At the office, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that chatting with Bentley Pierson was a bad idea. He did not approve of small talk, didn't want to know about your day, and certainly didn't want to tell you about his. Why, then, was he so desperate to hear another sentence fall from Baldric's lips? It shouldn't have mattered. In fact, it didn't, he decided. Because there was no way he was letting this Gryffindor turn him around and fix him. Bentley did not need fixing, thank you.
Frowning down at the pot in front of him, he reached over to turn off the stove. Fine. He perhaps didn't mind all that much. People could change - just not usually this easily or rapidly. It didn't make sense, but Bentley couldn't deny it. Somehow, though, he doubted things would change at work. Wasn't he the same way with Derek and Nancy as he was with Rick? Well, no. That was a stupid question. Not quite the same, no. But in the sense that he actually wanted to talk to them, yes.
No comment, then? Bentley had to admit he was a bit surprised. Wouldn’t someone usually – even if they didn’t actually care – offer some fake or attempted condolences? It wasn’t like he’d lost a family member or a favored pet or anything like that, but it certainly felt about the same. His mind offered a faint, Especially now, but Ben couldn’t quite tell what was meant by it. Now, what? A glance over at Baldric as he settled plates and the like on the table immediately suggested that Ben knew exactly what his subconscious was telling him.
But that, of course, would be ridiculous. Because Ben hardly knew the first thing about Baldric Wood – he’d barely managed to catch the bloke’s last name, and was massively shocked to note that he’d been sober enough at the time to remember it now.
“Uh, yeah, thanks.” He mumbled in return for Rick’s words as they were tossed in his direction. For someone who prided himself on being eloquent enough to scare people away and make business deals, Bentley sure had lost his tongue. Snatching up the pot of pasta, he used the transfer of food from the stove to the table as an excuse for not saying anything else. Reaching for the uppermost cabinet, he extracted a wine bottle and two glasses. Only after he’d returned to the stove to take up the plate of chicken could he find his voice again. “Had to cook for myself for years. Got in a lot of practice.”
Lowering himself into a chair, Ben waited until his … whatever Baldric was… sat down as well. Glancing over at the letter, he blinked a few times before extending a hand to pick it up, setting it back down between the two of them. “I have a meeting tomorrow morning. You can stay if you want. I mean, I offered, so… Yeah, just avoid breaking anything and we’ll get on just fine.”
He punctuated his last word with a nod, picking up his wine glass and downing far more of it than he should have considering the previous evening. He let the taste settle on his tongue for a moment before he turned to reach for the pasta, offering several spoons of it to Baldric. Turning to his own plate, Bentley decided it was best to either let the conversation be up to Baldric - everything else seemed to have been left to him in the time they'd known each other. Whether or not they would actually get involved in certain things. Whether Rick was staying at his. This one was on the Gryffindor.