"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.
Benedict does a good job of not groaning, and he thinks it’s just his luck that he has to be wearing nothing but a t-shirt and his boxer-briefs in this moment. Fortunately, Silver moves away, and the food provides a good enough distraction.
“I wouldn’t call it fancy. It was very ... Experimental. Strange installations and some moving art - people who’ve been body painted. Not exactly my preference in art but I can appreciate the beauty in the bizarre.”
Benedict takes a plate of toast, as well as their coffees, to the small kitchen table.
"None of it makes sense to me, regardless." He's not denouncing it, though. Far from it: as he sets their plates down properly, still shirtless, he's more admitting that he's willing to learn. He slides onto his chair, immediately grabbing the coffee, settling in.
"What's the strangest thing you've found beautiful?"
Benedict slathers his toast with butter, more than really should be necessary, and shrugs as he takes a bite.
“I went to an Arte Povera exhibit once - that’s just a movement that was very against the more higher brow trends - and, anyway, one of its more famous contributors did an igloo series. At first they look so mundane but there’s something very beautiful in the simplicity of it all.”
"Why not?" Silver raises an eyebrow. "I like you prattling on. I like learning about people, Benedict, and you're hardly the exception. If anything, you're one of the most fascinating people I've ever laid eyes on, and I know quite the colourful characters."
"Again--why not? You're the best client I've ever had." It's smooth, and Silver is surprised it's true as he says it. Usually, he says that as a ploy--he has to play the personality game, after all, rubbing elbows with the rich. This, though?
"I can't pretend to understand half of the phrases you use, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it. We're at our best when we're passionate about something, and for you to do it so openly is refreshing."
"Being a good client doesn't automatically make me fascinating," Benedict points out, but he can't deny that he's quite pleased by the compliments. He really can't recall a time someone called him interesting.
He supposes, to some degree, his small pocket of friends must find him moderately interesting. But being interesting isn't really a requirement for friendship, and Henry had first invited Benedict into that scene based on his interest in art and his potential. Did that make him interesting?
Benedict doesn't know. What he does know is that, when it comes to the Bridgertons, most of his family has a flair for the dramatics where he does not.
"Non the contrary. It tends to set the bar lower, truth be told. I am very grateful for their patronage, of course, but their conversation..." He winces. "Mostly they try to show off, as if I'm not aware that the simple act of hiring me means they're well off. It's dreadful. You? A breath of fresh air. Plus, you dabble with the working class."
Benedict is here, after all, eating in his kitchen and talking of art.
"Unless you think I'm lying, which is entirely reasonable, if completely untrue."
"You care what I think about you," Silver states, sounding almost impressed. He's lost in that damn smile, and he finds himself smiling, too. "That's your first problem,"
To emphasize his point, he gestures to the middle distance. "You care. If you're going to be hanging around here, you have to at least pretend you don't care about what anyone thinks about you. You'll get the hang of it, don't worry."
Unless it reflects poorly on his family, but he hardly thinks that eating breakfast at a friend's, even on this part of town, is shameful. It's the twenty-first century, after all.
"But if I'm to understand your words correctly, you're telling me you wouldn't care if I didn't like you at all?"
Silver's not expecting that, and it shows on his face, lips frozen, gaze shifting to a brief flash of confusion. Not at Benedict or his logic, strangely enough. More that he seemed to have been caught in something he set up himself.
He's not sure he likes it, and yet he finds himself answering honestly.
Benedict can't help but laugh, though he keeps it soft and amused (but with a distinct hint of an I told you so attitude) as he takes another couple bites of breakfast.
"Of course. As with every rule."
He's quite pleased to have caught Silver in a corner, so to speak. Not that Benedict felt that Silver didn't think he was clever, but it's also nice to one up someone. On friendly terms, of course.
The exchange does it for him, cements the decision in his head: he's going to kiss Benedict as the other leaves to make up for what happened last night. Silver doesn't think he's ever been delighted in being wrong before, of being cornered, but here Benedict is with a pleased look on his face and Silver, in turn, finds himself mesmerized.
"Thank you," he says finally. "For staying for breakfast." He could have left. Silver wouldn't have blamed him in the least. But it's been one of the best mornings he's had all week. It's like he's going on a date with the other all over again.
