𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 that some bonds are as inevitable as the tides, drawing one and one together despite the constraints that bind them away from each other. Some cannot be escaped, others do not want to escape. But then th...
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୨⎯ ༻♛༺ ⎯୧
"BENEDICT?"
Siena's voice is low and shaky, as if only saying it aloud to come to terms with the fact that he is, in fact, standing right in front of her. The boy's eyes slowly widen, his hair disheveled and his shirt down to the last three buttons. The girl's mouth falls ajar as if she's been caught in the midst of a terrible antic, hands fiddling with her fingers and lips stammering for the right words to justify her visit.
"Siena," Benedict smiles in confusion, looking around the girl trying to find out if she's come accompanied or not, "What are you doing here?— Should you be here?" His eyebrows furrow.
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Siena's lips purse into a thin line as she looks down with a small breath before smacking her lips open again, "Well," a nervous chuckle slips past her lips, gaze meeting his, "I suppose I am here for the same purposes as you are."
He leans against the doorframe, and that's when Siena notices the droop in his eyes and the rim of red in his corneas. He is no doubt intoxicated, "Art, then? Since when do you care for silly paintings?"
The girl looks puzzled, now thinking she might have mistaken the place or the intention that Mr. Granville had been speaking of, "Uh... yes, art..."
Benedict huffs, a playful smirk on his lips, "I am only jesting," he gives her a slow nod, reassuring her there is no need to conceal her true intentions, "I must be honest, I did not expect you to be behind this door." He laughs, stumbling but catching himself.
Siena smiles awkwardly, "Likewise..."
"Why are you so tense?" The boy steps towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder, the wine in his breath hitting her in the face, "I understand this is quite an improper place to be caught in for a lady such as yourself, but you have come all the way here already!"
Perhaps Siena should be relieved that he has taken her appearance so lightly, but the mere fact that most of his words are slurred and accompanied by the stench of red whine or brandy reminds her that it is only the alcohol speaking. She wonders, if Benedict had found her without being so blinded by drinks, would he react the same?
