Page 94 of Operation Sunshine
Ben stood there, his chest heaving, staring at the door as though sheer will might bring Franco back. The silence that followed was deafening. It pressed in on him, thick and heavy, filling the space Franco had just occupied. The air still smelled faintly of him—soap and coffee, the citrus tang of his shampoo—and Ben’s chest ached as if he’d been hollowed out.
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once through the hallway, then back again.
God, why didn’t I say it?
The words had sat on the edge of his tongue all night, all morning.I love you.Three syllables, so simple, and yet he’d swallowed them down, convinced that saying them hours before Franco left, would be selfish. A chain around his neck. A weight Franco shouldn’t have to carry to Florence.
But as the silence grew, so did the doubt.
What if I’ve made a mistake?
What if Franco needed to hear it?
What if those words are the anchor that make him want to come back?
Ben braced his hands on the wall, his head bowed. The thought of Franco in Italy, laughing, cooking, living, maybe finding someone else who lit him up the way he deserved, was a knife straight to the gut. And yet, wasn’t that the point? Franco deserved everything, even if it left Ben behind.
The temptation was brutal. He pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at it. He could call. He could run after him. He could go to Franco’s flat, knock on the door, and justsayit. Strip himself bare, risk it all.
Fear rooted him in place. Fear it would sound like a plea, that if he spoke those words, and Franco left anyway, it would break him in ways he couldn’t recover from.
The quiet stretched, the flat empty around him. He finally sat on the couch, his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor as if the grain of the wood might give him answers.
For the first time in years, Ben was scared.
Franco’s flat felt colder than it should have. The suitcase lay open on the bed, half-packed, and the sight of it turned his stomach. Hemoved around the room like a ghost, folding clothes with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.
Every corner of the flat felt wrong. Empty. Or maybe it washimwho felt empty, stripped of something essential the second he’d walked out of Ben’s door.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his face buried in his hands.
God, he’d wanted to go back. Every step away from Ben’s flat had been torture, his feet dragging, his chest tight. The urge to turn around, to throw everything away and beg Ben to just hold him, had been nearly unbearable.
But he hadn’t.
Guilt gnawed at him, berating him for leaving at all, telling him he was putting miles between them when they’d barely begun. Guilt that even last night, when Ben had touched him as though he was the most precious thing in the world, Franco hadn’t had the courage to say what was burning in his chest.
I love you.
The words stuck like glass in his throat. What if saying them made it harder? What if it broke something instead of binding it? What if Ben didn’t feel the same—or worse, what if he did and it only made goodbye more unbearable?
Fear twined with longing, tightening his chest until Franco could hardly breathe. He pressed his palms over his eyes, fighting the sting.
Florence was everything he’d ever wanted. The stage was his dream, his chance to prove himself, to grow. And yet, for the first time, he questioned if a dream was worth the cost of leaving the person who’d made him believe he was worthy of more than flings and fast, messy nights.
He forced himself to stand, to keep packing, to fold shirts and tuck chargers into corners, as though movement might keep him from crumbling. But every task was haunted by Ben’s laugh, Ben’s hands, Ben’s voice whisperingme toowhen Franco hadn’t been brave enough to finish the sentence.
He zipped the suitcase shut, the sound final and brutal. His chest ached as if he’d locked a piece of himself inside it.
And still, he told himself the same lie he’d been repeating for days.
It’s only three months. He’ll be there when I get back.
But in the quiet, his heart whispered the truth he couldn’t silence.
What if he isn’t?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
