Down Bad

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at [Link]

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandoms: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Relationship: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington
Characters: Colin Bridgerton, Penelope Featherington
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, Childhood
Friends, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Drinking, Angst, Fluff, Feelings
Realization, Smut, Comedy
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2024-06-24 Updated: 2024-06-27 Words: 5,982 Chapters: 2/4
 Down Bad
by usuallysunny

Summary

Penelope drunkenly confesses her love to her best friend’s brother, leaving her mortified
come morning.

Two months later, in a desperate attempt to move on, she brings her new boyfriend to the
Bridgerton’s annual weekend away.

But if Colin Bridgerton doesn’t love her back, why does he look like he wants to kill him?
 Chapter 1
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Penelope Featherington has been in Colin’s life for as long as he can remember.

He remembers her as a little kid, red faced and excitable with some tattered old teddy under
her arm like it was surgically attached there. He remembers how Anthony would carry her
around on his shoulders, and how her laugh was always the loudest laugh in the room, and
how if he was having a bad day, her smile could always make it better. He remembers her
following Eloise around like a shadow until one day, she started following him too.

Looking back, he thinks that was probably the best day of his life.

He remembers how close they grew over the years, navigating that awkward space between
being a child and a teenager. He remembers standing in the kitchen after his dad died, trying
to be brave for little Gregory and his sister who wasn’t even born yet, until Penelope held
him in her arms, and told him it was okay to cry, and finally, he did. He remembers how he
promised to look after her, to care for her, to love her when her own dad died, and maybe it
wasn’t the sort of love he was used to — not a sibling, not a lover, somewhere in-between —
but it was love all the same and he’s never forgotten that promise.

Since he was a child, Colin thought his friendship, his relationship, with Penelope was
simple.

And then, on her 20th birthday, she drinks half a bottle of wine, five cocktails and twice as
many tequila shots, and she tells him she loves him.

At first, he grins.

He’s standing on the step of the apartment she shares with Eloise, having walked (or, more
accurately, carried) her home from the club, and he has to dart his hand out to catch her
elbow when she stumbles against the door.

“Love ya too, kid,” he says because that’s what he always says — but this time, she shakes
her head a little maniacally.

“No, you don’t get it,” she moans, words a little slurred, “you’re so pretty, and you’re so
kind, and you look after me, and I love you.”

His eyes search hers, confused.

Wait.

She can’t possibly mean…

“It’s my birthday,” she declares.

He blinks at the sudden change of subject.

“Ah, so that’s why you were drinking everything in sight tonight,” he smiles, uneasy but also
unable to keep from teasing her.

She leans in a little closer.

“Do you wanna know what I wished for?”

“Well, it won’t come true if you tell—”

“I wished for you to love me back,” the words float on a rushed breath, quick and a little
resigned, “that’s all I’ve ever wanted. I really, really love you, Colin. I am so in love with
you. Always have been, really. Always will be. I’m also really hungry. Do you have any
chips?”

Colin stares, his brain short-circuiting.

He can’t speak, can’t think, can’t breathe.

Because he’s standing on Penelope Featherington’s doorstep, and she’s still holding her keys
in the door, and her eyes are glazed over, and she can’t possibly know what she’s saying
because she’s saying she’s in love with him.

In love.

With him.

Penelope Featherington in love with Colin Bridgerton.

His mind races with how’s, what’s, why’s, and when’s.

He doesn’t know what to say.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know how to even process it.

All he can do is lamely mutter—

“We’re at your house. You probably have chips, yeah.”

She nods, seemingly very pleased with this — and then she promptly throws up all over his
shoes.

One month later, Colin is losing his mind.

She won’t talk to him.

She hasn’t talked to him since that night.

On the rare occasions she allows herself to be around him, she won’t even look at him.

If he had thought maybe she was too drunk to know what she was saying, that she didn’t
mean it, her reaction just confirms that she did.

He’s in a perpetual state of confusion, frustration and depressing desperation. He fluctuates

between all the emotions, so many he can’t even begin to sort through them. He doesn’t
understand any of it. He lays awake at night, combing through their history, looking for signs.

