“God, no. Not in any big ones, I mean. I’ve got one in a smaller showing - my friend, Henry, owns the gallery so it’s more of a kindness than a great accomplishment.”
If he were more satisfied with his work as of late, Benedict thinks he’d have asked Silver if he wants to see something. But that’s a bit childish, he decides, like a kid who wants to show off a drawing, and he doesn’t think he has anything particularly good right now anyway.
"Humour me," Silver says instead, offering an easy, relaxed smile as a timer goes off. One brow quirks up, keeping eye contact for as long as he can before he has to grab the oven mitts and take Benedict's dinner out.
Benedict isn't sure if he's blushing, but he certainly feels like he is.
"If you're certain. Before you go, I can show my studio - I've got a painting drying, actually." And it's by no means great, he thinks, but it's perhaps more impressive than a simple sketch. "But being interested in my hobbies isn't a requirement, you know."
"If you'll show it, I will see it." Silver can't help his smile--it's mostly because he's positive the other is blushing, and there it is, that little crooked smile that Silver has decided to make his mission going forward to tease out of the other in any way possible.
Benedict imagines his mother wouldn't quite like that. She's both very progressive and very much about etiquette all at once, and he imagines that she'd think it unbecoming to be so personal so soon in an otherwise professional relationship. But Benedict thinks that Silver can't be that much older than him, anyway, and if the man's going to be spending a couple days a week at his home then he may as well be a bit familiar.
"Benedict," Silver corrects, and he's not sure if he should also point out that most people call him his last name without a 'Mr.' attached. That's probably too forward: while Benedict has the ability to essentially do whatever he wants, Silver still has to be moderately careful.
He begins plating the small salmon meal he's made for the other, all the while keeping an eye on what's already on it's way and cooking.
"Pinot Noir goes best with salmon," he explains, "unless you'd rather I pour you something else?"
"Surely you're already doing so much. I think getting you to pour my wine would be crossing some sort of line. I've got my water, anyway." Benedict wiggles his sparkling water a bit.
But now he's got dinner, and he's wondering if he should take it to the table to eat. He wants to just eat it here, at the counter, but that's quite poor table manners. Besides, Silver has plenty going on that maybe having Benedict leave him alone for a moment would be a relief.
"But I'll remember that when I'm eating the leftovers at around midnight," he adds, teasingly.
"Not crossing a line." Silver can't help but smile, and even if he breaks his rule of always keeping busy, he stops what he's doing to look at the other, smile in place.
This is the first time he can ever recall something being so natural, so easy. It's alarmingly nice. Is it always like this for most people? Not just someone from Benedict's status--is this how it is for someone like Billy? Just talking to people and almost forgetting everyone has an ulterior motive?
"A night person, then? Can I expect a 2am call for pasta?"
Benedict isn't actually much of a night person. The parties do run a bit late now and then, and sometimes he gets caught up in a project, but he thinks that otherwise he'd probably go to bed at a reasonable hour. Still, it's easy to keep playing coy like this (are they flirting? Benedict can't quite tell) when Silver keeps playing right back.
"I couldn't possibly. You work three jobs, and maybe you'd be occupied making someone else 2am pasta."
"That's a service I provide," Silver says simply. "If you call, I come." Sometimes it can get dicey timing-wise, but Max is usually forgiving about the strange hours and there was one point where Flint had actually paid for Silver to make something at his own house and sleep. He thanked him later, of course, but was far too proud to admit he needed it at the time.
He's not sure he'll actually take advantage of such an offer, but a large part of Benedict wishes he was bold enough to. If only he had the courage of some of his siblings.
"Whatever my mother is paying you, you probably deserve more."
Speaking of - He has a delicious salmon dinner sitting in front of him, so he takes a bite so Silver knows he's not ignoring it.
"Oh - Mm." Benedict nods as he chews and swallows. "I'd absolutely petition for a raise."
Silver's entire face lights up the moment he gets Benedict's approval--there's something about the way anyone enjoys his food, yes, but seeing it in realtime versus being stuck in the kitchen is infinitely better.
It's the reason why he won't pare down his jobs to two. He enjoys moments like this far too much.
"Simple to make. I'll add it to the list," he assures, and there's a flash of a grin that he can't hide, feeling giddy.
“Simple for you, maybe,” Benedict says in between bites. “I’d turn this salmon into charcoal probably.”
Or undercook it and make himself ill, which seems more likely. Besides, if he could cook for himself, he’d have no need for this wonderfully handsome gentleman.
