It's not the first time he's taken care of a drunk person. It's not even the first time he's taken care of a hot drunk person. It is, however, the first time he's stopped himself from a potential one-night stand. It probably says more about Silver than anything--and to his credit normally he's also drunk--but by the time the glass of water is set on the small coffee table, Benedict seems to be dozing off almost completely.
Silver can't help but smile. He disappears, returns shortly after with a clean T-shirt and some pyjama bottoms, as well as a bottle of aspirin.
"Hey," he says softly, gently putting a hand on the other's shoulder. "Stay the night, hmm?"
Silver chuckles despite himself, handing over the shirt. It's up to Benedict if he even wants a comfier pair of clothing to crash in, because in a second Silver's disappeared down the very short hallway and come back with a blanket and a pillow.
"I had fun," he assures, although nowhere near as much fun as Benedict--between an art gallery, a fight, and a few moments of Silver's company, his evening had been packed.
Benedict starts fussing with the buttons on his shirt, wishing he’d worn a t-shirt or a henley or something simpler than this. But he’s managing it. Sort of.
He does, even if it's just because Flint has one and the other can be forgetful in his tunnel vision state: they meet up to go over things on the rare occasion Silver's past creeps up on him, and without fail, he forgets one.
"Mmmm," he says as a yes, and with a small smile he goes and grabs it, too. benedict's on his last legs--he feels strangely envious. He wishes it would take him small amounts of alcohol to keep himself pacified, but his tolerance is pretty high nowadays.
His mind is buzzing. Benedict, in his inebriated state, has kissed him only moments before. And Silver, strangely, had actually turned him down. He's beginning to hate this whole 'being a good person' thing, and it's absolutely something he's going to have to talk to Madi about.
Fuck. He watches the other carefully, a small smile on his face. To be foolishly drunk in someone else's apartment... It's been a while.
Benedict manages to win the fight against his shirt, which he lets drop carelessly despite the fact that is undoubtedly very expensive and will get very wrinkled. He pulls on the t-shirt Silver’s provided, then deposits his phone and his watch on the coffee table.
His jeans are a struggle in their own right and he decides that’s quite enough, there’s no way he’ll manage to even pull the pajama bottoms on, so he lets them be. Satisfied with his state of bed-readiness, he makes himself comfortable on the futon with the blanket and pillow.
Strange, he thinks, to be crashing at someone’s flat but sleeping on his own (that not Benedict makes a habit of it, but on the occasions he does stay the night at Henry’s or wherever after a party, he’s usually at least got someone to cuddle).
John, he says, and sure, Silver's been called John before--from Madi, from Flint, even Benedict--but it's different like this. Benedict ends the sentence with it like it's the end of a love letter.
Or maybe he's just overthinking it, because that's what he wants. He's never really been fond of his first name, but when Benedict says it, it's alright.
"Goodnight." He resists the urge to march back over to Benedict, lean down and kiss him. Instead, he heads to bed.
Silver's usually an early riser--not as early as Flint, who he swears never sleeps, but he's not surprised he's up at 6, only a few hours after sleeping. He spends a great deal of time awake and staring at the cieling, acutely aware there is a handsome noble sleeping a party off on the couch in the next room. He's also aware that said man kissed him.
Eventually, he takes a shower, pulls on a pair of grey sweatpants, and decides to make coffee. He's as quiet as he can as he begins to make food--nothing simple. Far from it--as the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, there's also the mistakable smell of oil and onions as Silver, with his hair still went and no shirt, begins to cook enough breakfast for two.
It’s a testament to just how much he drank, because it’s not until the sound of sizzling is persistent that Benedict is jostled out of his sleep. It takes him a moment of looking blearily at the futon to remember where he is, and as he turns over to sit up, he does with a bit of a groan.
His gaze falls upon Silver, who is cooking, shirtless, hair still falling in damp curls. Benedict’s mouth suddenly feels a bit dry.
“Good morning,” he manages to say, standing up. He pauses to chug the water left behind from the night before and take some aspirin, then he makes his way the few feet to the kitchen area. As he passes a hand through his messy hair, he gives Silver a vaguely hopeful look.
