People Who Hate Happiness for Benedict

[bunny]

:') 💔

Tag: Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

3. My muse finds out yours has a terminal illness. Henry had been unwell for the past several days and Benedict was of course concerned for the man. A man who was a dear friend and who . . . was becoming something more to Benedict. What exactly what was, he was uncertain. It did not have a name, nor title. But Benedict was accepting these, feelings for the man. Whatever they may be, they were certainly strong. So not having been able to see him had been difficult. Not just because of the parties, or his mentorship, but because he truly missed Henry's company. Which was precisely why today, he set out to check on him. And all he could hope for, was that Henry was on the mend. Upon arriving outside his house, Benedict knocked on the door, to which Lucy answered. They exchanged few pleasantries but it was clear that she was worried for her husband. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Leading him to where Henry was resting, Benedict smiled in greeting, as Mrs. Granville left the two men. The younger male was relieved to see that Henry was at least awake, not wishing to disturb him should he require rest, despite it being only afternoon. "Granville," Benedict greeted, approaching Henry as he reached out a hand to touch the man's shoulder. "How do you feel?" He further inquired, genuine concern in his softened tone, as well as his features on his face though the small smile remained. Little did Benedict know, the extent of Henry's illness, for his mind was unprepared to accept such a thing. To Benedict, Henry would recover. He would be fine. Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!!

                        the rules of society.

[bunny]

HE IS WEAKER with every passing day. It started with his hands shaking while he painted. Henry ignored it at first, because he is still relatively young. This affliction affected his father much later in life -- he refused to believe this was happening to him now. He'd been able to control the shaking enough to not alarm anyone, but he could see it getting worse and worse as time continued on. . . And one day, he just collapsed from what felt like exhaustion. Henry couldn't understand what was happening to him, but he remembered watching his father fall. He'd become bedridden quickly after that. 

Would the same fate befall him? 

He receives grave news when the doctor comes to check him. At the time, Lucy had been in the room while the doctor explained that what Henry had was hereditary. It was curious that it came on so early, but it was not completely uncommon. Death was certain, but with medicine, they could extend Henry's life for some time. He did not know how much time that was. The tonic tasted terrible, but it numbed him enough not to feel the heaviness that had set in his bones. The doctor promised he would be back on his feet within a few days, but he also warned that Henry's health will continue to decline. They should start making preparations.

Henry is still processing the news when he hears the door open downstairs. Someone has come to visit. He does not know if he is strong enough for visitors at this time - whether that be physically or mentally. Still, Henry moves to sit up when he sees Benedict at the door. He is pale, cheeks looking gaunt and eyes somewhat sunken. "Bridgerton," he greets in a softer tone. "I feel as though I've been hit by a runaway carriage." He pauses and thoughtfully adds, "and the horses along with it." 

He admires Benedict, and he finds himself mourning what will never come now. There had been something forming between them that could not yet be defined. It would never be defined now. He would not let Benedict go through that -- falling in love with Henry just to lose him in a short amount of time. "I appreciate you coming to see me." He is quiet for a long moment. No, he will not keep it secret. It is better to just confront his reality. 

There's a pause, and his eyes become glassy. He clears his throat. "I'm afraid it's... terminal. A death sentence, if you will." He smiles bitterly, looking away from Benedict. "I thought to lie to you, to assure you that I will be fine, but that is very much the opposite of true. And I do not think I would have been able to hide it from you for long." Henry lets out a shaky breath. He composes himself. "I know this must be a shock, Bridgerton. Alas, it is my truth." He glances down at the blanket. 

"I suppose I made it all count in the end," he says thoughtfully after a moment. "I have very few regrets, and that is something to boast about." Henry glances back up to Benedict quietly. "I will leave you all my supplies, you know. My unfinished works. All of it. And I expect you to do great things with them." A stray tear trickles down his cheek. 

Tag: Benedict Bridgerton 

Note: *vine vc* I can't believe we've done this

[Benedict Bridgerton]

