Man To Man

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict continued to feel . . . helpless. Helpless to understand what was taking place in Henry's mind. What thoughts filled him that would seek to terminate their relationship. Where his actions, still felt as they always did with the way he kissed him, and touched him. Albeit, an added urgency in them due to their previous conversation and what they both know would happen once the day was done. But . . . it made no sense. And Benedict in his attempt to try and push it aside to savour these last moments, could not help but continue to think of it. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ The more they spoke, the more confusion and hurt grew in the younger male. His hands slowed from where they stroked him before it fell to the side, his body still over Henry and his face still nestled against his. He could feel the wet stain of tears and the slight tremble of his body that indicated he was crying. Benedict clenched his jaw, desperate to understand, wanting to demand an explanation. But . . . Henry had been so clear in his words. Yet now, his actions betrayed it all and his current words fell somewhere in between. Benedict remained still, eyes closed as he felt Henry's kisses along his skin, trying to process everything. The conflict of the pleasure of his touch versus the pain of his words. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "Why does it have to be like this?" He asked again, his voice barley above a whisper. It took him a moment to even realize he had said it out loud, thoughts translated from his mind to voice. But, Benedict wasn't sure he was able to hear it again. To hear that he should find another; that they could not be together. He wasn't sure his heart would be able to bare it for the second time. Benedict drew his head back a little, only enough to look at Henry, as the younger male's hand now went to Granville's cheek. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "Do you want me to stop?" His voice soft, quiet, but sincere. Of course Benedict did not want to stop but he also was the one who did not wish for their relationship to end. So Benedict had to be clear. Henry said he wanted him, his touches proving it but . . . taking advantage of his brief moment of clarity, Benedict needed to be sure. Because, he would not be able to endure Henry referring to this as a mistake, the same word he'd previously used and the second born Bridgerton son . . . needed to be certain that in this moment, Henry was sure. Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[bunny]

WHY? How can he deny Benedict the answer? How, when Henry is weeping beneath them in his desperation to enjoy their last night together? He relaxes there with Ben above him, going through his thoughts over and over -- hearing Anthony's words, and the fear Henry felt at discovery. At ruin. How cruel this world is. Why does it have to be? Benedict had said, and Henry's mind wanders to their tryst in the garden. He recalls the way they laughed together; how their union was good, and that all it took was one person to sour it. 

Henry is breathing heavily as he looks up at Benedict. He leans into the younger man's touch and moves to put his hand over Ben's. He is so sweet, asking if Henry needs to stop. He cannot hide the truth from him, he realizes. The conclusion must be the same, but how can he lie to those eyes? Henry blinks back some more tears and inhales a deep breath. He is quiet for another moment before moving to kiss the palm of Benedict's hand, to nuzzle it.

"Your brother saw us at the gardens," he says quietly, closing his eyes. He does not want to see Ben's reaction to this. "He . . . he is well aware of us. Of what we are, and how we must end it. Immediately." Henry takes another moment to let it process before turning back to Benedict. "And he is right. This is dangerous. You must wed at some point, Ben. We must keep playing these games that they all want us to play, and you are young. You do not have to turn out to be like me. Our happiness. . . it is not an easy life. I have been through so much pain that I can spare you from. . . no matter how much it hurts now." His voice is deeper, sadder at that last statement.

"I must go to Paris, to separate myself from you -- for I intended to let you leave, but I cannot give you up so easily. So I must leave. And I meant it -- I expect you to be married when I return. We cannot continue this, not with him knowing. It is too dangerous. Too much is at stake." He knows this will kill the mood, even as he lies naked beneath him. But it must be said. 


