Work Text:
It is absolutely pouring when Benoit steps out of the building. The needle like rain splashes on the open umbrella. His pants are getting wet from the bottom, and his dress shoes are drenched. He can feel the moisture in his socks.
When he walks, water squishes inside his shoes and Benoit hates the feeling of it.
The possibility of rain was a hundred percent, but he wasn’t expecting a heavy fall. It was supposed to be a few raindrops - like it’s been all week.
His raincoat prevents most of his clothes becoming soaked by the wind carrying rain. Thankfully, his head is still dry from the hood of his raincoat and the umbrella hovering over him.
The worst part is, he is sick.
Benoit was not expecting to step out of his apartment today. But an invitation by a previous affluent client to his art show forced him out.
He had received a free ride to the art building, but now he was left with no rides but a walk to the nearest bus station.
His unfamiliarity with the place didn’t help either. He has been in Greece for roughly six months, but his settlement is too slow for his own good.
The night lamps are flickering on and Benoit shivers in the chill fog. It’s too hazy to see anywhere further than five feet and Benoit struggles to keep track of his whereabouts.
It doesn’t help that he has been hearing footsteps behind him since he came out of the art show either.
Benoit knows. He is aware.
It is a deserted alleyway. According to the map on his phone, it showed to be a short cut towards the bus station. Out in the open, there are more people, but Benoit is in a hurry and might have made a bad decision.
Although, he knew he was being followed, he still allowed himself to become vulnerable. He can blame it on his sickness, but he also isn’t scared to confront whoever it is that is making him uncomfortable.
Benoit takes a corner – checking to see if the person follows. His navigation re-directs him a different path, but for now, that isn’t a concern.
The person is still following.
The art show is not that far away from here. Maybe a five or six-minute walk back to the building. Turning back around could mean safety, but Benoit is irate.
From being sick for almost a week, and then being manipulated into coming to an art show. And now being followed.
Benoit stops walking. Stands in the middle of the alleyway. There are no streetlamps anymore. Just the lights coming from the residential buildings besides him.
The footsteps also stop. Watching and waiting.
Benoit closes the umbrella and lets the end top hit the floor. He leans heavily on the umbrella – using it as a cane.
“Can I help you with something?” He must shout because the rain is hammering down.
Benoit cannot see the man properly. The illumination from the buildings are not strong enough, and the man is wearing all black. His collars are up, and it’s obscuring his face.
“You,” The man points – his hair plastered to his forehead.
“What?” Benoit shouts at him, “Why are you following me?”
Whatever the man has to say, he stops. Instead, his face shadows with confusion in the rain and he blinks rapidly.
Benoit narrows his eyes. The rain is falling in his eyes and he has to keep wiping his face. The man says something to him again, but Benoit can’t hear him clearly. “Go home.” He shouts at him, “I don’t want to deal with this right now.” He waves the umbrella up, in a defensive manner when the man takes a few steps forward.
“Don’t think about it!” Benoit threatens. The sharp end point of the umbrella is ready to jap anyone that comes close.
“Put that down,” The man barks, waving his arms as an attempt to shoo it away.
Benoit furrows his brows and starts swaying the umbrella dangerously, but the man keeps stepping forward. In a desperate bid – when the man is close enough – Benoit smacks him in the face and the man falters back.
“Jesus Christ!” he shouts, holding his cheek and looking at Benoit with sharp blue piercing eyes.
Benoit clears his throat and tries not to let the man’s reaction affect him too much. He holds the umbrella straight in his face and asks, “Why are you following me?”
“I’m not following you.” The man straightens up as he rubs his cheek. He points at the umbrella, “That-”
“That,” Benoit shakes the umbrella, “Is going to hit you again if you keep following me.” He has had enough. “It would be best if you go another way. I’m not in the mood for this.”
“In the mood for what?” the strange man raises his chin in question, “What are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” Benoit turns the question to him, “Who are you?”
“I’m Phillip,” The man says, raising his hands in surrender. “And I’m not doing anything.”