Signs that Penelope Featherington is in love with him.

It still doesn’t feel real.

He looks through his phone one night, scrolling through WhatsApp messages with two blue
ticks, staring at all the messages she hasn’t answered.

The ones where he pretends nothing happened, the ones where he acts like he doesn’t
remember, the ones where he tells her things about his day and invites her places as though
nothing has changed. As though his entire world hasn’t been turned upside down.

On a random Thursday, he gets almost as drunk as she did that night.

“i know u dont want to talk to me,” he types with miserable, trembling fingers, “but i miss u”

She doesn’t reply to that either.

He dreams about her.

He’s dreamt about her before, of course. If there’s a day where she’s made him laugh, or
made him think, or pissed him off, he often dreams about her that night. When she stole the
last lemon cake at his mother’s 50th, he actually dreamt about her turning into one.

But these dreams are different.

It’s as though her confession unlocked something in his mind, something he can only access
when he’s unconscious. In the light of day, he still can’t understand his feelings, still insists
nothing has changed and she’s like a sister to him… but there is nothing sisterly in the way he
dreams about her.

In his dreams, he kisses her.

In his dreams, that night didn’t end with him putting her to bed, losing his mind as he paced
the living room and waited for Eloise to get home so he could bolt. In his dreams, she still
confesses, but she isn’t drunk, and he sees clearly, and he tugs her closer with that hand he
has wrapped around her elbow and he kisses her.

In his dreams, he does more than kiss her.

He always wakes up in a cold sweat, face flushed and sheets sticky, every morning more
confused than the night before.

Six weeks later, she gets a boyfriend.

“Is it serious?” he practically barks at Eloise, who recoils in surprise.

“What the hell is going on with you two?” she fires back, probably as frustrated as he is with
the sudden change, their sudden inability to be around each other.

But it’s not my fault, he thinks sourly, how can I fix things if she won't bloody talk to me?

“Nothing,” he lies, “now answer the question.”

“I don’t know,” she sighs, exasperated, “I guess. He’s stayed the night a few times.”

There are a lot of things Colin doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t understand taxes, or any sort of maths really, or how the most important person in
your life can suddenly die from something as stupid as a bee sting. He doesn’t understand
why Francesca is so obsessed with the piano, or Benedict with art, or why Anthony wasted so
much time pretending he wasn’t in love with Kate. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with his
life, or what his purpose is, and he doesn’t understand his place in the world.

But what he does understand… with a depressing, sickening sort of clarity… is that uneasy
feeling churning in the pit of his stomach when he thinks about Alfie Debling touching Pen.

His chest feels too tight. Suddenly every beat of his heart is painful.

Great, he thinks dryly.

Just great.

Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic.

I’m jealous.

I’m so jealous, I can’t fucking see straight.

Two months later, it’s the Bridgerton’s annual weekend away to Aubrey Hall.

He almost thinks she won’t come. In the days leading up to it, he has to bite his tongue to
stop himself from asking Eloise if she’ll be there, feeling a little like an obsessed stalker.

But she does come, as she always comes, even if she seems different.

Moody. On edge. Glum.

Kate thinks she’s tired.

Eloise thinks she’s stressed about university and all the assignments she has, though Colin
knows without a doubt she’s smashing it (even if she still won’t talk to him).

Anthony thinks her irritation is hilarious, teases her and laughs when she huffs and swats him
away like a fly.

Gregory has just learned what a period is, so he thinks it’s that.

Colin thinks it’s probably a mixture of all of the above (minus the period thing).

He also thinks she’s trying to kill him by bringing Debling.

Colin has never thought of himself as a dramatic person… but when Penelope refuses to meet
his eye and hugs him like a stranger, his chest hurts as though she’s stabbed him.

He thinks he’d prefer it if she did.

Penelope had joined the Bridgertons at Aubrey Hall every year since she was ten years old
and Colin was twelve.

Every year, she would choose the room next to his.

It was just an unspoken thing.

