#sachingja

◗ PROMPT COLLECTED FROM ASSASSIN'S APPRENTICE ░ ACCEPTING.

[ 𝑾 ] ith the coming of night, Bridgerton House is quiet once more. The lady of the house having taken her daughters off to another soirée, Sophie suspects she might have one full turn of the clock to herself before the girls return with their demands for her attention and the work begins once more. She is only stepping into the drawing room to collect her basket of mending ( intent on finishing them in the privacy of her room ) when the other door to the room creaks open. Somehow a figment of both her warmest dreams and most harrowing of nightmares, even just the promise of his presence sets a dichotomous fire ablaze in her stomach — caught between the instinct to turn on her heel and run away, the way she had done that night on the staircase, or to throw herself back into his waiting arms.

Such an impossible decision to make, it renders her frozen, entirely unmoving if not for the simultaneous furrowing of her brows & reddening of her cheeks. ( Clearly the days of hiding her desire for him are long gone, lost to the wind on their journey back to the city. ) It is the low sound of her name on his lips that catapults her into action once more, shaking her head as if it will cease his talking. Sophie cannot recall who takes the final step or pulls the other into their arms, in fact cannot tell where he ends & she begins, only that she is the one to sever their kiss with a pained moan, pushing at his chest. ❛❛ We cannot do this. You must be with someone of your station, and I— ❜❜

Looking as drunk as she feels, with his cheeks flushed & his unruly hair, @sachingja delivers his disagreement with enough bewildered passion to rival even the greatest of love stories, the kinds she has only read but never seen for herself. ❛❛ They wouldn't have the wit to understand you, or the heart to appreciate you. ❜❜

Despite his claim otherwise, it is clear to her that Benedict has the heart of a true artist. He is a dreamer, thinking he can shape the world as he sees it fit with the swirl of his brush. If only it were true.

❛❛ YOU'VE BEEN LYING TO ME FOREVER. ❜❜ the words are spat at him, an accusation she isn’t looking for an answer to; it’s true, after all, the phone call she overheard moments before confirming it beyond any shadow of a doubt. their first meeting, the fountain and the soaked shirt ─ it was all a set up, his presence in her life nothing more than a lie meant to shelter her, keep her safe, keep her from ever truly living without a tightening noose around her neck. and what a fool she’d been to fall for it so quickly. the debriefs he must have had with his supervisors, the laughs they must have shared while he recounted how easy she’d made it for him. the embarrassment is but a slight stab of discomfort compared to the heartache she feels, but it helps spur her on, quickens her feet as she tries her best to leave him behind.

katherine knows it's his voice she hears calling out, but what he says is muddled by all the laughter and music blasting through the crowd; ❛ forever ❜ and ❛ exaggeration ❜ are the only words she can make out for certain. whatever the rest of them were, the tone in his voice was familiar; he must have been trying to appease her, to soothe her rage and heartache, by calling to focus her excessive use of hyperbole. it only angers her further.

❛❛ oh, you're worried about semantics, are you? ❜❜ her exasperation is clear as day in the harshness of her voice and the angry glance she throws at him over her shoulder. like they’ve been doing the entire summer, she’s rushing off in the direction her heart takes her while he follows at her heel, desperate to keep up ─ the only difference now is that gone is the hope that he’ll continue to follow. instead she wants to shake him off her tail, to lose him for good in the crowd of people surrounding them. well, that and the fact that she now understands why a man like him decided to follow her around europe for an entire summer; he was guided not by love ( like she'd thought and hoped, like she was for him ) but by her father, by money. the moment this thought begins to echo off the walls of her mind she feels a sudden urge to scrub her skin raw, erase any trace of him and the dirt left behind in the wake of his betrayal. ❛❛ fine. you've been lying to me since we met. happy now? ❜❜ perhaps he would argue that it wasn’t a betrayal, not really, for he was just doing it for her own good, protecting her against the harsh, cold realities of the word. if that was true, then it would be her own shame she’d be rinsing off.

despite her anger and fury, despite her stubbornness and refusal to seem weak in front of him, tears well up in her eyes and no amount of desperate blinking will dissipate them. instead they roll down her cheeks, quickly wiped away by her frenzied hands. ❛❛ consider yourself relieved of your duties, mr. sudayev. you can stop trailing me now. ❜❜

◗ PROMPT COLLECTED FROM A STUDY OF STARS ░ ACCEPTING.

