Man To Man

[bunny]

"It would seem, that some things are just not meant to be."

Henry is rendered silent by Benedict's declaration. He stands there in bewildered silence, this time ignoring the rest of the world as he looks back into those familiar blue eyes. No, he had not considered this ending. Benedict was young; there was still so much life for him to live. . . there was plenty of art he could create, plenty of time to hone his craft, but no. This has sucked out the joy in everything truly. Henry has been lucky to channel his pain into art; Benedict has not. Henry is speechless. He does not know what to say, but the stirrings of anger have begun again in his stomach. He remembers snipping at Lord Bridgerton for his callousness. . .

But in the end, it had been his decision. His fear. 

Henry Granville caused this. The self hatred was warranted. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but the words die on his lips. Any earlier questions left his mind. He fights the instinct to touch his cheek. This is decidedly worse than anything Henry could have pictured. He thought Benedict was young, that he could bounce back. He thought that there could be others -- but no. Henry perhaps did doubt how much Benedict Bridgerton loved him, for the world has turned to ash for them both. 

It is a wonder he does not resort to violence -- for the world being the way it is, for making two men who love each other so deeply to feel so broken by their rules. Maybe it is time to start breaking them. In this moment, Henry could not care about his own sadness, his own worries or cares. He finds he wants to burn down the palace and shout for love, for peace, for acceptance. Perhaps then he would have never forced this wedge between them. Perhaps then he would not fear the gallows. Maybe he should not fear them. Maybe death will be a new life. 

Henry presses his lips together, and he thinks about the man he has become. He does not like it. He stares at the Saint Sebastian at night and wonders why he has made himself a martyr -- why has he given into their demands? The risks had been too much, but. . . The wheels turn in his mind, and he considers where they can go from here. There must be a next step for them. They must find friendship again. Benedict had preached about Henry not losing his happiness, but it seems Benedict has lost his as well. He cannot touch him; he cannot comfort him. He cannot change his mind. Not here. Not like this. Henry does not even know if this sudden burst of confidence will remain, but it proves one thing for certain: he loves Benedict Bridgerton, more than he has loved anyone else on this earth. 

"You always did think so harshly of your talents," Henry offers, his tone turning into something more sentimental, fond. He had originally intended to push away the Bridgerton, but now? Now, he would do anything to see him smile again. "It seems you have lost your way." His jaw sets, and he glances back at the party -- this time searching out Lord Anthony Bridgerton. "Do not worry, little dove. The flowers shine brighter after a spot of rain." Perhaps he should have reminded himself of the same thing a long time ago. He clenches his fist together as he sees him and his wife at the party, enjoying themselves without a care in the world, able to throw their love in everyone's faces in public. Without any fear. And yet what they did was dishonorable. 

Henry, oh Henry, you had been so rash six months ago. Perhaps he has gotten the sadness out of his system (a thought he very much will dispute, for the depression is overbearing most days). Why had he not listened? Why had he just forced the decision on Benedict without talking about the other possibilities? "There is a spot just beyond the maze." He says quietly now. "A hidden alcove. Meet me there in a half hour's time. It is easy to lose someone in the Queen's vast maze." 