"Anyone can cook," Silver assures, "I'm just here so you wind up with proper portions and to help you focus more on honing your skills."
He pauses for a brief moment, just an ounce of hesitation, before he looks up at the other with a half-smile.
"Quite literally. If I may speak plainly, the woman who hired me--your mother, I believe--was very insistent that I cook for you both to ensure you don't order in every day and also to make things smoother to 'allow you to reach your full potential.' I'm assuming she meant your paintings."
"Indeed. A mother like that is awful hard to come by." There it is, that flush again, and Silver's firm on the notion that Benedict just might be the most attractive person he's ever seen. He's got a boyish charm to him, innocent but curious, refined without being off-putting. His smile is perfectly imperfect.
"At least, I was under the impression it's rare for a family in your social standing to care."
Was that overstepping?
It probably was. Silver occupies himself with adding the spices he's brought to hide his hesitation.
“I think people are usually surprised we’re not dysfunctional.” Benedict doesn’t think it’s overstepping, so he keeps up the conversation to help Silver feel less intrusive.
“My mother was a bit hesitant when I told her I wanted to study the arts. But she came around. I don’t have the same mind for business as my brothers.”
Big family. An ideal life--supportive parents, too. His girlfriend's probably perfect as well, although judging from nothing too feminine being in his flat, perhaps the other's single.
It's a nice thought to entertain, though he's probably straight.
"How fortunate," he says, and he finds himself actually meaning it. His smile is softer though, pleased. "If you'd like a family dinner, do let me know."
Benedict looks up from his plate and raises his eyebrows.
“Actually - My sister, Eloise, is coming to stay with me this weekend for a workshop she’s attending in the city. I think she’d be suitably impressed if you could put together some sort of stir fry.”
He smiles out of the corner of his mouth, knowing it’s well within his place to ask but feeling awkward doing it anyway.
"My job." And Silver, still feeling surprisingly light, gets back to work.
Silver finds he likes Benedict. More than he probably should, and in a way that's probably dangerous. It's also in a way that he can't stop, and even after talking with him for another 15 minutes at the door, unable to tear himself away from the conversation, he feels that same giddiness.
They do the same thing the next time he's slated for the week, and the same thing happens: he goes to leave and they talk for at least 20 minutes at the door before he pulls himself away. It feels natural, nice, even, and when it happens a third time in a row Silver is positively euphoric.
The Benbow knows. Jack Rackham doesn't look up from the gambling machine they have in the corner, saying a simple 'nice,' as Anne squints at him suspiciously by his side. Flint stops in at one point for a pint and Silver says hi to him briefly, which only grants him a knowing smile. Max has one of those for him, too, and it's actually Madi that casually asks.
"Boy or girl?"
Silver raises a brow.
"The person you can't stop smiling about."
And so it goes.
The Benbow's it's usual state on a Friday night: absolutely, completly jam packed. It doesn't hurt that there's a large party that have shown up completely unannounced. Billy doesn't even technically work the kitchen and he winds up hopping on to help Silver and the other kitchen staff, something Silver repays by giving him his tips. He's earning extra income courtesy of the Bridgertons', anyway.
When the kitchen closes, his helper even offers to shut it down properly, which means Silver can cram some food into his face and have his customary free drink before either hanging around Benbow (which he probably will) or heading home (which he will only if he gets laid.) The crowd in general causes the place to feel cramped but extremely lively, and Silver, his plate full of fish and chips, squirms his way in between two people into one of the only seats left at the bar.
"Bunch of artists," Charlotte says dreamily as she passes by with a tray full of drinks, and Silver followers her gaze and path to the crowd, a few fries in hand before he freezes and finds himself beaming.
The highlight of Benedict's week is when Silver (John, he comes to learn is his first name) comes by. They never seem to run out of things to say, but if there are lulls in conversation, it never feels awkward. Benedict is more than happy to quietly moon after Silver while the man bustles around the kitchen, anyway, and for the first time in ages, Benedict is excited to show off his progress in his projects. He's working on one painting in particular and Silver's enthusiasm for seeing it come along gives Benedict plenty of inspiration to keep working at it.
His mother seems happy that it's working out. She's glad that Benedict is actually eating real foods, and when she brings it up there's a certain smile she gets that Benedict can't quite discern. He puts it down to her being pleased that she's keeping him well fed even when he doesn't live with her anymore.