Tag: Benedict Bridgerton 

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

"Your brother saw us at the gardens." Benedict froze upon hearing these words. Numbed with the surprise of them. The . . . repercussions. First of course the embarrassment of his brother catching him with a lover; this was not the way he ever wanted him to find out. Keeping secrets from his family was not something Benedict enjoyed doing especially with Henry, for it implied shame. No. He was not ashamed of the man. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ But he felt protective over him and what they had enough, that he knew neither of them were ready to come out about their relationship. The fact that Anthony had seen him . . . pieces were slowly starting to come together. Understanding of what Henry meant when he said words that had hurt Benedict's heart. But, where he otherwise may have appreciated the understanding and clarity, he found no relief in the truth. Everything that Henry said after these words were belatedly processed in Benedict's mind as it struggled to digest the first revelation. Yes. It all made sense indeed, and yet, didn't at the same time. The shock was too much and Benedict shifted his position from being on top of Henry, to now standing to the side, his back facing the older male for a moment as he tried to regain himself. As he tried to maintain some semblance of composure. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ He knew that he had fallen silent, and that silence was deafening. Benedict closed his eyes, his previous state of acceptance -- as much as he didn't want to -- quickly being replaced with something else. Was it anger? Perhaps. Benedict seldom grew genuinely angry and maybe even now, it was merely a mask for the hurt. A deeper hurt than before because it was now not just Henry who caused it, but also . . . his brother. Opening his eyes, Benedict began to speak. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "Then you and my brother are the same." He slowly turned to look at Henry, distance now between them but Benedict knew he could not be a coward when saying this. The words though possibly holding harsh connotations, instead came out more . . . sad and hurt, rather than angry and raging. His tone remained similar for the rest of his words. "For you both dictate my happiness on my behalf." Anthony forcing Henry to end things so that Benedict could be happy. Henry actually ending them so that Benedict could be happy. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "Do you both think me a fool in my understanding of what our relationship entails. The risks, the consequences, the sacrifices." Henry had been doing it far longer than Benedict, having had an understanding of himself and desires before the younger male but how naïve did they both believe Benedict to be? "But I do it, because someone once told me that love is worth it. And I found that to be true." Former words he had just told him, repeated now but with a different strength. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Benedict had once been insecure, self critical but now the confidence that Henry had given him over the time they were together . . . was showcasing itself in the steadiness of his words. "I do not expect my brother to understand, and I regret his . . . sudden involvement." The way he found out and . . . Benedict could only imagine the horror of that conversation between Henry and Anthony. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "But you. I came to you some time ago to be free of societal expectations and pressures. You showed me a life where we need not live with it's suffocation." First when it came to artistry and then . . . with freedoms, and pleasures that led to their relationship. "And now, because my brother says it cannot be, you concede?" Admit defeat? That was it? Because one man held a stronger word than the entirety of society? And hearing him speak of getting married . . . knowing it was similar expectation of his brother, left him feeling the sting of defiance. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Not because he was oppose to the notion, but because of what they seemed to believe marriage would bring with it. "Marriage does not equate happiness." Something Henry surely understood. And it seemed clear . . . that Benedict's happiness was so misunderstood. "Happiness is found in love." Not marriage, and his words were clear in its reference that that was exactly what he had found in Henry. In them. Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[bunny]

HENRY EXHALES A DEEP SIGH when Benedict rises. He is very conscious of his nudity at this point; this is not a conversation to have nude. Alas, this is the reality he must deal with. He sits up, rubbing a hand over his mouth, staring at the curves in Ben's back from the light coming in through the windows, behind the curtains. It is too quiet as Benedict processes. He lets his mind go blank for a moment, just trying to wrap his head around everything. . . He purses his lips together. The silence persists, and he considers speaking. He waits, however. He wants to hear Benedict. 

Then you and my brother are the same. A shiver runs through his spine, and the scowl that forms on his face is very uncharacteristic of Henry Granville. He usually is so reserved, so polite. He bent over backwards to keep his life the way it is, and it is unwinding in front of him. He has fought all his life for love, for some kind of acceptance in his suffocating world, and to have Benedict just -- 

Henry stares at the ceiling, not at Benedict, as he breathes heavily in and out. He is controlling himself. Ben has no idea what it is like, not if he is the one to do such public things. Henry was foolish to give into those desires, to want something that should be normal but can be very deadly. His jaw is clenched, teeth gnashing together somewhat as he tries to contain the rage swirling inside of him. He understands on some level why Benedict is angry, but this poncy, privileged Bridgerton has never known the fear. He has never been in a situation that nearly cost him EVERYTHING. 

"How dare you," Henry says, and he stands. He must walk away; he must remember himself. He is the foundation. If he crumbles now, what will be left of everything? Or will life go on without him. "The man you knew who spoke about courage, who -- " Frustrated, Henry grabs his shirt off the floor and pulls it over his head. Now he is the one with his back facing Benedict. He aggressively grabs his trousers and steps into them, heart racing in his chest. He begins to see red, and all of the pain that had built up from Alfred, from his conversation yesterday is bubbling up to the top. He let himself lie over after both instances, giving in to others -- but this? No.

"You say you understand the danger," Henry says, and his voice is low. His eyes are shimmering with anger and tears once more as he faces Benedict again. He should have kept his mouth shut. This is arguably worse than earlier, because Henry did not expect to feel so deeply. "And yet -- and yet -- do you understand, Benedict, that if anyone else had caught us, that we would both be in jail?" He is shouting. Henry Granville is shouting. "Do you not realize the position your brother puts me in? If this persists -- if this --" He exhales shakily, putting a hand over his chest. "He would protect you; it is obvious he cares very deeply about you, but me? If we do not comply with his wishes, I could be sentenced to death!" 