Tag: Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

It seemed that Benedict's words had affected Henry into silence. Though which part, he was not entirely certain. He could guess he supposed . . . the latter revelation that he had not, and would not pick up a charcoal nor paintbrush. Art had once been a way for him to express himself, yet he lacked the desire, inspiration and will to do so now. And so, after some silence, Henry spoke . . . commenting on Bridgerton's tendency of harsh self critique. They were warranted however. Benedict did not often draw something he felt was perfect . . . though he had been starting to. Henry's mentoring had helped him with that but it had not just been in the way of technique; it had been in the way of granting the second son confidence, self assurance and . . . happiness. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ But all this, must be considered past tense surely, for while Benedict did not know what was to come of this conversation, or this happenchance . . . he did not dare hope for anything. Benedict felt himself slightly clench his jaw once more, hearing Henry tell him that he lost his way. Had it not been expected after Henry had left him? Did he not realize the despair that would be felt with his lacking presence in his life? Not solely physically, but emotionally? The younger male did not say anything though, fearful of what may come out. This was not the time nor place, and maybe, there would never be a suitable one for them. Maybe, Benedict had forgotten how to act in front of others, having been secluded for so long. But no. This was Henry Granville and he knew that out of everyone, the man before him had always been the one that Benedict could truly be himself with. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ His latter words, brought a certain unexpectedness. He wanted to speak to him, in private? Benedict could not contain the flicker of curiosity that touched his features as Henry told him to meet him at the alcove beyond the maze. He wanted to question it, wanted to ask, wanted to . . . meet him. At the end, he supposed it just came down to that. The inability to argue, or protest. The inability to express fear of whether this was a good idea or would just hurt all the more. A frequent thought now knowing Henry was back in town, as to whether Benedict would return to the city in the hopes of seeing him . . . or remain in his cottage in the relief that he wouldn't. In the end, he said nothing. He merely nodded his head in confirmation that he would meet him. After all, when had Benedict been able to deny Henry anything. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "Until then," he told him, lowering his head in a single drawn out nod of politeness before he started to walk back to the party. As he passed Granville however, he paused, barley looking at the other male before saying "It is good to see you too." And with that, made his way back to the populated area of the event. The minutes that passed both felt quick and slow at the same time. Benedict pulled out his pocket watch a few times to double check. Sometimes, it felt as if the minutes droned into hours . . . other times, the minutes mere seconds. But eventually, a half hour had passed. His mind had become so occupied with meeting Henry, and wondering what he wanted to meet about, that he had become even more distant in conversation. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ His upbringing however, allowed him to give polite nods and occasional words to act as if he was engaged in the topic of discussion. When in actuality, his mind -- and heart -- was racing. Outwardly, no one may know it. But soon enough, he found himself casually excusing his presence, inching closer and closer to where he needed to exit from so it would not be a sudden disappearance. His eyes occasionally falling to his brother to ensure he was not paying close attention to him. He had hardly spoken two words to Anthony these past few months but that did not mean he wanted to further compromise . . . whatever this private meeting with Henry would entail. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Eventually, Benedict managed a swift exit . . . making his way to the designated space that Henry had allotted for them. Benedict ensured that he was not followed, and that no one seemed to be paying any attention to him veering away from the main event. He neared the alcove, a quiet secluded space and found his heart beating heavier in his chest, hardly ceasing when he arrived, and saw the man standing before him. "Granville," he greeted once more. Less formal than Mr, more formal than Henry. But right now, Benedict truly did not know what to do, how to act . . . or even what to say. His eyes remained on the older male, taking in the sight of him after not having seen him for so long. The sensation, was truly bittersweet. Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[bunny]

HENRY NODS in response, looking at him with a mixed look of determination and wistfulness. He pauses when he hears Benedict address him once more. . . and a small smile forms on his lips. He had truly been a fool, hadn't he? To snuff out the light inside someone who shined so brightly. He will right his wrong, or he will try to at least. He watches Benedict walk away and stands there for a beat before seeking out his wife.

"There you are, Henry. I saw --"

"I know. I . . . have made a decision, love." He smiles at her, speaking in hushed tones. "Can you do me a favor?" And to Lucy's look of confusion, he adds: "Watch Lord Bridgerton. . . make sure he does not go snooping."

"Are you going to speak with Benedict alone? But I thought. . ."

"I know. Your husband is a complicated man." Henry smiles warmly at her. Lucy takes a moment to stare into his eyes, and she laughs softly. 

"I know who I married. Go. I will make sure Lord Bridgerton is adequately distracted." Lucy squeezes his hands and then lets him go.

