It was a few days later, Saturday night, when Beth Harmon knocked on the door to your apartment. "Beth—," You said, as she let herself in.

"I refuse to get ready for a night out in his grotty little basement. There's simply no light to see what the hell I'm doing," She waltzed into your apartment, hair tied with a scarf, shoes clicking across the wooden floor. You let out an accepting chuckle as you shut the door. You faced her awkwardly, stuffing your hands in your jean pockets.

"This is a cute apartment," Beth said, eyes skimming the room like she was window shopping, before turning to you expectantly.

"Drink?" You burst out, not used to playing hostess.

"Anything non-alcoholic, if you have it," You sprang into action, fast walking to the kitchen.

Never in your life did you think Beth Harmon would one day show up at your apartment unexpectedly. You'd moved to New York to distance yourself from chess, yet this was the most active within the community that you'd ever been—

It boggled your mind to the point where you often chose not to even think about it.

You grabbed a beer and a Diet Coke can from the fridge, the latter for Beth.

"I can see why you'd need to get out of Benny's place," You began, amusement on your lips. "It's all too... Benny,"

"I think you mean it's all too freakish. The first time he brought me here I thought he—,"

"Was going to kidnap you," You finished her sentence, handing her the coke can and taking a seat on the couch in the middle of your studio. "Matt told me about your reaction to the basement. Understandable really," You smiled with your eyes as you took a gulp of beer. Beth joined you on the couch, slipping off her shoes and bringing her knees up to her chest.

"I misjudged him, back then," Beth began, her voice sounding some-what distant. "He's a good guy. Arguably one of the best, albeit a bit egotistical... and annoying... and cocky..." Laugher sprang from her mouth as she kept talking. You rested your cheek on your hand, propped up on the couch back.

It was then that the possibility of you becoming friends with Beth Harmon came to your mind. This was what friends did; sat on the couch, drank, gossiped, laughed. It was just odd to think that she was literally a chess World Champion, fully integrated into a world you'd tried so hard to get out of.

"You don't have a chess board?" She brought up, suddenly. You watched as she scanned the room for any sign of the classic black and white squares. When she looked back at you, you silently pointed to the closet next to your bed. "It's in there?" She added, turning and giving the door a staring contest. "Why?" She muttered, and you got the sense she'd meant to ask that to herself.

"He left it to me. It's his," Your father's.

Beth flicked her gaze to you like lightning. "He left it to you?" You let out a shaky breath.

"I was going to donate it to the Chess Federation, but I haven't got round to it," Beth's face softened. It was as if her eyes were staring into your soul—like she was trying to tell you what a sad thing that would be.

"Is it beautiful?" She asked, which took you by surprise. You'd never heard of anyone asking if a chess board was beautiful. It caused something to grow inside you—a memory. One that didn't make your throat close—

A chess associate had come to the house when you were nine or ten. You'd stayed clung to the hallway wall, watching as they drank whiskey and laughed about past tournaments. That's when your father grabbed the board from the sideboard—

You watched as his associates' eyes had lit up.

Maybe it was beautiful.

"It's handmade. From Russia, when he went there in 1940." You breathed out, still present within the memory.

"They have beautiful boards in Russia," Beth confirmed. "I managed to snag myself Borgov's King, he placed it in my hands when I won," Beth got up from the couch, headed for her bag. You came back to reality as she rummaged through her belongings, revealing a gold painted King piece. She handed it to you.

You held the piece with gentle curiosity, with careful fingers. "It's sort of a good luck charm now, even though I don't believe in superstition." She jumped back on the couch, watching as you traced the intricate golden brush strokes on the crown.

"I listened to the game on the radio," You admitted, handing her back the piece. "I was holding my breath for most of it."

"So, you've followed along with chess this entire time?"

"I suppose so, yes,"

Beth took a pause. "Did he know?"

You could have told her that the thought of your father even knowing that you knew the game back to front made you want to vomit. You could have told her that it was easier to step back into the shadows, away from all the questions, the curiosities, the "Are you proud?" asks that you always got at every game—

Instead, you simply said "No."

Because the fact was—

You thought your father was amazing—

You thought he was the best—

But whenever anyone from that world saw you, they were actually seeing him.

You forced yourself to put on a smile, gulping down some more beer and ending it with a refreshing "Ahh."

"Right—," You jumped up from the couch. "Music? Outfits? For tonight,"

Beth shot you a playful look. "We'll blow them all out of the water,"

Beth had spared no expense on her clothes after winning World Champion. You lost count at the sixth blouse she laid out on the floor, matching each one up with a different skirt, or pair of trousers.

You were no fashion expert—you'd got by on trousers and inornate tops most of your life, balanced out with a pair of scuffed Doc. Martens that were in need of a good sponge and soapy water. You owned one pair of heels, and they weren't even that tall.

You had to admit that the attention was fun. Beth would hold up clothes to your frame and step back, squinting, before going onto the next item.

You admired her, not just because she was a marvel with a chess board, but because she did it in style. You could see her genuine interest in fashion, the way her eyes lit up whenever she saw something made out of silk, or a flattering necklace.