Benedict managed to get the shirt on, and hey, that's something. There's also something to be said about that sleep tousled hair, and the way the other's square jaw looks exceptionally handsome. He can't help the slow smile that creeps up on his face.
"Fridge, in the door." he's already reaching to the cup cupboard to pull out a mug that proudly announces that silver is the world's greatest grandfather. It's handed to him and Silver goes back to tending to the contents of his breakfast skillet.
Honestly, if it weren’t for Benedict’s pounding head, he’d probably think something about this whole scene felt very domestic. He pour out some juice and downs it, and fills the cup again before closing the fridge.
“I think I ought to apologize for last night,” Benedict says after a moment, leaning against the wall. “I’m afraid nothing about my behaviour was very becoming. My forwardness included.” He adds the last part with an embarrassed scrunch of his face. “Please don’t think any less of me for it.”
Oh. He's not expecting that, and it shows on his face--he usually keeps a neutral face by default, something he's learned over the years, but he looks at benedict just a little too long, searching for something, blue eyes curious behind a wet mop of curls.
Benedict definitely remembers, something Silver is genuinely surprised about. It doesn't help that the face he makes melts his heart and he has to force himself not to grin. Silver looks at the other, jaw rippling for a second, and then he returns to the skillet.
"I do think a little less of you," he admits, and to tease the other he keeps his face careful until the end. "I had a 12 hour shift on my feet, I smelled atrocious yesterday."
Benedict blinks a moment before he lets out a half laugh, half groan.
“I deserved that,” he says, but he’s glad Silver isn’t holding it against him. Everyone does silly things when they’re drunk, right? And Benedict won’t read much into the rejection if Silver is willing to stay on friendly terms.
"Whatever was in the fridge," Silver answers earnestly. "I'm off the clock." He's also too tired to spend more time in the kitchen when he's got most of the day off. He loves what he does, but he likes having a life outside of grilling.
He looks at Benedict again, flashing the other a smile, soft and surprisingly self conscious, even if it's just for a moment.
Benedict knows he’s not a snorer, but he has to figure Silver was up early if he’s already showered and making breakfast.
Finishing his juice, Benedict reaches around Silver to grab another mug from the cupboard. He pours them each some coffee, and seeks out some milk for himself.
"Am I that much of an obvious person?" The thought is both funny and, if he thinks about it too hard, slightly terrifying. He settles for thinking Benedict is just plain cute instead, taking note of the way he pours cups for two.
It's domestic. Silver finds himself scared of how much he likes that. He also reminds himself to calm the fuck down, and offers a bit of a grin.
"I have a reputation, you know. of being very mysterious."
Benedict can’t help his little smirk as he passes over the cup of coffee for Silver. There’s a certain coyness he can’t shake when he talks to the man, because Silver seems to bring out Benedict’s more playful nature, and Benedict enjoys not having to be so prim and proper.
“Is it just a reputation, or are you, in fact, very mysterious?”
"If I answered that, how would I uphold said reputation?" Silver looks at Benedict, singular brow raised, a ghost of a smile on his face. He's enjoying himself.
"You?" Silver's already beginning the schpiel. "No, that's--" wait. What is he doing? he's not on the clock. Silver pauses for a moment, a brief second before looking over at Benedict, catching himself.
"You know what? Toast sounds lovely, sous-chef."
Oh. The thought of Benedict in an apron is absolutely a delight. Silver catches himself staring.
"If it turns out terribly, I figure we can just slather it in butter, right?"
Though Benedict will slather his toast in butter anyway, because he loves butter. He gets the bread and pops it into the toaster. The toaster's at least a fairly user-friendly appliance.
"Next time, you'll have to let me take you out for breakfast. So it's a proper day off for you."
Silver chuckles at that, low and gravelly in his throat.
"Eating out with your personal chef? What will Lady Whistledown think?" He seems delighted, though--and he is. So much so he's grinning again. "Benedict Bridgerton and John Silver at the local diner, eating steak and eggs like Americans.." Lord knows he loves steak and eggs, but that's besides the point.