They would race up the stairs and Daphne would choose the room with the biggest bathroom,
where she would leave her makeup strewn all over the counter to their mother’s annoyance.
Eloise would choose the room that connected to the library. Benedict would choose the one
with the best lighting, the best view of the lake which he would paint every year without fail.

And Penelope would choose the room next to Colin’s.

Only this year, there’s someone else standing beside her. There’s someone other than Colin to
open the car door for her, and carry her case up the stairs, and remind her to wear sunscreen.

So this time, when he tips his head in the direction of his room and says, “we’re over here”,
she purses her lips and shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Oh, I, um…” she stutters, her cheeks blooming red, “actually, we’re going to take one of the
rooms on the other side of the house. Alfie prefers the view to the gardens.”

A muscle in Colin’s jaw twitches.

Alfie can go fuck himself, he wants to say.

“Oh sure, no problem!” he settles for instead.

Colin paces his room — the one decidedly not next to Penelope’s — as the others settle in for
welcome drinks downstairs.

He knows it’s stupid, but he can feel her absence, the jarring silence coming from the other
side of the wall.

He feels on edge, his entire body buzzing with the change. He feels sad, and confused, and
he’s a little angry at her too. He’s angry at her for telling him she loves him and not giving
him a chance to understand it. He doesn’t know how to navigate this change, but he knows it
is a change. He knows her words have unlocked something that has perhaps laid dormant for
a very long time. He knows he’s not looking at her like he used to.

He rolls his shoulders. Cracks his neck. Tells himself to get a grip.

He leaves his room and heads downstairs, turning a corner and—

“Oh!”

He grunts in surprise as something very quick and very small barges into his chest.

For a moment, he freezes.

And then, because the situation is so predictable, he fights the urge to roll his eyes.

Because of course the small thing that has barrelled into him smells like strawberries and the
perfume he bought her for her birthday, and of course that scent is now apparently the only
thing that turns him on, and of course the person is wearing a tiny sundress when tiny
sundresses have always been his kryptonite, and of course that person is Penelope.

She takes a step back, putting some space between them, her cheeks flushing. She clears her
throat awkwardly and then she does it again, more pointedly this time, as her eyes flash to her
elbow. He follows her gaze to find his fingers are curled gently around it.
He’s touching her. Just like that night. The flashback makes him dizzy.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and lets go. His fingers inexplicably ache from the loss.

She shakes her head, the movement of her heavy swallow obvious.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

It grows silent between them.

Colin hates it.

Penelope is never silent — especially not around him. He remembers long nights chatting
about movies, and music, and politics, and nothing at all. He remembers birthdays, and
special occasions, and trips like this one where she would light up the room with her
infectious personality. He remembers how she even talks in her sleep.

Penelope is never, ever silent.

He desperately wants her to say something.

“You look well,” she says eventually, and it’s so detached, so emotionless, he wishes she’d
stayed silent after-all, “are you well?”

He blinks.

“I’m… good.”

“Good,” she fires back quickly, “that’s… good.”

He bites the inside of his cheek, uneasy in a way he’s never been around her.

“Deb—Alfie seems nice,” he blurts out, “I’d love to hear all about him.”

Actually, he’d rather set himself on fire, but he figures he should be polite. She’s had this
whole other life for weeks, one he’s not a part of, and the absolute last thing he wants to do is
hear about it. But he’s trying to be nice, damn it.

“Yeah, sorry I haven’t been in touch,” she says, but the words drift off awkwardly as she
neglects to give an actual reason.

They both know the reason.

The air feels heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. It blisters and burns between
them.

It kills him, how uncomfortable she seems. How she keeps shifting from one foot to the other,
and how she keeps wringing her hands, and how she can’t even look at him. She’s been his
best friend for as long as he can remember, and if one drunken confession bothers her this
much, maybe he can just pretend it never happened.
He can do that.

For her.

...he thinks he can.

“Hey, you’re wearing the perfume I got you for your birthday,” he tries to break the tension.

Her eyes flicker with surprise.

“You noticed that?”

The corner of his lips twitch into a gentle smile.

“I always notice you, Pen.”

