Bridgerton [x Reader]

☞Let Go

A/N: Highlighted text is my prompt!

prepare some tissues :')

"Move!"

"Your grace I beg of you—"

Life was crumpling under his fingertips, Simon realized, and it took no more than a mere second to know what he was supposed to do. Buzzing employees made room for their grace as he barreled through his home.

The duke stopped in his tracks and turned back to face the butler, who was caught aback by the Basset. The man of high position in terms of staff hadn't done anything to deserve his wrath, yet there he was.

"Should you attempt to remove me from seeing her," Simon spoke, low and deadly as he raised a single finger toward the elderly butler. "I shall make sure that is the last thing you ever do."

And with that Simon Basset bolted toward your bedchamber, knowing (yet not caring in the slightest) that the act was anything but appropriate.

***

The handkerchief was filthy with your own blood and saliva, and you felt very much weak. There was a slight pounding in your head, one that gave you trouble keeping your eyes from falling shut. It lasted for weeks, the headache, and it didn't seem to be wanting to stop. The drapes were drawn, and sunlight seeped into your spacious room. It was your personal request to the physician, one he obliged. Both of you knew your death was near and there was nothing a man could do about it save for make you comfortable. You still knew that the light was going to bother you soon. It always did in the end.

"Get your affairs in order, miss." Said the doctor, nodded and disappeared outside. And you swore you could hear him pray just outside your door.

You cried for hours after that.

Now you were too weak to do that. There was no moisture left in your body to release, and when a bare sparkle of light emerged on your rich sheets, you scarcely had enough strength to turn head and look at the cause.

"No."

"Y/N."

"Get out."

There were no words that could describe the look on that man's face. The tough bravado your closest friend presented every day was long-lost on his face, replaced only with fret and desperation. There was a more than a few days' worth of stubble on his handsome features, and a great deal of sickly-looking underlines beneath his eyes. Simon too looked sick.

Sick with worry.

"I will not." Said Simon, taking a single step closer.

You were fighting tears when you turned away from him. "Stop it."

He walked closer until his broad shadow loomed over you. His eyes glazed over with unshed tears, his strong hand clutched yours. "Y/N look at me."

You bit your lip, shut your eyes as if the actions were enough to suppress the tears. Your head shook against the pillow as you refused to spare him a glance in fear of giving him the sickness you were in possession of.

Just then a wave of discomfort pushed through, capturing your body into a weakening position. Simon released your hand when you tugged at it and watched precisely how you placed both hands over the cloth and coughed into it. Blood coated the pristine material, and you balled it into your fist once you finished.