Tonight, he's excited to get home and shove some pasta in his face. Silver's been kind enough to make some cheesy pastas to store in the freezer for the nights Benedict's out at some party or showing and gets in late. There's been a rather interesting showing in this part of the city, and such exhibits are only made better with drinking, so Benedict and his friends are already a bit tipsy when one of them mentions this particular pub has the best drunk food you could want. Benedict can't really resist a good fish and chips and a pint, and fortunately there's a table with just enough room for them to squeeze into. And their server is an artist herself, which makes it all the better.
A bit into his second pint, Benedict excuses himself to use the bathroom. He squeezes out from the table and moves around everyone that's standing by the bar to drink, and that's when he finds himself face to face with Silver.
"John!" He says it with no small amount of delight, because, honestly, what are they odds?
Not only does Benedict say something, but Benedict beams, and Silver suddenly feels the weight of working an insane amount of time on his feet lift. His only regret is that he's in his work clothes, which was essentially a tank top underneath a chef's coat before he switched it out with a denim one.
Christ, he probably smells like pub food. At least it's good pub food.
"Benedict," he says, and he's surprised at how casual he sounds. He's very keenly aware of Max glancing over them from behind the bar, and then glancing over to where Madi, Billy and Eleanor had been sitting last glance around.
"What are you doing in Whitechapel?" Granted it's no the outskirts, but he's still incredibly surprised.
Suddenly he's very glad his friends insisted they stop in here, and with how crowded the pub is, Benedict is bunched in enough that he's nearly pressed up against Silver where he sits.
"I was informed that this was the best pub food in London so had no choice but to drop in."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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If he were more satisfied with his work as of late, Benedict thinks he’d have asked Silver if he wants to see something. But that’s a bit childish, he decides, like a kid who wants to show off a drawing, and he doesn’t think he has anything particularly good right now anyway.
“Henry humours me, truly.”
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"If you'd allow it, anyway, I'd love to see."
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"If you're certain. Before you go, I can show my studio - I've got a painting drying, actually." And it's by no means great, he thinks, but it's perhaps more impressive than a simple sketch. "But being interested in my hobbies isn't a requirement, you know."
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"Do you drink wine, Mr. Bridgerton?"
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Benedict imagines his mother wouldn't quite like that. She's both very progressive and very much about etiquette all at once, and he imagines that she'd think it unbecoming to be so personal so soon in an otherwise professional relationship. But Benedict thinks that Silver can't be that much older than him, anyway, and if the man's going to be spending a couple days a week at his home then he may as well be a bit familiar.
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He begins plating the small salmon meal he's made for the other, all the while keeping an eye on what's already on it's way and cooking.
"Pinot Noir goes best with salmon," he explains, "unless you'd rather I pour you something else?"
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But now he's got dinner, and he's wondering if he should take it to the table to eat. He wants to just eat it here, at the counter, but that's quite poor table manners. Besides, Silver has plenty going on that maybe having Benedict leave him alone for a moment would be a relief.
"But I'll remember that when I'm eating the leftovers at around midnight," he adds, teasingly.
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This is the first time he can ever recall something being so natural, so easy. It's alarmingly nice. Is it always like this for most people? Not just someone from Benedict's status--is this how it is for someone like Billy? Just talking to people and almost forgetting everyone has an ulterior motive?
"A night person, then? Can I expect a 2am call for pasta?"
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Benedict isn't actually much of a night person. The parties do run a bit late now and then, and sometimes he gets caught up in a project, but he thinks that otherwise he'd probably go to bed at a reasonable hour. Still, it's easy to keep playing coy like this (are they flirting? Benedict can't quite tell) when Silver keeps playing right back.
"I couldn't possibly. You work three jobs, and maybe you'd be occupied making someone else 2am pasta."
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"Artists get top priority."
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"Whatever my mother is paying you, you probably deserve more."
Speaking of - He has a delicious salmon dinner sitting in front of him, so he takes a bite so Silver knows he's not ignoring it.
"Oh - Mm." Benedict nods as he chews and swallows. "I'd absolutely petition for a raise."
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It's the reason why he won't pare down his jobs to two. He enjoys moments like this far too much.
"Simple to make. I'll add it to the list," he assures, and there's a flash of a grin that he can't hide, feeling giddy.
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Or undercook it and make himself ill, which seems more likely. Besides, if he could cook for himself, he’d have no need for this wonderfully handsome gentleman.
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He pauses for a brief moment, just an ounce of hesitation, before he looks up at the other with a half-smile.
"Quite literally. If I may speak plainly, the woman who hired me--your mother, I believe--was very insistent that I cook for you both to ensure you don't order in every day and also to make things smoother to 'allow you to reach your full potential.' I'm assuming she meant your paintings."