“Really,” Benoit mocks, “You’ve been following me since I came out of that art building.” He accuses, anger evident in his voice.
“You know I’ve been following you?” Phillip asks, surprised.
“Of course,” Benoit says matter of factly. “I don’t think you know who you are messing with.”
Phillip chews on his lips, rain smashing against his face. “I know who you are Mr. Blanc.” He says, “What I don’t know is why you didn’t stop if you knew I was following you.”
Benoit looks at him confused, and surprised. The man knew who he was, which was suspicious considering he was bundled up in a rain coat and it was too dark to see him clearly. Then, why would he stop to a stranger anyway.
“How do you know me?” He asks – mind running in miles. He calculates his whereabouts. Has the man been following him all day? Since when? He only came out of the house two hours ago.
“I saw you at the Art Show.” Phillip answers, “I’m sure you saw me too.”
The detective shakes his head.
Phillip’s tone gets softer, “Really?” he says in disappointment, “You smiled at me twice.”
Benoit shakes his head, “I’m too sick to remember what I did.” He waves the umbrella when Phillip steps forward. “Back off, and what do you want?”
Phillip sighs.
“Stop doing that.”
“Make me.” Benoit challenges.
Phillip shakes his head and steps forward – grabbing the umbrella as it is about to hit his shoulder. He pulls the umbrella away from Benoit’s hands.
Benoit remains frozen in place, but not afraid.
“You are a real tough guy,” Phillip says. He pulls open the umbrella and hovers it above his and Benoit’s head. “I’m not following you.” He says, standing close to the shivering detective. “And I’ve been calling you for a while, but you’ve been ignoring me.”
“I didn’t hear you calling me.” Benoit does not believe him, but he gives the man the benefit of the doubt. It was raining hard, and he could not have heard anything anyway. Benoit clears his throat and realizes. If Phillip wanted to do something, it would have happened by now. Instead, the man is huffing out in exasperation.
Up close, the man does not seem that dangerous, and the lights casting through the windows showcase Phillip’s soft glare and features. The rain makes him look vulnerable and frigid. He is wearing a black jacket with its lapels up, and no other sort of protection from the rain.
“I’m sure you didn’t.” Phillip says, voice equally soft as his current expression. “It is raining. I thought I would catch up to you, but you walk too fast.”
Benoit does not admit he was walking fast to get away from Phillip.
“Why,” Benoit blinks, “Why were you following me?”
“I...” Phillip clears his throat, “well, now it’s going to sound stupid.” He scratches his nose.
“What?”
“Well,” Phillip starts again, becoming embarrassed.
“Well, what?” Benoit asks impatiently, he is tired and would like to go home already.
“You took my umbrella.” Phillip looks away, and then at the ground awkwardly.
Benoit stares at Phillip’s shy face and remains stoic to the information.
Phillip takes in a sharp breath of air and purses his lips.
“Of course, I did.” Benoit admits.
Of course, he did. When Benoit came out of his apartment, he had a free ride to the art show. He only brought his jacket which converted to a rain jacket if need be. He was also expecting to get a ride home, so he never bothered to think about bringing an umbrella. What would be the point carrying it around the show?
Benoit blinks as he remembers. He also realizes, the umbrella is hovering more above him than on Phillip. The back of Phillip is getting drenched in rain. He sighs, and swallows apologetically. He also, blamed the man for following him like a stalker. He squeezes his eyes in regret.
“I’m sorry.” Benoit starts, “I am sorry. I’m not feeling well, I wasn’t thinking straight.” He breathes out, “I’m sorry.” The sudden awareness of his cold and tired body overwhelms him. His shoulders slump in defeat.
Phillip watches in pity, “No..no,” he says, grasping his own fault. “It’s just a stupid umbrella.” He laughs nervously as he looks up at it, “I can’t believe I followed you for this.” He grips the handle of the umbrella tight and bites his lips.
“It’s not stupid.” Benoit wipes his face. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes, “I am.” He looks at the deep of Phillip’s blue eyes and his stomach sinks.