Does he think Lord Bridgerton would be that cruel? Henry does not know. The conversation yesterday made him feel disgusting, and even still his skin is crawling. "Your brother calls us dishonorable! He will never understand. Love -- love -- I thought I understood what love was! The man who spoke about courage is gone, Benedict Bridgerton. I have been lying to myself for years. I am nearing forty, and it has been the same shit over and over and over again since I am a teen. You must hide in the shadows. You cannot have true happiness because it always ends in heartbreak! You are so new to this, and your beautiful head does not comprehend the true realities of this life! If your brother did not know, we could have managed, but now we would have a watchful eye on us! Scrutinizing! And if we do not bend to his wishes, what then? The noose?" He rubs a hand over his neck and imagines it. Henry looks away from Benedict, staring at the floor with wild eyes as he recalls the conversation he'd had with his father all those years ago.

"I am tired." He says, finally. Henry exhales a deep breath and rubs his hands over his face to try and soothe himself. He wants to curl up in a ball and sob. That is what he truly desires right now, but he cannot do that. "I am tired of fighting for my happiness. How many times must I be knocked down? How much pain must I endure before I realize that perhaps I am not meant to be happy? The things I think are beautiful all turn to ash in my mind. I feel -- I feel -- " He falters, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as the sobs bubble up. He cannot hold them back for a moment, allowing himself to cry. Henry inhales sharply a few times as he collects himself. 

"I love you, and you love me. There has been no greater joy in my life, truly. But you have the opportunity to still love a wife and not be damned to this life. You can write it off as a one-time jaunt, as a fun tryst of your youth." Henry wipes his tears away before blowing out another deep sigh, brushing his fingers through his hair. "You can avoid this. You can still escape this agony." He shakes his head. "We were reckless, and this has always been my greatest fear. The only solution for me is to go. Is to leave, and allow us all to move on with our lives." 

Tag: Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict presumed this conversation would take a rather . . . devastating turn. Perhaps he should have just left instead of kissing Henry. But then, such things would not have been known. And would this be their last conversation . . . then Benedict would like all to be said, and not suppress anything . . . no matter how difficult it was to hear. Benedict reached for his own shirt, pulling it over him as he suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Henry's words processing in his mind, the hurt the younger male felt in his heart only intensifying with each passing remark that fell from the man's lips. He remained silent, not interrupting the other so that he could say all he needed to, the emotion strong and a mix of . . . well, perhaps everything that Benedict was feeling too. Though there was a tone of anger there, a tone of pain. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Benedict could not speak for his brother, but he knew him and knew that surely, he would not let Henry suffer such a fate should something be exposed. That Benedict would do all that he could to also protect the man. But . . . was that what this was really about? Benedict clenched his jaw, hearing that his brother had called them dishonorable. It came as no surprise for there was a reason Benedict had withheld this from Anthony and his family in general. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ They would not understand. And he wanted to wait for the right time where perhaps, they would. But his state of silence seemed impossible when Henry told him that true happiness always ends in heartbreak . . . and that he was new to this. That he did not understand. That he did not comprehend the realities of this life. "You truly think me so naïve and oblivious," he both questioned and, stated. He assumed it before but hearing him say it . . . hurt all the more. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "I am not a fool," he told him. Benedict knew that he was surely many things, but he was not ignorant of the risks involved. "I risked myself as well. I . . . accepted myself to be this way, to embrace these . . . feelings, knowing the dangers that it entailed." Because of Henry. Because of Henry, Benedict had learned more about his identity than he ever thought possible. "Knowing that I could not lie to myself about how I feel. Unashamed and willing to sacrifice it all, to be with you." Accepting himself, accepting what he knew deviated from social norms. He did it . . . because he had fallen for Henry. "This ends in heartbreak because you are giving up." Benedict paused, fighting back the sting of tears in his eyes. Just as Alfred had once given up on Henry; the unspoken words but perhaps ones understood. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "For I would not have. I would have stayed true to you, and fought for us every moment of every day, because I knew, it was worth it. Because the love felt was stronger than any fear." He knew that perhaps he could not convince Henry otherwise, that he would not be able to change his mind . . . but Benedict needed to express his position. Needed Henry to know that it was not so easy for him, to simply walk away because his brother found out. "When did it stop being enough for you?" When did love stop being enough? When did he stop being enough? Both a rhetorical question, and yet one that begged an answer. Henry had felt the pain of heartbreak when his former lover left him . . . but this time, Benedict wished him to know that he would not have done such a thing. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ As if Benedict had not thought it possibly to be any more hurt . . . Henry continued, saying that he could pass this off as a one time jaunt. Benedict knew that these were the words that caused a tear to fall from his eyes, not even bothering to hide the hurt from his expression. "Is that . . . what you think this is to me?" A dalliance? Some societal rebellion? ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "Do you doubt my feelings so much that you believe this was simply just a dalliance?" Benedict had embraced a part of him that gave him a sense of belonging and understanding in himself. A preference for men, as well as women. And now Henry doubted that. Doubted his path that he helped guide him on. "That what I learned of myself and of love was simply . . . a one time jaunt?" No. These feelings, this understanding did not just go away. Benedict could not look at Henry in this moment, his gaze falling to the significant space between them. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "I am sorry for many things," he told him, trying to keep his voice steady. "For the pain you feel. The tiredness. The belief that your happiness is always doomed." Of course it hurt him to see Henry hurt. He never wished for the other male to be pained in any way. But it seemed to be an inevitable result of their current circumstance, where both were indeed hurt so much. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "And I am sorry . . . " He began to say, unsure how he found the strength to meet Henry's gaze. "That I did not make you believe in my love for you well enough." It seemed to be a failure on Benedict's part. That he had failed so miserably in convincing Henry how much he truly loved him if he thought that Benedict embraced this relationship without knowing the risks. And if he thought he could just stow it away as a one one jaunt. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Another tear fell from his eyes, as he quietly sniffed, trying to regain some compsure though it seemed impossible. "You can run from society. Run from the ton. Run from me." The thought of it heartbreaking but alas, it was clear Henry's mind was made up. "But you cannot run from yourself." What would he do now? Deprive himself of any happiness? Of any joys? No. The risks that involved what made him happy was a part of who he was . . . as was the case with Benedict. And, it could not be changed, no matter how easily Henry believed it could be for Benedict to do so. Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[bunny]