He means for the words to be breezy, casual, but her eyes flicker again and he realises maybe
he doesn’t. Maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe he’s bumbled through most of his life as an
oblivious, blind idiot. Maybe she knows it.

She obviously isn’t going to say anything else, so he speaks again, desperately trying to
prolong the conversation.

“That was a crazy night, huh? Your birthday? God, I was so pissed, I don’t remember a
thing.”

He watches the movement of her throat as she swallows. The flash of panic that passes over
her face before she calms herself. He watches it turn into something akin to unspoken
understanding. She knows as well as he does that he wasn’t pissed. That he has a freakishly
high alcohol tolerance, and it would take enough booze to take down an elephant to take him
out.

That kills him too, how he can read her every expression like a book.

He wonders if Debling can do that.

“Right,” she plays along, a nervous laugh falling from her lips.

“So, you really don’t have to be embarrassed,” he says one more time, “like, at all. Nothing
to be embarrassed about.”

Saying that too much now.

He can practically feel the desperation rolling off him in waves.

God, he’s pathetic.

“I got it,” Penelope says quietly, a little curt, and then she moves to brush past him, “we’re
cool. I’ll see you downstairs?”
 He nods, turning as she does, his gaze following her like one of those creepy paintings where
the eyes follow the viewer.

“Yeah. Downstairs.”

“I’ll make sure Greg doesn’t eat all the biscuits.”

She’s joking, but the words come out a little flat. Her smile is forced.

“Thanks," he manages.

And then she’s gone, and Colin wishes again that things could go back to normal… but then
his eyes drop like an anchor to her ass in that short sundress and he realises.

Normal doesn’t exist anymore.

Chapter End Notes

I never thought I'd write a Modern!AU for Polin, but actually AU vibes are
immaculate?? I hope I did it justice somewhat... ch2 is already cooking <3
 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The night before he left for Aubrey Hall, Colin had a dream.

He knew it was a dream because the tree swing Gregory broke when he was five was still in
place, nestled between two old oak branches in the backyard and swaying gently in the wind.
He knew it was a dream because Anthony was off in the distance wearing trousers too long
for him, while Benedict’s only brushed his ankles because every time mother bought him a
pair, he seemed to grow five inches overnight. Daphne, Eloise and Francesca were having a
tea party on the porch, Eloise rolling her eyes and Daphne pretending to be little Francesca’s
mum.

He knew it was a dream because next to his mother, who was sitting behind them proudly
watching, was… his father.

Even unconscious, the ache in Colin’s chest was suddenly unbearable.

In the dream, he was aimlessly kicking a football against a tree stump and his arm was in a
sling.

He was able to place the time without thinking about his and his siblings’ ages… even before
a little girl and a woman materialised from the house, pointed in his direction by his mother.

He knew this girl. He’d met her the day before when she’d come running across the street
without looking and knocked him right off his bike. She was just a tiny ball of yellow and
he’d had to swerve to miss her, causing his wrist to twist and his face to collide with the
pavement.

Now she was in his backyard, red faced and sheepish, a woman he could only assume was
her mother clutching her tiny hand in a death grip.

“What do you have to say to Mr Bridgerton?”

Colin’s chest swelled with pride at the name, because he was so important now and so grown
up. The emotion was quickly replaced by sympathy though as the girl stared up at him with
her big, sad eyes.

“I’m sorry for knocking you off your bike,” she mumbled.

The woman huffed, unsatisfied. Years later, Colin would know it was because she’d caught a
sniff of how rich and influential the Bridgertons were, and she didn’t want to get on their bad
side. But he didn’t get that back then. Dream Colin was 12 years old, and he didn’t
understand the world yet, and he certainly didn’t understand why the ball of yellow’s mother
was so uptight. It was just a sprained wrist after-all, and if anything, the black eye made him
look bad-ass.

He took pity on her, this sad little thing, without really knowing why. He just knew
something inside him, gnawing deep inside his chest where he couldn’t get to it yet, wanted
to make her smile. He just didn’t want her to be sad anymore.

“Hey, no worries,” he shrugged, puffing his chest, “it didn’t really hurt, was more
embarrassing.”