"Thank you. Sincerely, even if it is strange to have a Bridgerton in my apartment."
"Oh, I could think of a few." Silver's reaching past Benedict and up to grab some plates.
"You're in Whitechapel, for one." He tilts his head to the side. "You've also technically been part of a brawl. I think this officially makes you a bad boy, if my read on your world is correct."
Benedict keeps his voice even and his smile wide, even as he wonders if Silver is doing this on purpose - boxing him in against the counter like this. Hadn’t Silver rejected his advances?
“Something tells me that Whistledown doesn’t get around to this part of town, so I won’t be the talk of society any time soon.”
Silver leans over, just a little bit closer, faces inches apart. He quirks a brow again, tilting his head a fraction of an inch to the side.
"Truly, you're with the dregs of society." His voice is purposely low, gravelly as he finally leans back, plates in hand. It's a little cruel, surely, but he can't help himself. It's not every day you can flirt with a handsome man with a crooked smile.
"At the very least, at least you went to a fancy art show." He's dishing up the food, although not without a firm look at the other.
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Silver can't help but smile. He disappears, returns shortly after with a clean T-shirt and some pyjama bottoms, as well as a bottle of aspirin.
"Hey," he says softly, gently putting a hand on the other's shoulder. "Stay the night, hmm?"
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Benedict opens his eyes and gazes hazily at Silver for a long moment before starting to push himself up.
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"I had fun," he assures, although nowhere near as much fun as Benedict--between an art gallery, a fight, and a few moments of Silver's company, his evening had been packed.
"You need a phone charger?"
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Benedict starts fussing with the buttons on his shirt, wishing he’d worn a t-shirt or a henley or something simpler than this. But he’s managing it. Sort of.
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"Mmmm," he says as a yes, and with a small smile he goes and grabs it, too. benedict's on his last legs--he feels strangely envious. He wishes it would take him small amounts of alcohol to keep himself pacified, but his tolerance is pretty high nowadays.
His mind is buzzing. Benedict, in his inebriated state, has kissed him only moments before. And Silver, strangely, had actually turned him down. He's beginning to hate this whole 'being a good person' thing, and it's absolutely something he's going to have to talk to Madi about.
Fuck. He watches the other carefully, a small smile on his face. To be foolishly drunk in someone else's apartment... It's been a while.
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His jeans are a struggle in their own right and he decides that’s quite enough, there’s no way he’ll manage to even pull the pajama bottoms on, so he lets them be. Satisfied with his state of bed-readiness, he makes himself comfortable on the futon with the blanket and pillow.
Strange, he thinks, to be crashing at someone’s flat but sleeping on his own (that not Benedict makes a habit of it, but on the occasions he does stay the night at Henry’s or wherever after a party, he’s usually at least got someone to cuddle).
“Good night, John.”
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Or maybe he's just overthinking it, because that's what he wants. He's never really been fond of his first name, but when Benedict says it, it's alright.
"Goodnight." He resists the urge to march back over to Benedict, lean down and kiss him. Instead, he heads to bed.
Silver's usually an early riser--not as early as Flint, who he swears never sleeps, but he's not surprised he's up at 6, only a few hours after sleeping. He spends a great deal of time awake and staring at the cieling, acutely aware there is a handsome noble sleeping a party off on the couch in the next room. He's also aware that said man kissed him.
Eventually, he takes a shower, pulls on a pair of grey sweatpants, and decides to make coffee. He's as quiet as he can as he begins to make food--nothing simple. Far from it--as the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, there's also the mistakable smell of oil and onions as Silver, with his hair still went and no shirt, begins to cook enough breakfast for two.
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His gaze falls upon Silver, who is cooking, shirtless, hair still falling in damp curls. Benedict’s mouth suddenly feels a bit dry.
“Good morning,” he manages to say, standing up. He pauses to chug the water left behind from the night before and take some aspirin, then he makes his way the few feet to the kitchen area. As he passes a hand through his messy hair, he gives Silver a vaguely hopeful look.
“You haven’t got any juice, have you?”