Neither of you realised the time until another knock sounded from your apartment door. You flung it open, still laughing at something Beth had said, and was met with a stare from Benny Watts.

"How long does it take to get dressed?" He said, and you rolled your eyes at him.

"Longer than it takes you to slip on the same green shirt and greying jeans that you wear every damn day," You hit back.

"And the hat—don't forget the hat," Beth spoke up from the couch, pulling on a pair of Chelsea boots.

Benny entered your apartment, shoving a pile of books in your arms. "Thought I might as well drop these around, seeing as you both think we have all the time in the world before Amanda scolds us for being late,"

You took the books, depositing them on the desk in front of the window to the fire escape.

"Want a drink before we go?" You said, peering at yourself in the mirror that sat atop the desk. Beth had done your make up—you'd never looked, nor felt, this sophisticated in your life.

Benny let out a sigh. "Go on, then,"

You rushed into the kitchen, opening up the fridge and grabbing two beers. "Beth—do you want another coke?" You asked. When she didn't reply, you looked up to find the two of them stood next to the couch, eyes plastered on the closet.

Beth was whispering something in Benny's ear, a reserved look on his face.

You knew it was about your father's chess board—

And you chose to ignore it.

You popped open your beer, taking a few large gulps and slamming the can back down on the counter. Benny was the first to meet your eye, as you leaned on the counter looking at them discuss the demons in your closet. He quickly ended the conversation after that, strolling over to the kitchen and timidly taking the beer from the counter.

You could see something swimming behind his eyes—you prayed it wasn't pity, but you also had a feeling that Benny had never pitied you. Either way, you could feel something unpleasant rising to the surface of your judgement.

"Nice place," Benny said, trying desperately to make small talk. He popped open his can, drinking in silence while his eyes flew around the room, looking at anything except you.

Beth flicked through your limited records, picking out Johnny Cash from the bunch. You both watched as she slotted the record on your player and the needle placed itself down. Ring of Fire started, and with it came a dancing chess champion.

You glanced at Benny, a small smile on his lips, as he watched Beth dance so freely in your living room. It was impossible not to smile when Beth Harmon danced—it was impossible not to look at her either. She was petite, but fiery, with her bright hair and even brighter prospects.

You pictured yourself getting used to this—

To them.

Being around them, laughing with them, smiling with them, making bad decisions in the spur of the moment with them—

These people who you'd once associated with your father—

You now associated with yourself.

When you blinked you were in Monte's, on the dance floor with Beth and Amanda. The music blared, the floor was lit, and you hadn't danced this much since you were a young girl in ballet lessons.

Beth grabbed your hands, flinging your arms in the same rhythm as hers. She spun you around once, twice, three times, before you had to stop and step back, almost falling over onto your arse, not for the first time that night.

Occasionally, while you were spinning, you'd catch a glimpse of a certain cowboy hat, sat just beyond the dance floor with the others—

He'd always be looking in your direction.

You wondered if it was for any embarrassing reasons—your seam had ripped, your flies were undone, your hair was a mess—but you knew that it was just Benny. He was probably comparing your dance moves to chess games inside his head.

A twist onto another square, another one down, another step closer to checkmate.

You gave in after an hour, making your way back to the table, your brow spotted with sweat. "I don't know how they do it, I'm ready for a hip replacement," You joked, as you popped yourself down in the booth next to Benny.

He slid a cocktail in your direction, half of which you inhaled through the straw in a matter of seconds. Kayden laughed in shock as you sat back, closing your eyes and smiling from ear to ear. "This time you're definitely going to throw up from the booze, not the chess,"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Benny chimed in, tapping his glass casually, eyes scanning Beth and Amanda on the dance floor.

You embraced the warmth the alcohol had given you. You were positively giddy, in the best of moods. You leant forward, resting your chin in your hands as you looked towards the ceiling. Lights danced on the walls, the worn-down fake chandeliers—you followed them as they flew over booths, tables, Benny's hat—

Benny's hat.

The insatiable urge to steal it from his head came over you before you could think about the consequences. In a swift motion, you pulled it from his head, his eyebrows rising as you deposited it on your head.

"Ah—so you're Amanda level drunk, huh?" Benny said playfully, but you didn't feel incredibly pissed. Over anything else, you simply felt happy.

"That's just rude," You said. Right on cue, Amanda let out a squeal as she toppled over on the dance floor. You watched as she laughed at herself, as Beth helped her up swiftly, sending an awkward smile back at you and Benny.

"You were saying?" Benny whispered in your ear. It was enough to make you jump, turning to immediately look at him, face to face—

He was smiling deviously, playfully, a hint of smugness always laced within his expression. Despite how close you were to his face you didn't back away. It was like you'd just entered an unofficial staring contest, too focused on the way his pupils darted from eye to eye, your nose, your chin, your lips—

They lingered there for slightly longer than you'd been expecting.

That's when you backed away, sending him a quizzical smirk.