Not that the first time was a date, he has to remind himself.
Oh. That's unexpected, and Benedict looks across the small table as he wonders if he's misheard or missed something.
"I think I should be the one saying thank you. First, for letting me stay here, and second, for making me breakfast. Not that I'd pass this up - if it weren't for this, I'd have had a very sad breakfast sandwich and a very large iced coffee."
That's enough out of him, Silver promises himself, and that easy smile is back. He's let his defenses down, and Benedict hadn't trodden all over him. It's something he appreciates more than he thinks Benedict will ever be able to know.
"Do you normally drink iced coffee? How American."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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“I wouldn’t call it fancy. It was very ... Experimental. Strange installations and some moving art - people who’ve been body painted. Not exactly my preference in art but I can appreciate the beauty in the bizarre.”
Benedict takes a plate of toast, as well as their coffees, to the small kitchen table.
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"What's the strangest thing you've found beautiful?"
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Benedict slathers his toast with butter, more than really should be necessary, and shrugs as he takes a bite.
“I went to an Arte Povera exhibit once - that’s just a movement that was very against the more higher brow trends - and, anyway, one of its more famous contributors did an igloo series. At first they look so mundane but there’s something very beautiful in the simplicity of it all.”
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"You went to an art museum to see an igloo? That place must have been freezing."
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“Not actual igloos. Just things manipulated to look like igloos. To explore the connection between us and nature.”
He sips his coffee.
“I prefer neo-classicism myself. It’s a bit uppity, I know, but it’s a bit more to the point. Also, you mustn’t let me prattle on this way.”
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Benedict looks down demurely as he tucks into his breakfast, which is exactly what his hangover is craving.
“I’m not certain anyone’s ever called me fascinating.”
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"I can't pretend to understand half of the phrases you use, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it. We're at our best when we're passionate about something, and for you to do it so openly is refreshing."
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He supposes, to some degree, his small pocket of friends must find him moderately interesting. But being interesting isn't really a requirement for friendship, and Henry had first invited Benedict into that scene based on his interest in art and his potential. Did that make him interesting?
Benedict doesn't know. What he does know is that, when it comes to the Bridgertons, most of his family has a flair for the dramatics where he does not.
"But thank you."
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Benedict is here, after all, eating in his kitchen and talking of art.
"Unless you think I'm lying, which is entirely reasonable, if completely untrue."
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He cracks a smile, one half of his mouth lifting up.
"Well, I won't argue with you. If you find something likeable about me, I'll do my best to maintain it, not convince you otherwise."
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To emphasize his point, he gestures to the middle distance. "You care. If you're going to be hanging around here, you have to at least pretend you don't care about what anyone thinks about you. You'll get the hang of it, don't worry."
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Unless it reflects poorly on his family, but he hardly thinks that eating breakfast at a friend's, even on this part of town, is shameful. It's the twenty-first century, after all.
"But if I'm to understand your words correctly, you're telling me you wouldn't care if I didn't like you at all?"
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Silver's not expecting that, and it shows on his face, lips frozen, gaze shifting to a brief flash of confusion. Not at Benedict or his logic, strangely enough. More that he seemed to have been caught in something he set up himself.
He's not sure he likes it, and yet he finds himself answering honestly.
"There are, perhaps, one or two exceptions."
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"Of course. As with every rule."
He's quite pleased to have caught Silver in a corner, so to speak. Not that Benedict felt that Silver didn't think he was clever, but it's also nice to one up someone. On friendly terms, of course.
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"Thank you," he says finally. "For staying for breakfast." He could have left. Silver wouldn't have blamed him in the least. But it's been one of the best mornings he's had all week. It's like he's going on a date with the other all over again.
Not that the first time was a date, he has to remind himself.
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"I think I should be the one saying thank you. First, for letting me stay here, and second, for making me breakfast. Not that I'd pass this up - if it weren't for this, I'd have had a very sad breakfast sandwich and a very large iced coffee."
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"Do you normally drink iced coffee? How American."
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And then, feeling a bit bold, Benedict reaches his fork across to pierce a hashbrown off of Silver's plate.
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