Page 93 of Operation Sunshine
Ben poured them both mugs of coffee, then sat across from Franco at the table. They talked about nothing consequential, the pastry case that needed restocking, Raj’s latest obsession with wine pairings, Ollie’s terrible playlist. Their voices wove around the silence, filling it with mundane threads, as though talking about work could anchor them in the familiar.
The moment came when Franco couldn’t pretend anymore.
He set his mug down too hard, the ceramicclinkloud in the quiet kitchen. “I should go. I still have packing to do.”
Ben’s eyes flicked to him, his gaze unreadable. Then he nodded. “Yeah.”
The finality in his tone nearly undid Franco. He stood, walked around the table to where Ben sat, and pulled him up by the hand. Their kiss wasn’t frantic like the night before, but soft, lingering,desperate in its restraint. Franco poured everything into it—all the words he couldn’t say, all the love he couldn’t voice.
All the hope he was terrified to name.
Franco’s hand was on his neck, connecting them as they kissed, unhurried and tender.
Ben felt the kiss like a brand, gentle, aching, full of everything Franco wasn’t saying. And when it broke, Franco pressed their foreheads together and whispered, “When I get back… I hope…”
Something deep inside Ben cracked.
“Me too,” he whispered back, because it was all he trusted his voice to carry.
Franco stepped away, the space between them opened, and Ben’s chest screamed with the pressure of all the words he longed to give voice to.
What if I never get another chance? What if the plane takes Franco away not just for three months, but forever?
Before he could stop himself, he spoke.
“Franco—wait.”
Franco turned, his hand still on the strap of his bag, his eyes dark and uncertain.
Ben’s throat worked, dry as sand. He’d never been good at baring his soul, letting anyone see past the armour he wore like skin.
But Franco had already seen it all. Franco had undone him piece by piece until there was no armour left.
“You should know…” Ben’s voice shook, but he pushed on. “You’ve changed me, more than I thought anyone could. When I came here, I was… angry. Lost. Convinced I could build something new without ever really letting people in. And then you—” He broke off, shaking his head, a helpless laugh escaping. “You blew into my life like a bloody hurricane. Loud, chaotic, impossible to ignore. And somehow… you made me want to stay. To fight for this place. To fight for… you.”
Franco’s breathing hitched, his expression crumbling at the edges.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen when you’re gone,” Ben admitted, his voice raw now, spilling fast as though if he didn’t let out what he was feeling, it would choke him. “And maybe you’ll come back and everything will be the same. Or maybe it won’t. But if I never get the chance to say it again, I need you to know: I’m not the man I was when you met me. And that’s because of you.”
Franco’s eyes shimmered in the heavy silence that followed, his lips parting as though the words were there, right there, if only he could let them fall.
But instead, he only whispered, “Ben…”
And God, the way he said it.
Like an ache.
Ben forced himself to smile, his chest burning. “Go on. Finish packing. And don’t miss your flight.”
Franco gave a sharp nod and took another step back. Another lingering glance.
Ben surged forward, grabbing Franco’s head, their lips colliding in a fervent kiss. Ben poured his heart and soul into it, all the emotions he couldn’t reveal.
He had to let go at some point.
Franco took a deep breath. “Goodbye.”
And then he was gone, the door shutting with a softclickthat sounded far too loud in the quiet flat.