. . .BECAUSE YOU ARE GIVING UP. Henry scowls and finds that he cannot look at Benedict now as he speaks. He goes on about how he would not give up -- but things have changed. Someone outside of their circle knows. It is dangerous to carry on. The defiance could cost them everything, and Henry is not ready to die for love. There are still tears streaking down his cheeks, because it is hard to control his emotions now. When did it stop being enough for you? 

Henry is truly exhausted. He feels the heavy weight upon his shoulders. He imagines them standing side by side in front of a crowd, sharing a look before the noose tights around their necks. The floor drops beneath them, and they hang. What good would that do? Perhaps he should ask Benedict to run away to France with him. It is not criminal there. They could live the rest of their days in some kind of comfort. . . 

"No. It is not what I think it is, Benedict. I am only saying. . . you could write it off as such in time." He murmurs, and the fire that raged within him is subsiding. The waves of the ocean are calming, and he finds himself sinking into the deeper blues. And she is cruel. "You misunderstand me. I have never doubted, not for one second, how we feel about each other. The deep love we have felt has given me life. You have given me the air I breathe, Benedict." He presses his lips together tightly. He pinches at his nose to try and ease the tension headache; it does not work. Not one bit. 


You can run from society. Run from the ton. Run from me. . . But you cannot run from yourself. Henry wishes to curl up in a ball beneath his sheets and will away the rest of this day. That is an immature reaction, though he does not know if he's been mature at all. Words are hard to form; his tongue feels heavy. He looks up at Benedict with the pain shining in his eyes. "I wish I still how your youthful outlook on life, Benedict. I wish I had your strength." He doesn't know what else to say. He has been made speechless by Benedict's call out of him. There is not much to argue with, and Henry had said his peace about their love. He wishes to drink himself into tomorrow. "You must. . . understand. We are compromised." He's desperate, weak. "I don't know how to explain the danger -- the real danger of this. I do not trust Lord Bridgerton to be kind to me should he discover we defied him. He reminds me so much of my own brother. I got only one warning from Hugh." He looks away from Benedict. 

"I have become a coward." He says quietly. "I . . . do not want to leave you, but my hands are tied. . . I fear I do not know what else to do now."

Tag: Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

The intensity was beginning to wane from the air however, the pain was still there. For despite all that was said, any attempt that was made . . . Henry would still be leaving, and the two of them would still be ending their relationship. As Henry corrected himself, Benedict still could not agree to such a thing. To simply write it off and devalue something that he cherished so dearly. Henry assured him that he never doubted how he felt . . . how they both felt about each other. The words he was saying causing Benedict's heart to swell with bittersweet emotions. Sweet because it was truly such beautiful words but the sting of them felt . . . because of the nature of this very conversation. The subject that had caused them to be said. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Benedict knew that these were the words he wished to remember from Henry, not the ones that had caused such pain in his heart. "You do," Benedict told him, firmly believing that Henry still had strength. "For I derived my own from you." The confidence to embrace his desires and feelings despite how society deemed it as. He told him that they were compromised and perhaps that was true, but Benedict also knew there was more to this, more that he needed to get out in the open should -- as he feared -- this be the last conversation they had about such a matter. "I am not asking you to trust my brother," Benedict began to tell him. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "I am asking you to trust me. And have faith in me that I would not let anything happen to you." Benedict would have made sure of that. "I . . . " He paused for a moment, taking a slow breath before continuing. "I would not have been able to keep this from my family forever." His family was far too close. And the love they all had, gave him the confidence to believe that he would not have had to keep it from them. "This is not how I wished for any of them to find out . . . but they would have eventually." And the words were not meant to cause alarm, but rather, an inevitable fate. "And I knew I had to be prepared for that. I had been prepared for that since the moment we made our commitment to one another." He never would have breathed a word without discussing it with Henry first . . . but he knew that his family was already suspicious of his actions, passing it off as him having a mistress. They would have found out, eventually. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Hearing Henry call himself a coward brought back the pain for he did not wish him to speak so low of himself. "You are no coward," he told him, his voice confident in this matter. Henry spoke of not wanting to leave him, and yet it sounded that the mind was made up. Both he and Anthony had made this decision without Benedict's involvement and the irony of it, was that they seemed to have made it with Benedict in mind. Considering what was 'best' for him. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "I fear I cannot change your mind on what you have decided." Trying to keep his voice steady, but the emotions that all this brought forth were indeed strong. Ones of sadness, and pain primarily. "But you should not give up on your own happiness. With or without me. That is no way to live Henry." Perhaps it was Benedict who'd failed in this entire relationship . . . perhaps Henry would find someone better suited for him. The younger male did not know. He just wished Henry would not close himself off at the idea of finding happiness. He did not want Henry to simply . . . give up. Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[bunny]