Henry has a similar tactic to Benedict in making his way toward his exit. He disappears soon after, going toward the alcove. Princess Sophia had shared this place with him once when he'd painted her portrait twenty years ago; she had needed away from her mother and was in need of a smoke. This is where I go to think sometimes, when mother is overbearing. I always found peace in this place, Henry. Ah, the royal family was certainly full of characters. That was just a few years before the pregnancy scandal of 1800. Henry finds himself lost in nostalgia as he stands there in the familiar place. He admires the flowers quietly, recalling his last few months.

He removes his jacket, draping it over a bench. He needs to feel less restrained, especially for the conversation they are about to have. Perhaps Benedict will not come. Perhaps something will make him change his mind. . . but no, he thinks they have much to discuss. It is a danger to do this, but he does not intend to do anything indecent. Henry brushes his fingers against a purple flower. It is so delicate and yet such a lovely bloom. Perhaps it is a sign of the future. 

His back faces Benedict as he approaches. Henry hears the Granville and turns to face him. He does not look as forlorn as the last they spoke. The thoughts, the considerations. . . He presses his lips together before thoughtfully rubbing a hand over his beard. "Benedict." No, not Bridgerton. Not now. "When I saw you today, I wanted to run. I thought I would. . . be able to keep away, but when I saw you there. . ." He reaches out before lowering his hand. "How could I stay away? I already spent so much time. . . away." Henry exhales a soft sigh with mournful eyes. He approaches Benedict slowly, crossing the distance between them. 

"Let it be known, Benedict, that I am a fool and a coward." He shakes his head. "I ... I cannot believe it took me this long to realize that. You were right. You were right, and I did not listen to you. I was blinded by my cowardice." Henry reaches to gently take his hand, brushing his thumbs over it. "And I ... wanted to tell you that I was so, so sorry."

Tag: Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict wasn't entirely sure what to expect, and it was fortunate that Henry had called him here with purpose, for he began to speak . . . starting with his name. Such a simple word should not elicit such a strong reaction deep within Benedict's heart, but alas it did. Hearing the way he said it, the tone. Something had changed in him within the last half hour, and whatever it was . . . left Benedict confused. Yet, intrigued. Though he remained silent, listening instead of speaking. And it was perhaps for the best . . . because the younger male lacked the words to say. He spoke of wanting to run, having spent so much time away . . . and as if reinforcing his unspoken words of not wanting to do that, he began to step closer to him. Benedict knew he should step back, that he should maintain distance between them. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ But as he could not find the words to speak, nor could he find the steps to take. He merely stayed planted, firmly in place, trying to remain composed as the man before him continued to speak. Drawing closer and . . . yes, it was a dangerous distance indeed. Benedict slightly parted his lips, wanting to immediately protest Henry's words of being a fool and a coward. As hurt as he was by the decision, he thought Henry was neither. And he did not enjoy hearing the man condemn himself, insult himself. But still, Benedict remained silent, as if he had lost all ability to speak . . . or move. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ For even when Henry reached out for his hand, Benedict could not withdraw. Instead, he foolishly basked in the comfort of his touch. One that he never thought to experience ever again. And one that made it seem as if his body had come alive once more. Benedict's gaze fell to their joined hands, numbed with . . . emotion. Perhaps that was the best way to define it, though which emotions, he could not label. He was telling him he was right; that he had not listened to him . . . that he was sorry. Somehow, that made everything worse and better at the same time. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Benedict had practically begged, pleaded with Henry to not give up . . . to not let his brother come between them. A man of more pride perhaps would never do so, but Benedict had not been a man with pride. He had been a man in love. His eyes remained on Henry's hands as he tried to find the words to say. What did Granville most need to hear in this moment? Somehow, the words came out, and Benedict by some miracle was able to keep it composed . . . yet the array of emotions threaten to unleash itself. Just, not yet. "You may ease your conscience," he told him quietly, still not meeting his gaze. Whether he was saying it because Granville did not owe him an apology, or he was saying it because he accepted it . . . Benedict was uncertain. Was that all he had come here to say? ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Granted, it was no small matter. The apology and admittance of wrong was indeed touching, and humbling . . . and that was when Benedict realized. A small part of him -- or maybe a big one that he had just kept locked away -- had hoped for something else. It was foolish, and stupid and clearly he was both. Benedict slowly raised his gaze, his eyes meeting Henry's, finally. "What is it that you want from me?" He practically breathed, voice lacking demand, this time, emotion seeping into his voice and through his eyes. Clearly, it was an impossibility to contain both when in the presence of the man before him . . . yet he also knew, that it threatened to leave him crumbled. Still. The question had to be asked, and all Benedict could do was wait for the answer whether it would shatter his word or fulfil it. Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[bunny]