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“I’m very lucky to have such a wonderful mother. She’s always been supportive of us.”
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"At least, I was under the impression it's rare for a family in your social standing to care."
Was that overstepping?
It probably was. Silver occupies himself with adding the spices he's brought to hide his hesitation.
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“My mother was a bit hesitant when I told her I wanted to study the arts. But she came around. I don’t have the same mind for business as my brothers.”
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It's a nice thought to entertain, though he's probably straight.
"How fortunate," he says, and he finds himself actually meaning it. His smile is softer though, pleased. "If you'd like a family dinner, do let me know."
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“Actually - My sister, Eloise, is coming to stay with me this weekend for a workshop she’s attending in the city. I think she’d be suitably impressed if you could put together some sort of stir fry.”
He smiles out of the corner of his mouth, knowing it’s well within his place to ask but feeling awkward doing it anyway.
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"Of course I could," he smiles. "Are you purposely making it easy for me?"
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Benedict smiles back, completely lost in how effortless and nice Silver’s own smile is.
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Silver finds he likes Benedict. More than he probably should, and in a way that's probably dangerous. It's also in a way that he can't stop, and even after talking with him for another 15 minutes at the door, unable to tear himself away from the conversation, he feels that same giddiness.
They do the same thing the next time he's slated for the week, and the same thing happens: he goes to leave and they talk for at least 20 minutes at the door before he pulls himself away. It feels natural, nice, even, and when it happens a third time in a row Silver is positively euphoric.
The Benbow knows. Jack Rackham doesn't look up from the gambling machine they have in the corner, saying a simple 'nice,' as Anne squints at him suspiciously by his side. Flint stops in at one point for a pint and Silver says hi to him briefly, which only grants him a knowing smile. Max has one of those for him, too, and it's actually Madi that casually asks.
"Boy or girl?"
Silver raises a brow.
"The person you can't stop smiling about."
And so it goes.
The Benbow's it's usual state on a Friday night: absolutely, completly jam packed. It doesn't hurt that there's a large party that have shown up completely unannounced. Billy doesn't even technically work the kitchen and he winds up hopping on to help Silver and the other kitchen staff, something Silver repays by giving him his tips. He's earning extra income courtesy of the Bridgertons', anyway.
When the kitchen closes, his helper even offers to shut it down properly, which means Silver can cram some food into his face and have his customary free drink before either hanging around Benbow (which he probably will) or heading home (which he will only if he gets laid.) The crowd in general causes the place to feel cramped but extremely lively, and Silver, his plate full of fish and chips, squirms his way in between two people into one of the only seats left at the bar.
"Bunch of artists," Charlotte says dreamily as she passes by with a tray full of drinks, and Silver followers her gaze and path to the crowd, a few fries in hand before he freezes and finds himself beaming.
Holy shit. It's Benedict.
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His mother seems happy that it's working out. She's glad that Benedict is actually eating real foods, and when she brings it up there's a certain smile she gets that Benedict can't quite discern. He puts it down to her being pleased that she's keeping him well fed even when he doesn't live with her anymore.
Tonight, he's excited to get home and shove some pasta in his face. Silver's been kind enough to make some cheesy pastas to store in the freezer for the nights Benedict's out at some party or showing and gets in late. There's been a rather interesting showing in this part of the city, and such exhibits are only made better with drinking, so Benedict and his friends are already a bit tipsy when one of them mentions this particular pub has the best drunk food you could want. Benedict can't really resist a good fish and chips and a pint, and fortunately there's a table with just enough room for them to squeeze into. And their server is an artist herself, which makes it all the better.
A bit into his second pint, Benedict excuses himself to use the bathroom. He squeezes out from the table and moves around everyone that's standing by the bar to drink, and that's when he finds himself face to face with Silver.
"John!" He says it with no small amount of delight, because, honestly, what are they odds?
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Christ, he probably smells like pub food. At least it's good pub food.
"Benedict," he says, and he's surprised at how casual he sounds. He's very keenly aware of Max glancing over them from behind the bar, and then glancing over to where Madi, Billy and Eleanor had been sitting last glance around.
"What are you doing in Whitechapel?" Granted it's no the outskirts, but he's still incredibly surprised.
Pleased, though.
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Suddenly he's very glad his friends insisted they stop in here, and with how crowded the pub is, Benedict is bunched in enough that he's nearly pressed up against Silver where he sits.
"I was informed that this was the best pub food in London so had no choice but to drop in."
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