HENRY REMAINS STILL, staring at a stain on the carpet. He tries to remember how it got there, but there could be a number of reasons. He listens to his beloved speak, as Benedict fights for their love when Henry has given up. It is too dangerous. Perhaps he should leave Benedict to deal with Anthony and remain in England until he saw the fruit of his labor -- but it is a risk. Would Lord Bridgerton condemn him? It is safer in Paris -- to hide. 

"I would love to have that trust in you, Benedict. . . but the world is not that simple. London is not that simple. If your conversation with your brother and family does not go well, we could be swinging on a noose in a fortnight." Henry does not look at Benedict as he speaks. He keeps staring at the stain. Out, out, damned spot. 

"I am content with this life, even if I should... stay away from romance." He says quietly. He feels weak and exhausted; this afternoon has given him a lot of emotional turmoil, not to mention the sleep he did not get the night before. Henry stabilizes himself with putting a hand on the wall. His head is pounding from the crying and stress, and he feels as though he might be sick. Is he dizzy? Perhaps a bit. Henry closes his eyes, leaning into his arm. 

"I am... sorry I did not fight harder for us, but your brother is decidedly stubborn. I wish I could go back to the garden, when it was only the two of us and no other worries in the world..." Henry laments. He remains silent for a moment there before going to move off the wall. It's then that the headache grows worse, and his dizziness causes him to fall right to the ground. 

Tag: Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict took in his words, letting them sink in . . . knowing that, it was a losing battle. Neither of them would come out of this happy or content. But as Benedict had previously accepted -- or perhaps acknowledged -- the decision had been made. Without his knowledge. Without his participation. Without his involvement. The decision had been made. He would have offered more words, unsure of what would even come out at this point but apart from Henry's words, he noticed the man's state. He knew Henry well enough to reocgnize that the man did not look well at all. Regardless of the hated, intense conversation . . . it seemed to be taking a physical toll on him. And before Benedict could ask, he watched the man collapse to the floor. Benedict hurriedly rushed to his side. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "Henry," he said, trying to see if he was alright or even conscious. He seemed to be half away, and Benedict gently took him by the arm, putting it around his neck and leading him to the sofa where he urged him to lay down. Benedict crouched down next to it, his eyes quickly assessing the man to see his condition. It seemed futile to ask him if he was alright. And Benedict doubted there was anything he could fetch him that would help. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "I'm sorry." So all he could do was apologize for pushing him to this extent. Taking responsibility for the escalation of conversation. Benedict gently touched him on the cheek, using the excuse to see if he was warm at all but really, it was just an offer of comfort . . . though the younger male did not let it linger too long. "I shall . . . call for someone to tend to you." Because as much as Benedict wanted to, he knew it was not his place anymore. He no longer had the right to be the one to take care of Granville . . . and he knew he had to accept that. Though, with how fresh the entire circumstance was . . . Benedict didn't know how, or even if he could. Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[bunny]

HENRY'S VISION IS BLURRY. He reaches out to Benedict when he feels him near, pressing against his (former) love in his need. The migraine is sudden and painful. He feels sick to his stomach, breathing heavily as he tries to keep upright. He allows Benedict to move him, not fighting it. Now is not the time to fight; it is obvious that this stress has taken a physical toll on him as well. "I am fine," He says, voice hoarse as he speaks through the pain. It is decidedly not fine, but now is the time to start pushing down his feelings. He regrets bringing up his guilt about the situation; if he had just kept his mouth shut, he and Benedict could have had a beautiful final night together. Now there is nothing but pain and agony. 

"I am sorry, too," Henry says, opening up his eyes to look up at Benedict. He memorizes his features -- or he tries to. He leans into his touch, unable to help it. He still loves him. He will always love him, but they are compromised. He will not risk them again. "There will be no need for that. . . I can manage." He swallows tightly, tears brimming his bloodshot eyes once more. "Goodbye, Benedict."