"What is it that you want from me?"

Ah, what a question, indeed. Henry shakes away Benedict's assurance that he does not need to worry -- Henry does. He wounded Benedict greatly, and he regrets it. He regrets putting them both through this anguish, and it is fascinating to him that his mind should change so quickly after just seeing the light gone from Ben's eyes. Henry would do anything to see it again. He's quiet for a moment as he thinks of an adequate response; he did not think he would get this far. Bridgerton is far too forgiving. 

Henry quietly lifts Benedict's hand to his lips and kisses it gently -- first, on the back of his hand. Then along the side. Then the palm. He nuzzles into it, missing that touch so much. . . 

"I thought I could run away from our love. What an absolute miserable fool I was." He laughs, pressing Benedict's hand to his cheek, leaning into the familiar and missed sensation. Henry meets his eyes. His own still shine with sadness, and it is clear he is still fighting his own demons, but perhaps he does not have to do that alone any longer. "Would you... allow me to amend my transgressions against you? Would you allow me to make up for my mistakes?" He's whispering, soft and gentle. The way the sun shines in the tree and glistens in Benedict's hair. . . he is beautiful. 

"Will you allow me to love you again? Fully? Deeply? Without... fear? We may have to be careful around your brother... I still do not trust him, for my own would have had us already damned." He presses his lips together. "We have much to talk about in a more private place, of course. I do not expect you to just... forgive me, just like that... but I will tell you everything. Anything you wish to hear. I will be honest with you from now on, and I will try to find my hope again."

Tag: Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict slowly closed his eyes, feeling more than seeing Henry as he placed gentle kisses on his hand, leaving a warm sensation on his skin. Perhaps the first time he had felt anything but pain since their departure from one another. And yet, Benedict still feared to hope. He opened his eyes to meet Henry's, trying to see what he saw behind the man's gaze as he spoke from what Benedict knew was his heart. The younger male was numbed into place, his hand moving with Henry's guidance and lacking any sort of ability to move . . . or even speak. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ He just listened to him say that he thought he could run away from them. Asking for a chance to be forgiven. It made Benedict's heart swell with so many different emotions, that he felt the physical ache of it. How many times had he thought of this moment. One that seemed like a dream after realizing he would not wake up from what seemed like a nightmare -- that it had become the reality of their lives. And now that it was here, Benedict was unsure how to react. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ How to label what he was feeling. How to identify his thoughts enough to bring voice to them. Henry was saying all that he had so longed to hear . . . and yet, Benedict was unable to just throw his arms around him and pretend that everything could go back to the way it was. Of course he loved him, of course he wanted to be with him . . . but surely, it was not that simple. Nothing, ever was. He was standing so close and Benedict's gaze fell, feeling almost winded as he tried to ease the heavy beating of his heart. Though his physical stance remained composed, he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. How he was still even standing, he hadn't the faintest notion. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "I can't . . . " He breathed, unable to form coherent enough thoughts to properly vocalize them. He knew that these words however, would give the wrong idea. Would suggest that he couldn't be with Henry when, that was not what he was saying. So he had to force himself to continue, to further explain. Though used the silence that followed them to try and regain some semblance of control. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Truth was, Benedict had none. His eyes slowly raised to meet Henry's, fighting back his own sting of tears. "I can not bare it a second time." The heartbreak. He wanted to be with the man, he wanted to trust him and be with him but . . . Benedict could knew he would not be able to survive should Henry change his mind his mind again. Benedict was scared to even consider the happiness he would find with Henry, out of that very fear. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ He needed that . . . trust. He did not disbelieve Henry's words right now. He believed, that Henry believed them. Swallowing, he continued, knowing that after Henry had all but poured his heart out to him, he owed him more than just a few words. "We should talk," he agreed. "There is, much to say and I . . . " He didn't want to do it here. The reminder of what happened last time Benedict had lost control -- whatever kind of control -- it had ended terribly. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ As if his heart took over his body, he finally was able to move, though leaned forward, tilting his head down just slightly so that his forehead rested against Henry's forehead. "Cannot find thought or voice here." That was the best way he could say it, indicating to Henry that he was overwhelmed with emotion. Also all too aware that his nonverbal action had indeed suggested that Benedict was willing. Willing to hear him. Willing to ask him. Willing to forgive him. Just . . . willing to be with Henry. Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[bunny]