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"Fridge, in the door." he's already reaching to the cup cupboard to pull out a mug that proudly announces that silver is the world's greatest grandfather. It's handed to him and Silver goes back to tending to the contents of his breakfast skillet.
"How's your head?"
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“About as good as you can expect.”
Honestly, if it weren’t for Benedict’s pounding head, he’d probably think something about this whole scene felt very domestic. He pour out some juice and downs it, and fills the cup again before closing the fridge.
“I think I ought to apologize for last night,” Benedict says after a moment, leaning against the wall. “I’m afraid nothing about my behaviour was very becoming. My forwardness included.” He adds the last part with an embarrassed scrunch of his face. “Please don’t think any less of me for it.”
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Benedict definitely remembers, something Silver is genuinely surprised about. It doesn't help that the face he makes melts his heart and he has to force himself not to grin. Silver looks at the other, jaw rippling for a second, and then he returns to the skillet.
"I do think a little less of you," he admits, and to tease the other he keeps his face careful until the end. "I had a 12 hour shift on my feet, I smelled atrocious yesterday."
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“I deserved that,” he says, but he’s glad Silver isn’t holding it against him. Everyone does silly things when they’re drunk, right? And Benedict won’t read much into the rejection if Silver is willing to stay on friendly terms.
“What are you making? It smells amazing.”
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He looks at Benedict again, flashing the other a smile, soft and surprisingly self conscious, even if it's just for a moment.
"Sleep alright?"
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Benedict knows he’s not a snorer, but he has to figure Silver was up early if he’s already showered and making breakfast.
Finishing his juice, Benedict reaches around Silver to grab another mug from the cupboard. He pours them each some coffee, and seeks out some milk for himself.
“I’m going to guess you take your coffee black.”
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It's domestic. Silver finds himself scared of how much he likes that. He also reminds himself to calm the fuck down, and offers a bit of a grin.
"I have a reputation, you know. of being very mysterious."
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Benedict can’t help his little smirk as he passes over the cup of coffee for Silver. There’s a certain coyness he can’t shake when he talks to the man, because Silver seems to bring out Benedict’s more playful nature, and Benedict enjoys not having to be so prim and proper.
“Is it just a reputation, or are you, in fact, very mysterious?”
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"Maybe some things are meant to be mysterious."
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Benedict looks amused as he sips his coffee.
“Since it’s your day off, is there anything I can do to help you with breakfast? I think I’m reasonably okay at toast.”
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"You know what? Toast sounds lovely, sous-chef."
Oh. The thought of Benedict in an apron is absolutely a delight. Silver catches himself staring.
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Though Benedict will slather his toast in butter anyway, because he loves butter. He gets the bread and pops it into the toaster. The toaster's at least a fairly user-friendly appliance.
"Next time, you'll have to let me take you out for breakfast. So it's a proper day off for you."
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"Eating out with your personal chef? What will Lady Whistledown think?" He seems delighted, though--and he is. So much so he's grinning again. "Benedict Bridgerton and John Silver at the local diner, eating steak and eggs like Americans.." Lord knows he loves steak and eggs, but that's besides the point.
"Thank you. Sincerely, even if it is strange to have a Bridgerton in my apartment."
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But something about what Silver says make Benedict laugh as he pops the toaster. Only one piece comes out slightly burnt.
“I can’t imagine any other way I’d like to be the subject of gossip.”
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"You're in Whitechapel, for one." He tilts his head to the side. "You've also technically been part of a brawl. I think this officially makes you a bad boy, if my read on your world is correct."
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Benedict keeps his voice even and his smile wide, even as he wonders if Silver is doing this on purpose - boxing him in against the counter like this. Hadn’t Silver rejected his advances?
“Something tells me that Whistledown doesn’t get around to this part of town, so I won’t be the talk of society any time soon.”
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"Truly, you're with the dregs of society." His voice is purposely low, gravelly as he finally leans back, plates in hand. It's a little cruel, surely, but he can't help himself. It's not every day you can flirt with a handsome man with a crooked smile.
"At the very least, at least you went to a fancy art show." He's dishing up the food, although not without a firm look at the other.
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