaned in and kissed her again, slow and certain. When he pulled back, his voice was barely more than a murmur. “Then that's exactly what's going to happen.”

She nodded, a relieved, trembling smile tugging at her lips. “Okay.”

They lingered a little longer, touching each other like they couldn’t believe they were finally allowed to. Ben brushed his thumb over her cheek, her jaw, her lips. Leslie smoothed her hand down the front of his tie, then tugged it just enough to make him stumble forward into another kiss—this one deeper, hungrier, threaded with months of tension.

And still, it stayed tender. Like they were just enjoying each other’s warmth.

Eventually, they slipped quietly out of the conference room. Ben’s hand found hers in the hallway, and she didn’t let go—not even as they passed the janitor down the hall or the soft hum of vending machines near the exit.

They stepped out into the crisp night air, still dazed and a little giddy, like the world had tilted on its axis and they were finally standing where they were meant to be.

Leslie turned to him as they settled in her car. “Just so we’re clear,” she said, “I meant it when I said even if we just talk or hold hands—”

Ben leaned down, kissed her sweetly, and murmured against her lips, “I’m yours, Leslie. However you want me.”

Her breath caught.

She didn’t say anything else. Just reached for his hand again and drove them home.

They barely spoke on the drive.

Not out of awkwardness—more like awe. A quiet, unspoken appreciation for the fact that this was real. That this was happening.

Ben kept stealing glances at her from the passenger seat, like he still couldn’t believe it. And Leslie kept his hand in hers on the center console, like she was afraid he might vanish if she let go.

When they got to her place, the world around them felt so still it might as well have been holding its breath.

Leslie unlocked the door and stepped inside, letting out a soft, nervous laugh at the sight of her project binders and scrapbook supplies littering nearly every available surface. “Sorry about the mess, I haven’t had a chance to clean since, well—” She looked back over her shoulder, only to find Ben right behind her.

He smiled. “Looks perfect to me.”

Her throat tightened. She stood frozen in the doorway, feeling his presence behind her—steady, solid, safe. She turned to face him.

And then, without another word, she stepped into his arms.

Their mouths met again. Slower this time. Softer. But with a promise behind it. A weight.

Ben’s hands slid gently over her back, and Leslie sighed into the kiss, one hand curling around the back of his neck. The feeling of him—his warmth, his scent, his quiet restraint—it all made her feel dizzy with how much she wanted him.

But not just him. Not just his body.

She wanted this. Them.

She pulled back slightly, their noses brushing. “Are you sure you’re okay with staying?” she whispered. “Even if we don’t… I mean, if I’m not ready for…”

“Leslie,” he said, voice low and warm, “I would stay just to watch you fall asleep.”

Her breath caught.

He kissed her again, and this time, she led them backwards—slowly, carefully—until the backs of her knees hit the couch.

They sank down together, still kissing.

It was lazy and exploratory now, hands mapping familiar places made new by the intimacy of it all. Ben kissed down the curve of her neck, just beneath her ear, and Leslie whimpered—soft and surprised—and clutched at his shirt.

She tugged it loose from his waistband, fingertips brushing warm skin beneath, and he inhaled sharply against her throat.

“I don’t want to go too fast,” she whispered, even as her hands wandered. “I just… I want to feel close to you.”

Ben nodded against her collarbone. “You can have all of me,” he said. “As much or as little as you want.”

Leslie pulled back and really looked at him.

His tie was askew, hair a little messy, eyes so soft it undid something in her.

And she kissed him again.

It deepened naturally. He leaned her gently against the back of the couch, not crowding her, just hovering—pressing sweet, reverent kisses along her jaw. Her hands slid under his shirt, splaying across his back, feeling the smooth heat of his skin, the tension in his muscles.

His mouth returned to hers, and she sighed into him, opening up.

Time seemed to bend and soften. There was no rush, no pressure. Just warmth. Just connection.

Eventually, they sat tangled together on the couch, shoes kicked off, her legs draped across his lap. Her head rested on his chest, fingers tracing absent circles against his ribs beneath his shirt. His hand moved slowly through her hair.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” she murmured.

Ben pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Me neither.”

She smiled sleepily, heart full and aching. “You’re not going to disappear tomorrow, right?”

He pulled her closer. “Not a chance.”

And Leslie, finally, let herself believe it.

Let herself rest in it.

In him.

In this.

After a long while of warmth and silence, Leslie lifted her head from Ben’s chest and looked at him with a soft smile.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey,” he murmured back, brushing a thumb along her cheek.

“I think…” she bit her lip, shy all over again, “I think maybe we should move to the bedroom.”

Ben blinked. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “It’s more comfortable. And I have, like, ten pillows.”

He chuckled. “That’s a pretty strong pitch.”

Leslie stood first and reached for his hand. He took it without hesitation. They walked through the house, the only sound the faint hum of Pawnee sleeping outside her window and the occasional creak of her floorboards.

When she pushed open the door to her bedroom, Ben hesitated just inside the threshold, taking it in.

It was unmistakably her—cozy, golden-hued, full of personality. Books stacked on the nightstand. A knitted blanket at the foot of the bed. A framed photo of her and Ann at a festival, laughing. And at the center of it all: a queen-sized bed, inviting and warm.

Ben swallowed. “It’s… really nice.”

Leslie smiled at the awe in his voice, but she could feel her own nerves bubbling again. She turned down the covers, then paused and looked back at him.

“Hey,” she said gently, “what would you be most comfortable wearing to bed?”

He blinked, surprised by the question. “Oh. I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable, honestly. I could sleep fully dressed. Kaki armor and all.”