The silence after Benedict leaves is deafening.

---

HENRY SPENDS THE FIRST MONTH in Paris nearly intoxicated every day. He throws himself into the party culture there, relying on drinking, on drugs, on meaningless sex to keep him going. He is a mess. He is a whirlwind of guilt. He should have run away with Benedict. If he had asked him to go with him, they could have left the Ton and the scandal behind. Alas, Henry was too much of a coward to think clearly, and now he has hurt them both. He has never hated himself this much, but the hatred is strong. It is all he thinks about, especially when he lies next to another man who's name he's forgotten, trying to remember the way Benedict used to touch him, the way he tasted. . .

He begins to paint again as the second month starts. Henry decides to paint the tragedies of Greece to work through his feelings, starting with The Capture of Ganymede and Orpheus and Eurydice. They are his darkest works, filled with emotion -- they are perhaps his best works. Henry works through his religious trauma by also painting Saint Sebastian. . . with himself as the likeness. Let him bleed for God, for he is damned by the Christian God that his people believe in. He doesn't have much love for religion. Not here, not now, and especially not with a deity who seems to hate him. Why create him in the first place? It is somewhat grotesque when he finishes it: a reflection of that self hatred boiling inside him. 

It is much better than a portrait that needs to be windowed. 

He happens upon some of his friends in Paris and finds some semblance of peace. It is not enough. Henry still lets himself go somewhat, losing weight and growing out a beard. He does not try to contain the pain any longer, using it to paint. He also barely writes to Lucy, only sending quick notes every once and a while to assure her that he is still alive.

France is a good backdrop for his heartbreak. He considers permanently relocating here; it is a better environment than England, especially when it comes to people like him. Alas, that thought process ends when he receives an official correspondence from Her Majesty Queen Charlotte, requesting him to return home to paint a portrait of her daughter.

He cannot say no to a Queen, so he gathers his things, says his goodbyes, and sets sail back to England. . . regretfully.

---

LUCY IS WORRIED by his appearance when he gets off the boat. He gives her a one-armed hug and presses a soft kiss to her temple. "I am all right, cherub. I have missed you." And he realizes he has -- she is a foundation for him, and she can ground him now that he is back home. Six months away had been difficult. He shows her his works, explaining to her what he'd done. She thinks he is brilliant, and he continues with his third piece: Medusa and Theseus. They spend a few quiet nights together before he is called to the palace for his duty.

The Queen observes him as she oversees the portrait. "You look terrible, Granville. Usually when someone returns from a long vacation, they look revived." He only glances at her with a brow raised. "My apologies, your majesty." She huffs. "No matter. I will have a tea party on Saturday -- perhaps that will cheer you up." Henry smirks a little bit, unable to help himself. He would never say he is friends with the queen: no, he would never be that bold. But after they have known each other for this long, she has... taken some interest in him. He is thankful for it and for the protection. Alas, a tea party is the last thing he wants right now.

However, it is a lovely affair. Henry makes conversation with old friends and acquaintances, speaking about how lovely France was and not commenting on any concerns about his appearance except to reassure them that he is fine. He looks muted, only wearing navy, no purple anywhere in sight. He wants to blend into the background now as best as he can. He hears Lucy curse under her breath beside him and cannot help but follow her gaze to --

Benedict Bridgerton. Henry's mouth feels dry. His chest tightens, and he does not know what to do with himself. He scans the party only to also find Lord Bridgerton, and he is surprised by the panic that seizes him. He excuses himself to make his way across the garden, to try and hide himself away so he does not have to confront his problems. His hands are shaking as he tries to drink his tea. He wills away the trembling, trying to focus his mind on the potential encounter. To his dismay, however, Cressida Wetherby approaches him. Great. 