[ 𝑯 ] er life has changed so vividly and so abruptly she cannot help but wonder if perhaps this is all still a dream, her body still in that cold jail cell instead of floating down the halls of Bridgerton house to break fast with its namesakes. If it is, Sophie does not wish to ever wake. At the top of the staircase her steps and disbelieving introspection halt, her gaze caught on the catalyst of all that change waiting at the landing; dark hair combed and cravat tied perfectly round his neck @sachingja looks every inch the perfect suitor. Though the sight sends the kaleidoscope of butterflies in her stomach fluttering, it is the smile that curls his mouth when he sees her that trips up her heart. ❛❛ Good morning, ❜❜ she says in greeting, descending the stairs between them with quick feet, entirely uninterested in playing the part of coy debutante or uninterested lady.

◗ PROMPT COLLECTED FROM AND OTHER STORIES ░ ACCEPTING.

[ 𝑨 ] t first her intention had been to merely boil water for their tea, a simple enough task even their housekeeper had come to accept her doing. Then the basket of mending left by the windows caught her eye once again; she had told Mrs. Crabtree to forget about it until morning & bade her an early goodnight with every intention of allowing the neglected clothes to remain untouched until then. But even as valiant as attempts to remind her of her newfound position as lady of the house had been, Sophie could not defy the instinct to prove herself useful even now, not when its roots had been tended to so meticulously by her stepmother. This is where @sachingja finds her some time later, lifting her chemise to and fro to observe the neatness of her stitches in the flickering candlelight.

❛❛ You need not say a word, ❜❜ she says in lieu of a proper greeting, an un-ladylike furrow appearing between her brows as she narrows her focus to the work at hand; it is a difficult task that requires much of her willpower for there is something within her that responds to his presence, her gaze drawn to his figure like a flower bending towards the sun. ❛❛ It was only one little tear, hardly any work at all. And see— I have finished! [Adjusting the garment once more, she unearths yet another tear in the ivory fabric, larger than the one just mended; a grimace twists her proud features.] Ah ... Almost. ❜❜

◗ PROMPT COLLECTED FROM ASSASSIN'S APPRENTICE ░ ACCEPTING.

[ 𝑯 ] is thoughts are so loud they lure her out of slumber and into the waking world. A low hum slips from her lips when she comes to, stretching her limbs before burrowing back into @sachingja's arms. Glancing up at him through one barely open eye, she watches his jaw tense & relax, on and on, as if he needs to prepare for the ramifications of his inquiry. Despite this, Katherine does not immediately grant him a satisfying answer, her mind still swept by the last vestiges of sleep. ❛❛ What disgrace is there in lying here with you? ❜❜ She returns quietly, mumbling the words into his warm skin, before pressing a brief kiss to his bare shoulder. When she lifts her gaze back to his face, however, she finds him still as entranced within his mind.

❛❛ Unless he wants to announce to the Ton that his daughter is ruined, my father will agree to our union. ❜❜ Still he does not seem to share her certainty; his furrowed brow, the tense line of his lips. The sight fills her with a strange concoction of sadness and desire, and she is eager to cleanse them both of the former. Lifting herself up on one arm, she feels the ghostly touch of his hand slipping down between her shoulder blades as she peers down at him, & is forced to ignore the goosebumps that arise in its wake. The grogginess which softened her words & intent earlier is gone, lost in the sheets twisted around them. ❛❛ You do not know him as I do. ❜❜ With her other hand, she reaches up to trace the scar under his eye, her soft touch a contact to her fixed stare. ❛❛ He is prideful, and little matters more to him than keeping up appearances. He will agree. ❜❜ This final word is punctuated with a kiss pressed to his chest, right where she assumes his heart must be — Katherine was never an expert at anatomy, but as the previous night had shown, she was an apt pupil if paired with an engaging teacher.