Phillip is looking at Benoit tenderly and biting his lip. The detective has equally soft blue eyes and the two men hold their gaze for a minute longer than necessary. It is Phillip who breaks the eye contact and shakes his head.
“Silly me.” He says, as he tries to hand the umbrella back to Benoit. “Take it. Go home.”
“What?” Benoit is startled at the sudden umbrella being pushed into his hand. Phillip’s hand is cold as it reaches the detectives. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” Phillip says. Hand on Benoit’s wrapped hand on the handle of the umbrella. “You are sick, also I live close by.”
Benoit can read Phillip easily. The man is lying.
“I didn’t steal it on purpose.” The detective defends himself, “I would never.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Phillip removes his hand from Benoit’s. He waves his hand in a dismissive manner and is sure. “It happens.”
“But you followed me all the way.”
Phillip is ashamed, “I was actually going to stop.” He says, “And I only followed you for five minutes, the art show isn’t that far.”
It felt longer because Benoit’s mind was running errands. Phillip is right.
“I only turned this corner because I am pretty sure you are going the wrong way.” Phillip raises his eyebrow.
Benoit’s breath hitches as he looks behind himself. He realizes it is a dead end.
“I..ah.” Benoit says while laughing nervously, “I was trying to corner you but you caught up pretty quick.”
“Oh, okay.” Phillip laughs. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Benoit laughs too, and then sneezes. He is sure a fever was in his near future. The rain is not stopping anytime soon, and as much as he likes talking to the man and understanding his reasons. He still wants to be home and under his bed covers.
“Do you live nearby?” Phillip asks, concerned, “Or should I call you a taxi?”
Benoit looks at Phillip and then away. He should have called a taxi himself earlier. “I was going to the bus station, but I guess I’ll get a taxi.”
Phillip nods. Does not say anything and gives the person on the phone their current address. When he hangs up, he looks at Benoit, “Two minutes.” He pouts. “Let’s get out of the alleyway so he can see us when he arrives.”
Benoit agrees. He does his best to cover both of them with the umbrella but it seems unsuccessful. Phillip seems to be giving him generous amount on personal space, or maybe the man is afraid to get sick. Benoit gives Phillip a suspicious look. He notices a small bruise on the man’s cheek and feels guilty.
“I’m sorry for hitting you.” Benoit and Phillip stand under the streetlamp as they wait for the taxi.
“That’s fine.” Phillip smiles, “It was nothing.”
“Huh,” Benoit eyes linger, “Do you want me to do it again?”
Phillip’s eyebrows jump and he shakes his head, “No sir.”
A minute of standing by and giving each other awkward looks; headlights approach the two people and Benoit smirks. “That’s my taxi?”
“That’s your taxi.” Phillip answer.
Benoit quickly pulls out his phone that he dumped earlier into his jacket pocket. He jabs it into Phillip’s chest.
“What?”
“Give me your phone number.”
Phillip does not need to be told twice as he calls himself from Benoit’s phone. When he looks up, Benoit is looking at him with interest. “You don’t need to give the umbrella back if that is why you are asking for my number.”
“I’m giving you the umbrella now.” He closes the umbrella as the taxi approaches and parks next to them. “You need it too.” He grabs Phillip’s hand and puts the umbrella in it.
Phillip is stunned and grateful at the same time. He opens the taxi door, and Benoit takes a seat inside. Before he closes the door, Benoit says, “You are not a bad person. I would like to apologize to you in a better way.”
“There’s no need.”
“Maybe over dinner?” Benoit asks, stunning eyes piercing into Phillip’s.
Phillip swallows hard and nods, “Yes,” he says, eagerly, “That would be wonderful.”
Benoit smirks and closes the door. He watches through the foggy windows as the taxi starts moving. Phillip is still standing and watching him.
Soon he cannot make out the man anymore but his phone dings. It’s from an unknown number and it’s a text that reads ‘Phillip.’ Benoit smirks again as he adds the number to his contact list.
Maybe coming out to art show was worth it after all.