“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.
"You should," Silver teases. "The truth is that the Admiral Benbow is a front. We're all bank robbers." If he can't make fun of himself and where he comes from, he's shit out of luck. At least with Benedict it sounds like a joke.
Oh, and that foot moves, bumping him lightly. Silver smiles.
"I doubt you," he says suddenly. "About if you're truly as happy as you seem."
“I’ve never been more thankful to be a person and not a bank.”
He laughs again, settling on an amused look in response to what he feels is another teasing question.
“And why shouldn’t I be happy? I have a wonderful family, I spend my days doing what I love to do, I have all of my meals made for me by a very good chef, and the freedom to do as I please.”
Silver's smile lights up his entire face. The chef comment in particular delights him, and even though he's exhausted and been on his feet all day, he's overjoyed to find that Benedict's still complimenting him. It makes him a little less tired.
Jack is still arguing with someone but Billy's sent another round of shots for them, and Silver is fully aware that this might be the one that tips Benedict completely over.
He's got his in his hand, however, and he looks somewhat concerned in Benedict's general direction.
"You can decline if you'd like," he says, still friendly--no one would be insulted. If anything, Silver will just have his.
Benedict’s reaching for his as well. He’s aware it might be too much, and he also isn’t sure what it might be, but he can’t bring himself to deny it. He doesn’t want Silver - or Silver’s friends - to think he’s just delicate socialite.
“To happiness, feigned or otherwise,” he says, a bit cheekily, as he raises his shot in a toast. And when he knocks it back he regrets it, but can’t help his laughter anyway.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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Oh, and that foot moves, bumping him lightly. Silver smiles.
"I doubt you," he says suddenly. "About if you're truly as happy as you seem."
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He laughs again, settling on an amused look in response to what he feels is another teasing question.
“And why shouldn’t I be happy? I have a wonderful family, I spend my days doing what I love to do, I have all of my meals made for me by a very good chef, and the freedom to do as I please.”
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Jack is still arguing with someone but Billy's sent another round of shots for them, and Silver is fully aware that this might be the one that tips Benedict completely over.
He's got his in his hand, however, and he looks somewhat concerned in Benedict's general direction.
"You can decline if you'd like," he says, still friendly--no one would be insulted. If anything, Silver will just have his.
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“To happiness, feigned or otherwise,” he says, a bit cheekily, as he raises his shot in a toast. And when he knocks it back he regrets it, but can’t help his laughter anyway.