Silver's smile is still there, just a small trace of amusement reaching his eyes as the other looks at him. Benedict is soft, and curious, and unsullied by just how terrible the world is.

Silver should feel angry at him. Upset, maybe, or envious that someone has it far easier than he's ever had in his entire life. Silver was never one to resent anyone, but if he could, it would be someone like Benedict, who is kneeling and so deliciously supplicant, drunk on ale that's barely affected Silver himself and playing with his belt.

Instead, Silver finds himself moving the hand on Benedict's jaw so his thumb can trace the other's lips, his other hand slowly undoing his belt.

"Because at this moment, you're the only thing I find myself giving a damn about."