Tag: Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Following his departure from Henry's home, Benedict had promptly withdrew himself to My Cabin for the next few weeks, requiring time to himself. Time alone. Away from his family. Away from the ton. Just, simply away from everything. Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree seemed to notice that he was of a mood, but fortunately, did not overly pry. Truth was, Benedict wished to limit his social interaction as much as possible, even with the elderly couple. His relationship with his brother was of course strained, the two of them barley exchanging words before Benedict had packed his things from his family's estate in town. Anthony knew what had put him in such a mood, and now knew that Benedict knew what had prompted it. So yes, the second son needed time. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Not accepting visitors, nor returning to the city for any reason -- save for a family emergency which, fortunately, there was none -- Benedict remained in as much solitude as possible. He was uncertain how he even passed the time, for his sketch book was untouched. He hardly felt any inspiration these days and would not force it out of him. He required time to heal. To allow his heart to heal . . . if, it would ever. But a Bridgerton could not remain in hiding for long. Soon enough, his family sent word -- not that they had not before. They had wished to visit, but Benedict discouraged them from making the wasted trip. But this time, his more with great . . . authority, the kind that Benedict could not refuse, demanded he return home for they were invited to a royal event. Benedict knew he could not deny his mother his presence for much longer. And so, begrudgingly, he complied. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Packing lightly for he did not wish to prolong his stay in the city for too long, he readied his phaeton, which would also give him some control on when he returned. Informing his housekeepers that he would return in a couple days time at the most, Benedict set off . . . returning into society and bracing himself for all that would come with it. He was fairly quiet as he entered the house, questions of his absence filling the air, but Benedict's responses were unrevealing and laconic. He instead, focused on his purpose for returning: for the event that his mother was so adamant about him -- or, the entire Bridgerton family rather -- attending. Perhaps she knew that this had to do with heartache, but he doubted she was aware of with whom he'd been with . . . or was no longer with, to have caused it. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Arriving at the tea party was everything that should be expected. Many greeted him, speaking of his absence, asking if he was well, if he was recovered. There was either an assumption that he was ill -- an assumption that he would not be surprised if his mother did not seek to correct -- or that something else drove him out of town. Benedict refused to give fuel for their gossips, so he merely remained polite. Cordial. And longed for this day to be over. Fortunately, his mother knew better than to attempt to have him speak to young women in the hopes of him marrying. But eager mothers were not of the same mind. So more frequently than not, he would leave Colin at their mercy and attempt to sneak off. With his elder brother married however . . . Benedict was expected to follow, yet he would not hear of it. He refused to commit his heart to another when it was still healing. If ever a time would come that he was truly ready. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Finding it all too much, he decided to find a place of quiet seclusion, perhaps deeper into the gardens. The general location seemed like a damned one, considering what happened last time he was at the garden at a public event -- or more so, the aftermath of it. But never the less, it did not seem heavily populated, so Benedict quietly slipped away, if only for a few moments. Upon arriving, he had to suppress a groan when he saw Ms. Cow-- Ms. Wetherby approaching a man. Benedict would have simply walked by the two but as he was attempting to, he couldn't help but casually glance, wondering who she would be speaking to that was not her husband . . . and that was when Benedict finally recognized him. Henry Granville. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ The younger male froze with surprise, not only by his unexpected presence, but also by the fact that he hardly recognized him. Realizing his lips were parted and that Ms. Wetherby was now looking at him, perhaps even having said something to Benedict . . . the Bridgerton decided to do what he could to help the situation. Help, or hinder. The consideration of what he was doing potentially causing more harm coming at a later time; not in the moment. "Ms. Wetherby, I do believe your husband is looking for you," he told her. A small lie, but no doubt, Alfred would not reject his wife's company . . . at least not in public anyway. Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[bunny]

HENRY STARES PLAINLY as Lady Wetherby talks to him. She's already planning her portrait and the clothes she wishes to wear during it. Henry just nods along, offering polite responses, forcing a smile as he does. It is fascinating to see how she views her relationship with Lord Wetherby. He wonders how well Alfred is playing the part: spectacularly, if her attitude is anything to examine. . .

There is suddenly a shadow beside them, and Henry turns to look. He is staring at Benedict Bridgerton, who is in turn staring back at him. It seems Benedict did not seek him out for the surprise on his face. Henry swallows, pursing his lips together before nodding his head to Cressida. "Do be sure to send a note to my studio, Lady Wetherby. We will get a date arranged for the portrait." And then she is gone, off to look for Henry's former lover and her current husband. 

Life is strange. Henry is quiet after her disappearance. He struggles to look up at Benedict, and there is that creeping worry that Anthony will see them like this. . . Henry looks up at Benedict and clears his throat. "Bridgerton," he greets with a smile that does not reach his eyes. If he looks at Benedict long enough, he can see that this time apart has taken a toll on them both. "It is... good to see you." He says, treading on ice. "I do hope you have been well." He hopes Ben doesn't bring up anything that might lead to Henry having a panic attack. He's been bad about controlling them now; he never used to have them before this whole mess--not since his youth. Perhaps he is getting old and more afraid of the world around him. 

