Alas, Saturday dragged itself along, taking forever to come at an ant like speed and Benedict found himself at the same door of the same house that he had grown to love and was a constant visitor to. He knocked hesitantly remembering that feeling of fear, fear of being watched but felt all his anxieties rumble upon seeing a wondrously familiar face open the door.
"Ah, Benedict, good to see your face! Do come in!" Seeing Henry's face really did good for his worries, as being with him he was transported to a blissful island, any troubles awash. He visibly brightened upon seeing his face and didn't have time to think about the fact that he would be alone with him...until he did.
His stomach felt warm and fluttery as he followed Henry to the studio. It was funny how liking someone, no matter who you were, your class or gender it seemed to reduce all to that same giggly, mushy mess. The one thing in society which truly did not discriminate.
They made it to the studio and he noted that the studio was rather chilly this evening, no doubt due to the rain torrently pouring down the windows. But rain and gloomy weather did little to dull his cheerful spirits as he sits and looks around at the setup and smiles contently. White cloth was draped on the floor but with much fewer easels surrounding the room, it appeared much larger.
He starts work on his canvas, glass of lemonade on the stool to his right and paints and palette sitting on the small shelf attached to the easel. He smiles again, his doodles at home for a while was adequate but nothing beat the joys of actual proper paints and a canvas to go with it.
As he grumbled over his inability to match appropriate colours to their objects time almost seemed to glide by. Henry had set up his easel next to Benedict's with the intention to paint, but most of the night he has spent teasing Benedict over his inability to colour match an apple. It is an apple, Benedict. It is a rich red, yes? So why are you mixing in yellow? Are you trying to paint an orange?
He shook his head exasperated and turned his head to Henry's canvas. Dismayingly, Henry's painting is somehow more lifelike than the display of objects in front of them. Benedict wonders how this could be possible as he surveys his own work. His colours are not as vivid, but his attempt at painting the empty wine bottle is much better than he had hoped it would be. The apple looks like an apple, in his opinion, but maybe it is a slightly less ripe apple than the one in Henry's painting.
"How did you do that?" he asks, bending over and pointing to the sunflower's reflection that Henry has painted on his wine bottle.
"I paint what I see," he states as if it was a simple fact of the world, like the earth being round.
"Yes, yes. But how did you do that? You say to paint what I see, but you are beginning to make me think I am rather blind," he mutters and turns his head back toward the display of objects, realising that the glass bottle is indeed reflecting the yellow of the sunflower.
Henry chuckles and places a hand on Benedict's shoulder. He flashes a smirk and whispers low, "Really, Bridgerton, you must ignore my quips. Doubt is rather unflattering."
Benedict laughs loudly at this and playfully shoves Henry. "You wound my pride and then expect me to please you? I would expect more from a gentleman such as yourself."
After this the two men fall into silence, Benedict taking a sip from his glass and pauses to brush his hair out of his face. Almost immediately, Henry's hand frantically catches his wrist, his other hand grabbing a napkin. Benedict looks over at the man sitting on his left and chuckles at Henry's mess of a workstation. He had always assumed Henry's brother's remark about Henry getting paint in peculiar places had been innuendo– of the nature of the parties he hosted but as it turns out, Henry is also a very enthusiastic painter when he is in the comfort of his own studio. Without the expected decorum that is required while painting clients, and perhaps with the help of slight inebriation (however not tonight as the usual glass of wine was replaced with lemonade) the artist was known to haphazardly smear paint everywhere.
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Looking at 'Art'
Romance"I can't tell you how piercingly and endlessly I think about you" Benedict always desired something different. But he never knew exactly what that was exactly. Meeting a curious man who sends his senses spiralling it almost seems as if he has found...