I don't. . . Henry's chest tightens, and he freezes where he stands. Perhaps it is too late. The damage has been done, and there is too much irreconcilable pain that Henry has caused him for them to ever make this right. It would be what he deserved after his display, after he let his emotions get the best of him. He had been a horrible fool, so why wouldn't his hopes and dreams be shattered where he stood? His eyes glaze over, and he recalls his own pain and misery -- but it is only a small droplet of pain compared to the misery in Benedict's eyes. Henry is wretched. 

(Ah, perhaps his mind has turned for the worst.) 

He exhales a soft breath he'd been holding in when Benedict meets his eyes once more. Henry's upper lip twitches with the intention to speak, but he waits for Ben to finish. He wants to hear every one of his demands. He nods in agreement when Ben confirms that they should discuss this further elsewhere. He considers different places he could go, but perhaps the easiest is his studio. 

Some tears trickle down his cheeks to his own shock when Benedict presses their forehead's together. "I understand." Henry says quietly, and he cannot help but reach to cup Ben's cheek to ground him. There is still a chance. He feels relief in this pain. For a moment, he falls silent, just enjoying Benedict's presence here. How will they cope with this? Six months apart. Lord Bridgerton's meddling. . . Perhaps they need to address the Lord together. Or will Henry meet the gallows sooner than he ever expected to die? He does not know. The future is terrifying, but now he must live in the present with Benedict. "We can stay just like this for as long as you need, and. . . you can come to my studio to talk later in the week. At your best convenience. I'm currently working on something for Her Majesty, but I have time." He inhales a shaky breath through his nose, controlling himself. He must. He has caused Ben way too much pain; he must neglect his own. Henry must right his wrongs. 

tag: Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict felt the familiar and yet foreign touch of Henry's hand upon his cheek. Familiar, where he'd once felt it before but foreign . . . as it had certainly felt like an eternity. Benedict knew he was selfishly basking in the comfort it inevitably offered, even now after so much time apart. But Benedict could not pull himself away from it. Not yet anyway, for he wanted to prolong the moment . . . even if it was just for a few seconds longer. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ The younger male slowly nodded when Henry spoke of coming to his studio later in the week. Benedict had no plans of remaining in the city, having every intention of returning to My Cabin after the event was done. But his plans changed, and he would need time to process all this. To process not only Henry's return, but also what he said to him. He did not want to be a silent fool when Henry was making time to meet with him. When . . . Henry was making an effort. "Perhaps in 3 days time?" He asked, figuring it may be enough time to pass, but not too much. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Slowly opening his eyes and trying to force himself back into reality, Benedict take a small step back, reminding himself of that one point in time where he'd lacked the self control. And in turn, compromised them. While he knew this was different, he also knew he needed to step back. Even if it was not what his heart desired. Swallowing, he took a slow breath, creating a bit of space between them and trying to ground himself back into reality, Benedict's eyes meeting Granville's. "If that would be suitable for you?" He finished, leaving the option there, should Henry need more time . . . or less. Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[bunny]