Tag: Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict gave a polite nod to Cressida as she made her leave, before he turned his gaze back to Henry. He looked, different. So incredibly different. It made Benedict want to ask, and yet, knew that it was not his place. The younger male almost wanted to make a comment about how they should not be speaking in such privacy . . . perhaps out of bitterness. But no. Benedict was not bitter. Heartbroken, perhaps. But he certainly was not the bitter sort. At least, that was what he told himself. After all, right now they were merely two men, often seen in public together as friends. The only two that would perhaps note their presence as anything more, would be Lucy . . . and Anthony. But even still, the thought of his brother stumbling upon him did not worry or frighten Benedict. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ For he did not intend for this to lead to anything that would raise . . . scandal. The very word itself, causing him to inwardly cringe. But alas, that was how the others had seen their relationship, was it not? "Mr. Granville," Benedict responded, slightly lowering his head in a polite nod. How odd it felt, to be holding such formalities between them. He spoke of how it was good to see him . . . hoping he has been well. And Benedict could not bring himself to respond to either. Was it truly good to see him? Benedict was uncertain. But had Benedict been well . . . that answer was far easier to determine. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "As well as can be." Was the simple answer he could give. He was as well, as could be expected. Was there any point to return the question? Benedict wanted to hear how Henry was, his concern for the man still felt . . . for love, did not just vanish after two people parted ways. But at the same time, Benedict knew he would not receive a truthful answer. It would merely be a simplistic, expected one; much like the one the Bridgerton had offered him. "How was your visit to France?" Benedict had not even known when he returned but then . . . he wouldn't have. He had withdrew from society long enough to not of it. And that, was what Benedict had preferred for this past little while. Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[bunny]

BENEDICT IS JUST AS WELL as Henry suspects, which is -- quite frankly -- not well at all. The Bridgerton looks much more pale and drawn out. There are plenty of observations Henry could make based on standing here two feet beside him. He already wants to ask, to be closer to him, to urge him to tell him the truth -- it seems that six months away did not push away his care for Benedict. Then again, did Henry ever expect it to? No, it was done to quell Lord Bridgerton's fears of their relationship. It seems all that it's done is make two men very miserable, for Benedict does not seem to have a wife. 

We should have run together, Henry nearly says and stops himself. He must be a picture of perfection, and he nervously looks beyond Ben's shoulder to make sure Anthony Bridgerton is not looking at them. He knows the Lord is not a subtle type. The last thing they need is unwanted attention, especially now. Henry considers bringing them closer to the party to make it seem less suspicious. His escapes of Benedict had been futile after all, and could have potentially put them in another scandalous position. "I see." He says with a thoughtful nod. 

"It was -- " He pauses, considering the right words. He struggles with the way to describe it. "I started a new series." Henry offers instead. "Otherwise it was... France." He trails off, looking at a bush beyond Benedict. He reaches to play with his mustache --  he'd had it slicked up into a neat twist and had begun a habit of playing with it when he was thinking or uncomfortable. Henry looks back at Ben before taking note of the others. No, no one is looking at them. "... I'm afraid everything has lost its joy." He snorts. "You may say all my new work needs to be windowed." He tries to abstain from wanting to talk to him so casually. . . but it is Benedict. How can he really stay away? He must. He will not talk to him outside of polite society, but still he feels the draw, the desire to be more. 

"I hope you've been practicing while I've been away. I would hate for such talent to go to waste." It's still easier to talk about painting than... everything else. He hopes the pain has brought out great works for Benedict, too, though he suspects otherwise. 

Tag: Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict listened as best he could as Henry slowly began to gave answer . . . yet, it was difficult. Difficult to concentrate on the words exchanged that held so much formality. So much, politeness. Not that Benedict was of a mind to be rude to the man . . . but with all they had been through, all they had shared, and the time they were together . . . it just felt, nearly sickening. To have resorted to the need of being this way with one another. "What kind of series?" Benedict inquired. His desire to talk about art had substantially waned, though he supposed it was always something he and Henry would have in common, if nothing else. Besides, Benedict was truly curious as to what the artist had created during his absence -- however long that may be. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ But the rest of the trip seemed not to hold much event. Or if it did, did not consist of ones that he shared with Benedict. And such, should be expected. Hearing him speak next of everything losing joy caused Benedict to slightly clench his jaw, biting back words of it being a mutual feeling. He knew that all too well. For as much joy as he had found with Henry, was as much sadness that had overcome him when they were forced to end things. "I am certain it will find way to be displayed, as the rest of your art often does." Henry was a gifted artist -- to say the least. Surely, his work was remarkable. Of that, Benedict did not doubt. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ The younger male also did not fail to take notice of the aversion of Henry's gaze upon him. Did he find it difficult to maintain eye contact? Or . . . was he worried about being seen. Before he had the chance to inquire however, Henry shifted the conversation of art onto him. There was no need to lie to man. Benedict was not one who enjoyed spouting false tales and withhold truths from a man that he had practically shared everything with. "Talent is a generous term." ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Yet, silence followed the rest of the question. Benedict often struggled believing in his own talent and skills. Henry had helped him build that; develop that. But the lack of inspiration and the way it all ended . . . left Benedict struggling and lacking any sort of ability to be creative or, remotely skilled. Benedict gathered his strength to continue, and spoke with as much as composure and stoic nature that he could. Causing his response to come off rather nonchalant, despite the magnitude of the words. "I have retired any abilities when it comes to the way of artistic expression." He paused for a moment, knowing that his gaze betrayed the casual tone of his words, for the next ones spoken held a far deeper meaning than that simply of art. "It would seem, that some things are just not meant to be." Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.