"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."
"The head chef's a bit full of himself," Silver warns--it's himself, after all, and he glances at his meal and then over at the rather busy table. His gaze settles on Benedict, smiling slightly.
"No--no, no, I'm just eating by myself, it's no problem." The only reason he hasn't pushed the tray away and offered for Benedict to sit is because he hasn't had anything to eat and he's absolutely starving after a long shift.
"It's good to see a crowd in here." It's a matter of time before a fight breaks out, he's sure of it. Vane looks annoyed by the door, which means he's going to find something or he's going to start something. It's 50/50.
"Your friends, then?" He motions to the table the other had come from, trying not to feel as awkward as he could.
"It's actually the man with the very angry lesbian next to him over in the corner," Silver confesses--he motions to Rackham, who, sure enough, has Anne over his side glaring absolute daggers at whoever Rackham is currently talking to. From the looks of how fast Jack's hands are going, it's either a passionate talk about the trade or that this is the kind of trouble Vane is looking for.
"Sorry about having to come clean here, of all places." It's still joking, and he feels a bit odd that THE Benedict Bridgerton is just sort of hovering awkwardly. The line to the bathroom must be long.
"Is it really so scandalous I would be watching you? You certainly came with quite the crowd."
"On the contrary, I'm incredibly flattered, though perhaps a bit offended if you were only watching me because of my friends."
It seems then that getting to the bathroom likes feasible, and Benedict gives Silver's shoulder a slight squeeze.
"I'll try and catch you again later."
Benedict slips off, and by the time he's finished up in the bathroom, he starts to head back only to realize that the table his friends were at is now occupied by entirely different people. He frowns and his phone buzzes with a text telling him they've decided to leave for one reason or another, and he doesn't hold it against them, he just hopes one of them has grabbed his coat. He sees Silver in his spot, still, though, so he heads over to say goodbye.
"It looks like I've been abandoned so I suppose that means it's time to go home. Bastards didn't even wait for me to finish my pint," he adds, looking amused.
Once Benedict finds him, Silver's meal is done and the dish has mysteriously disappeared. The other explains and Silver hisses, as if the other has just suffered a great loss. "They stood you up the moment they finish eating," he laments, "Pint and all. That's rough."
Max, who is nearby and listening to the two of them intently despite not looking like it, begins to pour two shots.
"We could find a table, if you'll have me." he offers. "You can finish your pint, I can have my third."
"Not an obligation at all." Silver's already standing up, and Max slides the shots over without a word. Silver grabs them, and, before they move, offers one of the shots. It's top-shelf tequila, he realizes, which is one hell of a thing considering Max is the one that poured it.
"To happenstance, then. And an actual conversation while I'm not on the clock."
Benedict isn't necessarily one for shots, but, what the hell. He gives a bit of a cheers with the glass and knocks it back, immediately regretting it. His face twists a bit and he lets out a slight cough followed by a laugh.
Silver's brow's arches so high they disappear behind his curls, and he can't help the little chuckle he does.
"Normally it comes with a lime and salt," Silver states, and he puts a hand on the other's shoulder in a friendly pat before heading to a table. Charlotte passes him by and Silver motions for two drinks for them and Charlotte nods, leaving Silver to slide into an unoccupied booth.
“Drinking at a pub in Whitechapel is hardly the most scandalous thing I’ve ever done,” he teases.
Benedict sits across from Silver, suddenly not feeling so bad that his friends left him behind. And while he’s not about to tell Silver about threesomes involving married women, he thinks he’ll leave it up to Silver’s imagination.
“I enjoy getting around the city beyond my neighbourhood or Mayfair. Though now I know where to find you when I want to bother you outside of work. Well. Outside of one job, anyway.”
Silver laughs again. "You're actually two for two," he admits, and there's a wince as he teases the other.
"This is my main job. I live a few blocks away--I'm just finishing my shift." He finds Benedict so delightful, even the way he says scandalous--he loves everything about the other.
Or maybe he's just really, really lonely. He can't help it when Benedict gives him that crooked smile.
"I don't think that's possible," Silver says earnestly, taking his own drink and thanking Charlotte with a smile.
"I find a man who's capable of appreciating good food and capable of holding good conversation to be incredibly important to keep by me." He smiles, and for the first time in what feels like forever (the bar seat he'd been at was merely a stool), he leans back. The contended sigh he gives out is definitely audible, and after he downs half of his pint in a go, he sets it down to stretch his arms. He's not on duty, after all. He can be a little more himself.
"Besides, I'd hate to miss the window of saying we're friends when you get famous for your artwork."
“You know, most artists aren’t famous until they’re dead. Like Toulouse-Lautrec or Vermeer.”
Benedict raises his eyebrows pointedly and takes another drink from his pint.
“But not Picasso. Everyone thinks he died poor but he was incredibly wealthy and famous when he did. And Van Gogh was supported by his brother, he wasn’t poor, either. Maybe I’m going to be like Van Gogh. Please don’t let me cut off an ear.”
"If you do, I'm going to sell it." This is strange, and this is weird, and did he imagine it, or is Benedict a little looser than he usually is? Not that he's too uptight, but he seems to be slightly inebriated. It means either he and his crew have been drinking at that exhibit, or that Benedict is a complete and utterly (charming) lightweight.
"Probably to a museum. Not one in Britain, though. Somewhere exotic. New York, maybe. Better money." It's not even a good joke or line of conversation, and mostly he's just rambling, but he can't help it. He's tired. All he knows is that he wants to talk to Beendict and the other is gracing him with his time.
"I'm sorry. About your friends, how they--you know."