THIS IS NICE. The circumstances are left to be desired, but Henry finds himself relaxing in the familiar touch of his once beloved.  There is a lot he will need to do to mend their relationship, and he already is berating himself for ever making Benedict so sad.  His own heart has hurt for so long;  why did he worry?  Should jail, should death, be worth it?  He would rather have Benedict, he realizes, than his sense of security.  "Three days time."  He repeats with a nod, keeping as close to him as he can, until Benedict pulls away.

Henry wipes his hands over his eyes, inhaling a deep breath and controlling himself.  He must do better this time, should Benedict even give him a chance.  He thinks briefly of Anthony's visit all that time ago, remembering the way the lord judged him.  It has not been an easy life for Henry, but that did not give him the right to extinguish Benedict's light.  He smoothes out his beard, his hair, and then his waistcoat.  "It is most suitable," he says, instantly agreeable.  "I will make sure we have your favorite tea stocked."  He smiles wistfully, knowing that this hasn't cured all wounds.

He wonders how long it will take to help Benedict.  He wonders if he has the strength to, as age has begun settling in his bones.  He looks Benedict over, hoping he will see him in good spirits again soon.  The fire of his love has reignited in his chest, and he does not wish to let it simmer out again.  After losing Alfred, he had been too on guard. . .  and he had let outside people affect him.  This time will be better.

Henry will be better.  He must.  

He turns, walking back to the bench to grab his coat. sliding his arms into the sleeves.  He has no way of knowing if he looks presentable, and he partly does not care.  Lucy will adjust him should he look disheveled.  He admires the flowers for a moment, back turned to Benedict, as he pulls himself together.  As Henry puts on his masks again.  Some did not even come off in front of Benedict. and he wonders if his own melancholy will still poison them.  He will carry both his and Benedict's pain.  He turns back to him, giving him a soft smile.  "It is better if you leave first.  We don't want to... arise suspicion."  Henry isn't sure he wants to return to the party, quite honestly.  He may take a longer walk around the gardens. 

tag: Benedict Bridgerton

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict quietly took in Henry's confirmation of when they would meet again, adding that it was suitable and that . . . he would have Benedict's favorite tea. It hardly came as any surprise for Henry was one of the most considerate people he knew. But . . . he also did not want to inconvenience him. And yet, any such remarks that Benedict could say in this moment seemed futile. Useless. Irrelevant. "That is . . . most kind of you." A stupid thing to say perhaps but it was all Benedict was able to bring to voice, still too overcome with emotion from their entire reunion. As he tried to keep his gaze from watching Henry ready himself, Benedict did the same, running a hand through his hand and adjusting his coat. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ He gave a nod when Henry suggested that he go first. Benedict was even less of a mood to return to the crowd but with his family present, it would only arouse concern and Benedict wished to avoid any such attention placed on himself. He turned to leave, taking only a few steps before pausing to turn his head to the side, only partly looking at Henry. "It is good to see you, truly." Words stated early in what could be considered as a generic pleasantry. But Benedict wished for Henry to know that he meant it. That it was and always would be good to see Henry . . . no matter how much it hurt at the same time. With those words, he made his leave. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ The next few days went both quickly and slowly at the same time. Anticipation, worry, excitement, fear . . . such a mix of emotions flooded Benedict, keeping him from sleep for an entirely different reason than the nights he was used to. And before he even realized, the day to meet Henry had come. He had not been to his studio for so long and yet, it was all so familiar. Comfortably so. Painfully so. To the point that he remained outside his door for several moments before he finally gathered the courage and strength to knock on it. Attempting to swallow back all that he was experiencing; everything that made his heart beat heavily in his chest. What would come of this meeting? What would come of them? Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[bunny]

"SIR GRANVILLE, YOU WILL WALK A HOLE IN THE FLOOR IF YOU CONTINUE."  It is concern laced in his valet's tone as Henry paces the room.  He has been doing a lot of thinking.  He has even considered shaving the beard, trying to be more of himself  again - but who was he before Benedict?  Before Alfred, even?  Who was the man that courted Lucy under the guise of a rouse?  Who is the painter behind the brush, the artist behind the painting?