◗ PROMPT COLLECTED FROM ASSASSIN'S APPRENTICE ░ ACCEPTING.

[ 𝑪 ] lass is long over, and most of their colleagues have already slipped back into their clothes and have crossed the threshold of the studio with their tiny purse dogs trailing after them, their animated chatter & laughter reverberating long after they’re gone from view. The promise of a fulfilling lunch nearly entices her to spring into action after them, but the comforting silence of the deserted room lulls her back into inaction — if desperately needed stretching can be categorized as such.

Opposite her, mirroring her in form but not figure, he is all limbs and strength, tan skin decorated in impressive swirls of black ink. Much like every other member of the company transforms their bodies into art with each plié, arabesque, and port de bras, @sachingja has gone further than most, his body made a permanent canvas for the art of another. Laura admires it like one does any renowned painting hung behind a display case; detachedly and entirely platonically.  She's halfway through a hamstring stretch, bent at the waist over one leg while the other rests in retiré, when his voice filters through the internal counting born out of her innate perfectionism; thirteen, fourteen, fifteen— ❛❛ Some nights, if things are a bit too quiet for you, you can find your way down here. ❜❜

Her gaze flits up to meet his, brows raised in surprise. She completes her stretch while pondering his words, and as she leans back on her hands, a barely-there smile unfurls in the corner of her mouth. Though their professional trajectories mirrored the other's, roaming from The Royal Ballet to City Ballet, their paths had only truly begun to cross here. As if pulled by some thread of recognition, she'd often find herself passing by her dance partner to warm up next to Kōji in the corner of the studio instead — a shocking development even to herself, considering her well tended desire to keep her old life in Covent Garden as far away as possible from the one being built brick by brick in Manhattan.

◗ PROMPT COLLECTED FROM ASSASSIN'S APPRENTICE ░ ACCEPTING.

[ 𝑻 ] he floorboards had never creaked beneath her steps before in all her time living there, yet when Daisy retraces her own steps from the bedroom to the kitchen all the way back again (cup of steaming tea in one hand & a folded newspaper with its assigned pen clipped fast to a random page in the other) she does so with lightness, socked feet shuffling rather than stepping. She needn’t have gone to such lengths to remain quiet and still, for when she passes the threshold into her bedroom, his figure has shifted among the duvets and pillows, dark eyes blinking sleepily at her from where he leans against the headboard.

She closes the door behind her with the shove of a foot and crosses the minefield of a floor where clothes lie strewn around carelessly, before slipping back into bed, tugging the duvet over her bare legs. ❛❛ I thought you were asleep, ❜❜ she says softly, quietly; it's Daisy's way of apologising, both for letting him wake to an empty bed & for returning with only one cup. ❛❛ Otherwise I would have made you one, too. ❜❜ The beverage in question serves many purposes: a sleeping draught for the songbird still coming off a wave of adrenaline, a source of warmth in the dead of night, and an ample distraction from his bare chest and wanting gaze (a desire which she knows she would find reflected in her own eyes, were she to look in the mirror).

When @sachingja speaks, his voice is quiet like hers had been (as if both are terrified speaking too loudly will ruin the peace between them, shatter their temporary ceasefire). ❛ Will it bother you if I stay? ❜

She keeps the mug at her lips, not drinking but breathing in the steam, finding something meditative about the whole moment. So small, so simple, yet it feels like the quiet before the San Andreas Fault begins to tremble, before the world as she knows it changes. The word no clings to the tip of her tongue, some uncharacteristic apprehensiveness refusing to let go & leap back into his arms. It’s much easier to just shake her head, to glance down at him as she offers him her tea; expensive, imported from Thailand, precious to her.