Chapter Text
The next morning brought clear skies and the fresh urge to go… somewhere. And so, not one to leave work unfinished, except when the muse demanded, which was rather more often then he appreciated (hence the many half-done works lying forgotten). That is how Adrien found himself back in the garden from the night before, a fresh page opened to, and once more against the stone wall.
The drawing itself, perhaps, was not the only reason for returning to this specific scene, though it is the reason Adrien allows himself to consider.
The pond itself had not changed all that much since his last visit here. Boughs still hanging, flowers still in bloom, the smell aromatic. Adrien’s mind, though partly focusing on his work, wandered while his hand moved. His eyes fixed on the pond itself, not necessarily looking at the pond, but rather at the reflections shining back at him. The important part about this fact being, the reflections allowed Adrien to see the happenings behind him. It was this purposeful positioning that allowed Adrien to see when a figure, blurred in the shifting water, began to approach. It seemed, against all odds (though, frankly, looking back the odds were not very strong to begin with), that the man plaguing Adrien’s thoughts had returned.
“Monsuier Bridgerton. How pleasant to see you again.” Adrien’s voice was dry, perhaps a mite deadpan, but the twitch in his lips betrayed both the speaker and observer.
The figure paused, and for a brief moment Adrien wondered whether he had misidentified the blur in the water. Just a moment, however, and his assumption was proved correct when the figure spoke,
“And you, Vicomte.” A slight pause before, “Is the pond such a muse that calls to you?”
Adrien set his pencil down, turning ever so slightly as to bring Benedict into view, “Something of the sort. I suppose I did extend the invitation, didn’t I.” His attention, turned back towards the pond, seems to forget he is addressing the other, “How curious…”
At this point, Benedict had taken the initiative to not stand conspicuously behind the other artist, coming around the stone wall and taking a seat next to the Vicomte. Tucked under his arm, a sketchbook of his own.
Adrien cocked an eyebrow, watching the younger man flip open to a page already well worked on. The same scene, near mirrored on Adrien’s own paper. The pond, the boughs, the moon shining off the water’s surface. Near mirrored. Where Adrien’s lacked any sign of humanity, no lanterns or silhouetted people in the distance, no sign of any manmade interference, Benedict’s view of the same scene contained just that. The reflections of the lanterns on the water, illuminating the dusky scene, and off in the distance, just noticeable enough, the attendees of the past night’s ball. Dancing, talking, and existing.
“You added the lanterns.” Adrien noted, looking back at his own work, void of any hint of people. A conscious choice.
Benedict took his time in responding, “I did. I rather like them.”
“They obscure the water.” Adrien hums, adding some shading to the trees, “Though I suppose that is more accurate to reality.”
“You don’t draw people, do you? As if all the world is empty?” Benedict asks, noting the distinct lack of society in Adrien’s work.
Adrien cocks his head, looking at his own before he answers, “Perhaps I prefer it that way.”
“Perhaps.” Benedict takes some time, scratching away on his own paper before pressing on, “That makes two. I get one more question, best make it count.” he grins at the Frenchman next to him. And for once, Adrien is not opposed to the expression.
Adrien lets his lips twitch upwards, not necessarily a full smile, but better than the smirk that haunted so many of his earlier years. The expression did not reach his eyes in full, “One more indeed.”
Benedict did not ask his third question immediately, instead turning back to his own work. Adrien, under the guise of examining the scenery, takes a long look in the younger’s direction. There were,
Adrien suspected, more than three questions behind those eyes. It was, it seemed, more of a question on how many meetings such as this would it take for all those questions to be answered, and how many meetings Adrien would allow.
Then, after much deliberation, “What do you paint?”. Oddly simple, all things considered, though Adrien wondered if Benedict realized the answer was more complicated than the answer he was going to give.
“Landscapes, mostly.” Adrien took a long look at his drawing.
“Mostly?”
“People, once.”
“Why did you stop?” Benedict’s eyes flickered to the empty scene.
Adrien paused, pencil hovering where it was, “That,” he gave a moment’s pause, “is a fourth question.”