Who is Henry Granville, and who does he want to be?  Who does Benedict need him to be?

Certainly not the fool who threw him aside as if he were nothing.  Six months ago feels like a dream.  He had been scared then.  Terrified at the idea that Lord Bridgerton would threaten him.  Jail and a noose around his neck for -- for DARING TO LOVE his brother.  What an awful thought.  He pitied Henry, sure.  But what is the honorable thing to do? 

Fuck that.  The honorable thing is love.  LOVE and BEAUTY and FUN are all this world needs.  There certainly isn't enough of it, which is why Henry hosted his nights of painting, of conversation, of sex.  Who is the man who returned from France?  

He stares at himself in the mirror, finally halting in his pacing.  He stares at himself, taking note of the way he's aged over the years.  The lines around his eyes, the creases in his forehead, the way his wrist will ache sometimes after holding a brush for too long.  There is still much, however, that this man can offer to the world.  He must not let this set him back.  He will win Benedict Bridgerton's heart again, and he will suffocate this world with his works. . .  Even if it will takes years after he is gone for his work to resonate with a more open-hearted audience. 

"I am fine."  Henry says, and he does not feel fine.  No, even as he tries to change his mind, there is a heaviness to his shoulders.  The weight of this world, of this society, is so heavy.  But Benedict's deadened gaze gave him the strength he needed to hold it up higher than before.  No more will he let those thoughts plague him.  He is fine;  he has to be fine.  For Benedict.  For Lucy.  For himself.  "He had said it had been good to see me."  Henry's voice is softer as he adjusts his waistcoat.  "I should hope he feels this way again today.  Lest I be greeted with a punch at the door should he finally have come to his senses."  He teases;  he needs levity in this moment.  His valet adjusts his cravat.  Henry wants to look good for this.  To remind Benedict what he has been missing.  To give Benedict the world as a man put together. 

He's here!  A voice calls out from downstairs.  One of the footman.  Henry exhales a deep breath and lets the last few days, last few months, wash away.  

In no time, he is downstairs, hand hovering over the lock on the door.  Why does he freeze here?  Is he afraid?  How -- terrible, that he should be afraid.  But is there not a lot riding on this meeting?  Does this not determine how his life continues?  Will he be alone again?  Will Benedict at least accept him to try?  Henry lets out a shaky breath that he had been holding in. . . and he opens the door with a straight back.  He looks upon Benedict Bridgerton with a smile that almost reaches his eyes this time.  "Bridgerton."  He greets in a similar fashion as the first time Benedict graced his doorstep.  

Perhaps this is a new beginning after all.  "Please, Benedict.  Come in."  Henry steps to the side, allowing him entrance.  His staff has disappeared into the servant halls of the studio;  he does not have many here, not the same at the house -- but then again, he is never at the house.  Not really.  He prefers to be in his studio and not that stuffy house granted to him by his unloving father.  "I trust you've been well?"  There is a question in his voice as he closes the door for him.  "Would you like tea?  Conversation?  Throw ourselves into painting?"  It seems that he cannot stop talking, the nerves gripping him at the throat.  He is trying to keep it together for this man, and perhaps the weight of the world is beginning to push his shoulders down.  He is desperate.  He does not want to be alone.  He does not want to continue hurting this man before him, but -- -- he has been hurting, too.  "Anything.  Anything, Benedict."  And his voice catches in his throat now, as the heaviness consumes him.

"Tell me -- please -- tell me what I can do." 

Perhaps he is still a man lost, but maybe they can build each other back up again.  Or perhaps Henry is just fooling himself.

Tagging: Benedict Bridgerton