You overlooked his lingering stare, going back to your cocktail, when Matt and Mike came back from the bar with two trays full of drinks and shots. You saw Benny grimace, as Mike ran off to get Beth and Amanda. Kayden was banging the table in a rising crescendo.

"Am I missing something?" You said, just as the others came back from the dance floor.

"No, you're not," Benny said quickly. Kayden butt in, placing a shot in front of everyone, with the difference of a shot of lemonade for Beth, around the table. When he was done, he stood, raising his own shot to the sky.

"Mr. Benny Watts!" Benny sat with a shy smile on his face. "It is your 28th year of being a cocky bastard," You shot your stare to Benny, a shocked smile on your face. "And for that, we must all drink our overlooked fondness of you away."

You raised your shot to the sky along with everyone else, sending down a stare at Benny as he sat, unmoving. Cheers and chants began as he contemplated picking up his shot, the longer he stalled, the louder they got, until he finally gave in—

"Alright! Alright. You're all assholes," He stood, raising his shot glass. "Apart from you." He said, turning a smile on you. Before you could react, everyone threw back their shots, grimacing as it slid down their throats.

You slammed your shot glass down on the table, holding Benny's hat to your head with one hand as it began to slide from your skull. "You didn't tell me it was your fucking birthday," You followed him in sitting back down.

"Didn't need to, not with these lot around," He sent sly stares at the boys, getting back a wink from Kayden.

"It means you don't have to feel bad for not getting him a present," Mike chimed in.

"It also means that afters will be running all night," Matt interjected, raising his eyebrows at Benny, who'd already raised a hand in objection.

"No, no—my place is too small for all of us. Not to mention, some people don't appreciate the grandeur of living in a New York basement," Benny sent a look to Beth, who sipped innocently at a Diet Coke, avoiding his eyes.

"We'll go to mine," You offered, and were met with the three boys' gleeful smiles.

You blinked once more and were back in your apartment. Music played from the record player, Beth and Kayden danced a Charleston in the living room while the rest of you lounged on the floor or the couch.

Mike pointed to your bookshelf; books littered the floor beneath it and were on practically every surface in the apartment. "Have you really read all of them?"

"I've read most of them," You said, sipping at another drink. You'd honestly lost count what number you were on, but you hadn't reached a bad stage of drunk yet; the night was still young.

"Even mine," Benny added, smiling to himself.

"Even yours," You replied monotonously.

Amanda shuffled on the floor, sipping at the water Matt had given her upon arrival at your place. "I have a question," She said, alerting everyone. Beth and Kayden, short of breath and red faced, trailed back to the main circle. "It's about chess." She added, which really got everyone's attention. "Benny—how many games of chess do you play a day? Like, on average?"

Benny raised his brows at Amanda's sudden interest in the chess world. He leaned forward from his seat on the couch, draping his arms over his knees. "Sometimes I play a lot, sometimes not. Maybe once a day, overall,"

Amanda nodded at his response. "Did you play today?"

Benny let out a huff. "No, actually. Not today,"

You froze as a thought came to the forefront of your mind. As everyone chatted, you were focused on other things—

The closet.

It was as if the door was on fire. It was impossible for you not to turn and look at it.

You attempted to make a pros and cons list in your mind, but all that happened was a bunch of words in a bunch of columns that you couldn't decipher. That's what alcohol did—it took away your anxieties, your logistical brain around what consequences could occur if you did something that you knew would affect you, not just emotionally, but probably physically too.

It was too late to turn back after you'd stood up, strolling towards the closet and opening it up, oblivious to what the others must have been thinking. You squatted, grabbing the square box that sat on the floor to the back, behind all of your clothes. You kicked the door shut as you made your way back to the group and deposited the box in the middle of the floor.

No one spoke as you opened the lid, revealing a glistening chess board with equally polished pieces. No one breathed as you plucked it from the box, placing it on the wooden floor, along with the pieces and matching clock. You arranged them all as the others sat in, perhaps, a moment of silence—

A moment of silence for him.

You pushed the box out of the circle, crossing your legs in front of the black side of the board, clock on your right side.

That's when you looked up at Benny, his expression unreadable. It wasn't what you'd been expecting, maybe some excitement would have been better, but you didn't let that stop you from revealing a small, sombre smile his way.

"It's your birthday," You cut through the excruciating silence. "You deserve a game."

Benny frowned suddenly, but it wasn't because he was sad. You got the sense that he didn't know what to say—that he was speechless—perhaps, grateful.

He slid from the couch to the floor as Matt and Mike dispersed to other positions without question. Everyone watched as he touched his fingers to each piece gently, as if he were paying respects.

If you were sober, you would have crumbled, but you were drunk. His mannerisms, his expressions, his gentle way of touching the board, wasn't getting to you. The board itself was just another block of wood in your mind—

Your emotions felt numbed.

When he finally looked at you, his eyes were glassy.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" He asked. You didn't register the concern in his voice. All you were focused on was the unfolding story within your head, concerning a kingdom and a brave knight.

You nodded, breathing in deeply, before you hovered your hand over the clock starter.

"Let's play."