Benedict's POV

This is incredible. The girl of my dreams is in my bedroom. Touching me, undressing me. Her body is more beautiful than I had ever imagined, what her dress allows the outside to see. And I can't get enough of her. One second that our lips are apart feels like I've been stabbed in the heart. I unfasten her bra, and slide off her underwear. She slips off my boxers, and we lay down, on top of one another.

She moans as I move my mouth to the side of her neck, her jaw, her collarbone, her shoulder, making my way down to her fingertips and across to her hip. I can feel odd indents in her skin here, and she shivers. I ignore it, planting more kisses along her stomach and up to her breasts. I can feel the indents here too, but she's distracted. She pulls my head up to her lips, and they meet again. I don't want to stop.

This was supposed to happen. Me and Her. Together.

Ayla's POV

It's morning, and the light filters in through the windows. Sheets cover Ben and I, and I notice that we're holding each other. He's smiling in his sleep. I smile back to him, like he could see me in his dreams.

I never want this to end. I know what love feels like, for the first time in my life, and it's so powerful. He inhales and exhales loudly, and I laugh.

Oh shit, I've woken him.

He opens one eye and smiles until the creases next to his eyes are beautifully defined. He grabs me unexpectedly during our stares, and I giggle, and his lips are right where they should be. I don't get enough from him, yet he leaves my lips and moves down my body like he usually does. I'm enjoying it, so I don't remember until he says:

"What are these?" He asks, referring to my scars, collated in specific parts of my body.

"Stretch marks," I blush, but out of pure embarrassment.

"You were… you lost weight?"

His words linger in the air. "Yes. I'm… I'm sorry." Water begins to form in my eyes. "Don't look at me, it's…I…" I struggle to get out from underneath him, but then he lets go, and I tuck myself away under the covers.

"Don't. Just don't." I hear his soothing voice, pulling my hair gently out of the duvet cocoon. "You are so beautiful."

"No I'm not! I'm not beautiful whatsoever! I'm full of rips and tears and I honestly don't deserve you. I'm sorry."

"No. Don't you understand, Ayla?"

I turn to look at his face, I feel as if I need to. "I love you. I love you so incredibly much. Do you know what I felt when I first saw you at that party?" I shake my head, looking down in regret. "Like I had just laid eyes on an angel, a fucking goddess. Don't think that you can do that to people. Just tiptoe onto the dancefloor in a dress that exactly matches the colour of your eyes, and hair that flows all around you.

"You can't look even more beautiful when you get closer up, because I was scared to look at you from a mile away let alone a couple of centimetres! Do you know the looks I got from men as I walked away, leaving you helpless with a stupid postcode and not taking you home?"

The muscles in his face tense, angry and upset. "Do you know what it felt like to think about you and that night every day for seven years, and not have the guts to write to you and ask you out to dinner? To see your face in the newspapers and the words of a prodigy, a woman not letting anything in her way and following her dreams no matter what the might threaten to prevent her from doing so? I felt like a complete failure compared to you.

"And when I walk down the street or the red carpet several times a week, I see thousands of screaming girls, and I swear, I never see one that even compares to you." His voice calmed down now, and he breathed deeply. "When I saw your hair put into a bun, popping up from a superhero novella, my world stopped again. I found it hard to believe you were really there. And you walked up, fucking beautiful with no crap on your face, and kissed me, right there and then, and I swore to myself I would never stop loving you, even if you decided to stop loving me. You'll never know what it's like to completely fall in love with you, and not be able to stop." His eyebrows relax. "I fell in love with you and your scars." He leaned down to my hips, and kissed every tear in my skin. He kissed every centimetre of my body, and I lost track of time.

Benedict's POV

We woke up a few hours later, about midday, to the sound of my stomach impatiently grumbling.

"Want some breakfast, Benedict?" I look over to see an angel, who just happens to be sitting naked in my bed.

"Don't worry about it. I want to stay here with you,"

"No, let's make something. It'll be fun," her smile is contagious. She lifts herself up and walks, her back to me. I instinctively reach my arm out to bring her back, but she's already too far away. She picks up a robe, covering her body, and I grimace. I follow her as she exits.

"What do you want to make?" I wrap my arms around her, and she pushes her head back into my collarbone.

"Pancakes. I'm going to make you pancakes," I kiss her cheek, and begin looking in my cupboards for ingredients.

"Put on some music," I suggest, gesturing to the speaker. I see her skip over in the corner of my eye.

"Ooh, Billie Holiday, The Cure, Alt-J…" I smirk, listening to her flick through CD's. "How about The Beatles and my favourite album, the marvellous Revolver?" I laugh in approval.

There we are, eating pancakes together, flour on our hands, 'Good Day Sunshine' playing in the background. This could only be perfect with her.

Ayla's POV

We step into the shower, already our lips latched on to one another. He turns on the water, and I feel his muscles relax. For an arbitrary reason, I begin to laugh, and he kisses the corners of my mouth and my chin.

"Stop," I blurt out.

"Stop what?" his voice bounces off the glass.

"Stop being so amazing,"

"Hypocritical." I sigh, looking down at his body. Volts pass through my nerves, and I begin to get dizzy. My hand finds itself outlining the contours of muscle and bone, and he doesn't flinch like I would. I look up at him, and he's smiling. I can't believe someone like him would feel that way about me.

"I love you," we say, almost in harmony.

It's cold when we step out of the steam, and he cloaks himself around me, both of us in a large dressing gown. I begin to clothe myself in the underwear I wore the night before, reminding me of how long ago our first date was, and how close tomorrow is.

"When is the right time to ask me to leave?" I ask, looking down at the floor.

His face is genuinely surprised.

"Never. I want to you stay forever." I laugh.

"But I've got work tomorrow. And one set of clothes. A flat to return to."

"Can't you stay here, for a week? For a trial run." He pleads, and I don't know how to interpret that comment. 'Trial run.'

"I have no clothes. I need to get something-"

"Of course, of course. You'll be back tonight?"

"On one condition. I'll stay here on one condition." He nods eagerly. "At the end of the week, if you haven't gone mad over my lunacy, you come with me to meet my sister and her husband. Formally."

"I'll do whatever. I can't keep away from you."

Unexpectedly, he grabs my waist, pulling me into him, like we were about to dance. He puts his finger to his lips, and points in the direction of 'Here, There and Everywhere' playing softly from the kitchen. He bends over, and I drop like they do in films.

I realise that I've never danced with anyone before. We twirl and spin, the world blurring around us. He looks comically posh, head held high and shoulders back so far I didn't think it was possible. We laugh and sing along to the words, half-dressed. The sun shines through the high windows, and the song ends. He bows to me, and I curtsey, holding an imaginary skirt.