                                                   I'm not bound by the rules of society                                  

Benedict let out a breath of amusement when Henry mentioned that he felt as if he had been hit by a runaway carriage, along with the horses. It was not to make light of his situation, but the comparison drew a small smile, glad to seeing that Henry still had his wits and high spirits about him. Ben obviously did not know the extent of how deep it went. Letting his arm fall back to his side from where his hand was on Henry's shoulder, the younger male moved to sit on a nearby chair that was close to the bed. "I wish you nothing but a full recovery and soon," he told him with earnest. He was just about to add on that Henry need never thank him for that and was about to inquire about what affliction ailed him . . . but Henry's next words caused Benedict to freeze. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "I'm afraid it's... terminal. A death sentence, if you will." Benedict had never been one who was skilled at hiding his emotions, so his features held the shock that he felt. Completely numbed by it as the words played over and over in his mind. No. Surely that could not be right. Surely this would pass and it was just a temporary illness. But Henry continued, and Benedict wasn't even certain he could properly hear or understand him. The same words . . . death . . . playing in his mind like a dark, horrible song that he wished would cease. Benedict could not even form words, Henry acknowledging that it was indeed a shock. The younger male felt his throat dry, as if talking seemed like such an impossibility. His mind still processing and his heart refusing to accept this. He waited for Henry to finish speaking, not even considering his words about giving him all his supplies and carrying on his artistic legacy, which would indeed be an impossibility. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ The Bridgerton son wasn't even certain how much time had passed of silence, knowing it was his turn to speak and yet . . . still unable to vocalize any coherent thoughts. "No," was the first thing he managed to breathe out, not even sure what he was rejecting. The diagnosis? The entire situation? "That cannot be." Denial, all rationality thrown from his mind and left was deep denial that he would lose Henry Granville. "Surely, there is a mistake. This doctor must be wrong." He had to be. Benedict could not -- would not -- accept this. And yet, somewhere deep within him, he knew it to be true. Otherwise, Henry would not even mention this to him. Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!!

         

[bunny]

HENRY WATCHES IN DESPAIR as Benedict tries to process the news. It is horrible news, but he would rather not lie to him -- not when they have such little time left."My father had the same affliction," Henry admits, pressing his lips into a thin line. "I am better off than he, but I watched him deteriorate. It is not pretty. Soon I will not be able to leave bed at all." He looks surprisingly calm for sharing all of this horrible news. It seems to hit him then, that he will not paint for much longer.
 
"Ah. This is. . . ah. At least I can say I made my mark." Henry muses quietly as the fear shines in his eyes, and he stares at the blanket now, not at Benedict. "At least my art will live on in some way at the Palace, and -- and -- perhaps my paintings will find their way into more galleries and museums after I am gone." Gone. He will be gone. He is barely forty, and his life is over. 

He reaches to cup a hand over his mouth. Henry's thoughts begin to race. He will be gone from this world. What had Shakespeare said? Out, out brief candle. Why would he think of Macbeth at a time like this? Perhaps for the discussion of life, of death. A few tears trickle down Granville's cheek. He looks back up at Benedict, moving his hand away. "Will you make sure I am remembered?" He asks softly. "Though, you are still so young, you may forget me yet as the time passes." Henry stares at him with a blank, fearful gaze. "Will you forget me? Am I forgettable?"

tag: Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict was still trying to process all this; trying to wrap his head around it. He refused to believe it, despite what Henry was saying; that his father suffered from the same affliction. Benedict also knew that it he was certainly not helping in his continued denial of this news. Not when Henry . . . seemed to come to terms with it. But how could Benedict? His mind so set on the impossibility of it. On there somehow being some sort of mistake. To hear that he would soon deteriorate; that he would be bed ridden. Benedict's mouth was dry, refusal to accept this . . . to allow it to happen. Deep in his rational mind he of course knew that he had no control over it, but irrationality was taking over. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ He was listening to Henry and yet not at the same time . . . wanting to tell him not to talk like this. Wanting to offer him hope that this was not the end. Surely, it was not. And then he saw the tears fall from his cheeks and realization seemed to set in as the older male covered his mouth. It made Benedict's heart all but break, not even realizing that the sting of tears threatened to emerge from his own eyes. Would he make sure he was remembered? What a question. Benedict instinctively reacted, uncaring of any required barriers. His heart and mind too overwhelmed and the controlling need to do something consuming him. He reached forward, his hand going to Granville's cheeks, if only to wipe the tears away, yet his touch lingered. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "You will never be forgotten," he told him, his voice though filled with emotion, held a certainty in that. "I will never forget you," he added on. Nor, would Benedict know how to recover from this loss. Henry assumed that he would forget about him . . . but no. Of that, Benedict was positive. "The legacy you leave is far more than your art," he continued to tell him. Benedict was a better person because of him. More confidence. More self accepting. He had given him a safe haven to be himself. He had allowed him to develop an identity and just . . . allowed him to be himself. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Looking intently into Henry's eyes, he still was not ready to say goodbye to him. Nor would he ever be. "I can not think of a world without you in it." They may not have known each other as long as some others, yet it was often experience that bonded a person, not necessarily time. And his experience with Henry . . . there were no words to describe it. "Nor do I want to," he continued, his voice quiet, leaning forward and letting his forehead rest against Henry's, no longer caring about any social barriers that need be put up. Tag bunny

                        the rules of society.