She laughed, a small, grateful sound. “Of course you’d say that.”

She walked up to him and brushed her fingers along the front of his shirt. “Thank you,” she said, voice soft but sincere. “You always… You always think about how I’m feeling first. Even now.”

He opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by her lips.

A gentle kiss. One hand cupped his jaw, her thumb brushing along his cheekbone as if trying to memorize every angle.

When she pulled back, she whispered, “Can I help you get comfortable?”

Ben nodded. “Yeah. Please.”

She smiled, a little shy again, and then started by removing his tie. 

And as she unbuttoned his plaid shirt, her hands slightly trembled. 

Next, she reached for his belt—slowly, carefully, not rushing a thing.

“Is this okay?” she asked, voice low.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Absolutely.”

She undid the buckle and button, then eased the zipper down. He helped, just enough to push his pants down to the floor, stepping out of them, now in his soft undershirt and black boxer-briefs.

She placed her hands on his chest, over the fabric of his shirt. “You look… really good like this,” she said, almost like it was a secret.

Ben exhaled a quiet laugh, touched and flustered all at once.

Then she looked up at him, eyes shining. “Would you mind… helping me do the same?”

His breath caught. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

He reached out with reverent hands, starting with the buttons of her cardigan, then gently pushing it down her arms to reveal the white tank top underneath. Next came her slacks, and he took his time, watching her eyes, waiting for any sign of hesitation. There was none.

Just trust.

Now, she was standing in front of him in a fitted tank top and simple black underwear. Her body warm, soft, and beautiful in the glow of the bedside lamp.

And then, without breaking eye contact, Leslie reached behind herself and gracefully unhooked her bra, sliding the straps off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

Ben's breath visibly hitched.

“God, Leslie,” he whispered. “You’re… you’re beautiful.”

She blushed, but didn’t look away. “You make me feel like I am.”

“You are. You always have been. I just feel really, really lucky to be here with you.”

Their next kiss was slow. They melted together. Hands sliding over warm skin, learning each other gently, carefully. The kind of kiss that made her heart flutter.

They climbed into bed together, facing each other, bodies so close. Arms entwined. Legs tangled. Her hand on his chest, his around her waist.

She sighed as she settled against him, every inch of her body alive with awareness, comforted by the weight of him, the warmth.

“You okay?” he murmured.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “More than.”

Ben leaned in and kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then her lips again. “Me too.”

And there, in the soft glow of her bedroom, they held each other close. Their breathing slowed together. Their limbs relaxed. But the air between them still thrummed with electricity. Promise.

It wasn’t over.

It was just beginning.

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of their breathing and the occasional rustle of sheets as they shifted minutely to stay close. Leslie had one leg slung over Ben’s. Her cheek was pressed against his chest again, right over the steady beat of his heart. His arms were draped around her like he never wanted to let go.

They’d been lying like that for nearly an hour. Just… existing together. Holding. Breathing. Feeling more at peace than either of them had in what felt like years.

Leslie’s fingers traced lazy, absentminded circles against his side. She wasn’t even sure she was thinking about anything in particular—just soaking it in. The sensation of him here. With her. In her bed. Not for sex. Not because of obligation or loneliness or pressure.

Just because.

In the dim quiet, she tilted her head slightly, voice low.

“Are you asleep?”

She felt the rumble of his soft laugh under her cheek.

“Nope.”

She smiled, eyes still closed and let out a little laugh of her own.

Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, she teased, “It’s nearly 2 a.m. I mean, I’m used to staying up late—government project planning, midnight waffle runs, filibuster practice sessions, you know, the usual—but you, sir, have no excuse. Why haven’t you passed out yet?”

Ben gave a tiny shrug, the arm beneath her tightening just a little.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “I mean… I am tired. But it’s like… my brain refuses to shut down.”

She tilted her head up to look at him. “Why?”

He looked down at her, eyes gentle and a little shy. “Because why waste this time with you by sleeping through it?”

Leslie blinked, breath catching softly.

Her throat went tight with emotion. It wasn’t a line. It wasn’t flirtation. It was just… him. Saying something beautiful. Saying it like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

She smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. And yet tears pricked at her eyes anyway.

“Ben Wyatt,” she whispered. “You are going to ruin me for other men.”

He chuckled softly, brushing his knuckles down her arm. “Good. Though I'm hoping there won't be other men.”

She leaned up to kiss him again. Not rushed. Not heated. Just warm and full and slow.

And when she pulled back, she whispered, “I’ve never felt so wanted. Not like this. Not… for all the parts of me.”

Ben’s gaze searched hers, serious now, voice quiet. “You deserve that, Leslie. Every version of you is worth it. The passionate government nerd. The fierce friend. The brilliant woman who can out-debate anyone in a room. The girl who makes up five-year plans and gives her heart to everything she does.”

She swallowed. “You really see me, don't you?”

“You're all I see.”

Leslie pressed her forehead to his and closed her eyes. Letting herself feel how much that meant. How deeply it hit. How different this was from anything she’d known.

She was used to being the one doing the chasing. The fixing. The overcompensating. But here… here was someone who met her in the middle. Who held space for her. Who wanted her, but not for what she could do or be or give—but just because she was herself.

“I see you too. And I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered.

He kissed her temple. “So am I.”

And then they settled back into each other again, wrapped in a kind of quiet awe. A night where nothing had to happen. Where just being was enough.

But under the covers, skin to skin, heart to heart… that quiet tension still hummed. Sweet. Certain. Inevitable.

They weren’t rushing. But they weren’t afraid either.

They were just… home.