“Oh - No, it’s not really a problem. One of them lost track of time and had to pick up their things from Henry’s, and they saw me talking with you so they assumed -“
Well. They assumed he was on his way to getting laid.
“- They figured I wouldn’t miss them much. They wouldn’t have actually left me here. I hope.” Benedict adds that last bit with a laugh.
Silver notices that, the way he pauses like he's about to say something, and he can't help but wonder if he's reading too much into things. Probably, he thinks, he's just too into Benedict's stupidly crooked smile.
"I'll take care of you," he promises, and maybe that's a little flirty, too.
Benedict's grin is looser now, and he feels the unmistakable haze of drunkenness wash over him even as he takes another long drink from his pint. Under the table, whether he means it to or not, he nudges their feet together.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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"Your art?"
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Benedict seems to realize then that Silver's sitting there with food, and he looks immediately apologetic.
"Sorry. I'll let you eat. I'm just trying to get to the bathroom but it's easier said than done with this crowd."
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"It's good to see a crowd in here." It's a matter of time before a fight breaks out, he's sure of it. Vane looks annoyed by the door, which means he's going to find something or he's going to start something. It's 50/50.
"Your friends, then?" He motions to the table the other had come from, trying not to feel as awkward as he could.
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Benedict can't keep the amused grin off his face. He quite likes that, actually, the idea that Silver somehow singled him out in the crowd.
"I'm once again convinced you might be Lady Whistledown herself."
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"Sorry about having to come clean here, of all places." It's still joking, and he feels a bit odd that THE Benedict Bridgerton is just sort of hovering awkwardly. The line to the bathroom must be long.
"Is it really so scandalous I would be watching you? You certainly came with quite the crowd."
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It seems then that getting to the bathroom likes feasible, and Benedict gives Silver's shoulder a slight squeeze.
"I'll try and catch you again later."
Benedict slips off, and by the time he's finished up in the bathroom, he starts to head back only to realize that the table his friends were at is now occupied by entirely different people. He frowns and his phone buzzes with a text telling him they've decided to leave for one reason or another, and he doesn't hold it against them, he just hopes one of them has grabbed his coat. He sees Silver in his spot, still, though, so he heads over to say goodbye.
"It looks like I've been abandoned so I suppose that means it's time to go home. Bastards didn't even wait for me to finish my pint," he adds, looking amused.
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Max, who is nearby and listening to the two of them intently despite not looking like it, begins to pour two shots.
"We could find a table, if you'll have me." he offers. "You can finish your pint, I can have my third."
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And whether he's talking about having Silver's company or something more is up for interpretation.
"But I hope you don't feel obliged. I can take a cab home, I'm sure you've got other things you'd rather do tonight."
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"To happenstance, then. And an actual conversation while I'm not on the clock."
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Benedict isn't necessarily one for shots, but, what the hell. He gives a bit of a cheers with the glass and knocks it back, immediately regretting it. His face twists a bit and he lets out a slight cough followed by a laugh.
"I never want to drink that again."
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"Normally it comes with a lime and salt," Silver states, and he puts a hand on the other's shoulder in a friendly pat before heading to a table. Charlotte passes him by and Silver motions for two drinks for them and Charlotte nods, leaving Silver to slide into an unoccupied booth.
"I can't believe you're actually here."
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Benedict sits across from Silver, suddenly not feeling so bad that his friends left him behind. And while he’s not about to tell Silver about threesomes involving married women, he thinks he’ll leave it up to Silver’s imagination.
“I enjoy getting around the city beyond my neighbourhood or Mayfair. Though now I know where to find you when I want to bother you outside of work. Well. Outside of one job, anyway.”
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"This is my main job. I live a few blocks away--I'm just finishing my shift." He finds Benedict so delightful, even the way he says scandalous--he loves everything about the other.
Or maybe he's just really, really lonely. He can't help it when Benedict gives him that crooked smile.
"But I love the dedication."
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He says it more or less teasingly, because he does actually mean it. The last thing he wants is to become an actual bother to Silver.
Their pints arrive and Benedict takes a drink from his.
“I’d hate for you to get bored of me.”
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"I find a man who's capable of appreciating good food and capable of holding good conversation to be incredibly important to keep by me." He smiles, and for the first time in what feels like forever (the bar seat he'd been at was merely a stool), he leans back. The contended sigh he gives out is definitely audible, and after he downs half of his pint in a go, he sets it down to stretch his arms. He's not on duty, after all. He can be a little more himself.
"Besides, I'd hate to miss the window of saying we're friends when you get famous for your artwork."
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Benedict raises his eyebrows pointedly and takes another drink from his pint.
“But not Picasso. Everyone thinks he died poor but he was incredibly wealthy and famous when he did. And Van Gogh was supported by his brother, he wasn’t poor, either. Maybe I’m going to be like Van Gogh. Please don’t let me cut off an ear.”
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"Probably to a museum. Not one in Britain, though. Somewhere exotic. New York, maybe. Better money." It's not even a good joke or line of conversation, and mostly he's just rambling, but he can't help it. He's tired. All he knows is that he wants to talk to Beendict and the other is gracing him with his time.
"I'm sorry. About your friends, how they--you know."
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Well. They assumed he was on his way to getting laid.
“- They figured I wouldn’t miss them much. They wouldn’t have actually left me here. I hope.” Benedict adds that last bit with a laugh.
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"I'll take care of you," he promises, and maybe that's a little flirty, too.
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Benedict's grin is looser now, and he feels the unmistakable haze of drunkenness wash over him even as he takes another long drink from his pint. Under the table, whether he means it to or not, he nudges their feet together.
"I don't even doubt you for a moment."
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