Her lips twitched before a bright smile slowly split her cheeks.

Something warm bloomed inside him — then soared.

“It was kinda funny how you fell,” she giggled.

“Penelope!” the woman squawked.

He smiled.

Penelope.

Pen-e-lo-pe.

Even 12-year-old Dream Colin knew that was a name that would change his life.

Alfie Debling is, as Colin suspected, a boring bastard.

Perhaps bastard is a little harsh. There isn’t anything particularly offensive about him. He
smiles politely when he’s introduced to everyone, and he makes an effort to remember all
their names (and god knows there’s a lot of them) and yes, okay, he seems to treat Penelope
with respect.

But boring, Colin stands by.

He’s listening to what seems like a never-ending rant on the merits of a vegan diet, and the
damage being done to the ozone layer, and how the ice caps are melting when he abruptly
stands up, unable to take any more.

“Excuse me,” he mutters curtly and climbs over Hyacinth to escape to the kitchen.

It’s not even that Colin doesn’t agree with him. He always recycles, and he used to
accompany an old girlfriend to Greenpeace rallies, and yeah, his risk of cancer probably
would be reduced if he ate less processed meat.

Debling is fine, and clever, and probably right — and Colin hates him anyway.
He’s awarded a full two minutes of peace (as peaceful as pacing back and forth like a
madman can be) before the nightmare himself finds him in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he gives him a curt nod as he enters, making his way to the fridge.

Colin’s eyes narrow as he watches him help himself to a bottle of something. When he looks
closer, he notices it’s 0% non-alcoholic beer. He fights the urge to roll his eyes. There’s no
way in hell Penelope drinks that.

Debling must think he’s glaring at the bottle for a different reason because he goes to offer it
to him.

Colin laughs.

Debling doesn’t.

“Oh, you’re serious.”

An awkward silence fills the kitchen.

Colin clears his throat and helps himself to one of the six pack Benedict brought, the cans
currently strewn across the table in a way that probably makes Mr “tidy home, tidy mind”
itch.

“I’m all set, thanks.”

Debling nods, opens the bottle and takes a swig.

“So, I’ve heard a lot about you,” he breaks the silence.

“All bad, I hope,” Colin jokes lamely.

The other man smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You mean a lot to Pen. And Pen means a lot to me. We’re growing very close. So, I would
very much like it if we could get to know each other… perhaps even become friends.”

Colin blinks.

He doesn’t hear anything after ‘Pen’.

One tiny word — just three letters, really — and suddenly he can’t breathe.

He feels sick… and angry.

He calls her Pen.

Ten.

He’s called her Pen since she was ten years old.
He called her it when she was nervous before her first day of secondary school, giving her a
reassuring hug and telling her he’ll be waiting for her by the gates at the end of the day. He’s
called her it in exasperation when she’s having one of her tantrums that moves the earth, and
in impressed reverence when he’s the first to read one of her particularly stunning poems. He
called her it when she was sixteen and she’d just been stood up before prom, and he called
her it two months ago in a text basically begging her to talk to him.

Pen was his name for her.

She had been his Pen through everything — and now some stranger was going to slot into his
place?

He didn’t think so.

“Don’t you agree?”

Debling’s voice pulls Colin back down to earth.

“What?”

“We should get to know each other. For P—”

“For Pen’s sake,” he interrupts; he can’t hear him say it again, “yeah. Yeah, we should. Sure.”

Debling nods, that ever-serious expression plastered on his face and Colin knows, in that
moment, that he has absolutely no intention of getting to know Alfie Debling.

He won’t need to.

He won’t be around for long.

It occurs to him, as Colin sulks an hour later, that his relationship with Penelope may be
strained, but it’s far from over.

Because if his calculations (and Eloise) are correct, she only met Debling around two months
ago, just after what he has begun to call The Night™.

So, if she’s trying to shut him out, to move on with a life that doesn’t have him in it, why
does Debling know with such certainty that he “means a lot” to her? Why is he so eager to
forge a friendship with him? Why has Penelope mentioned him at all?

Colin doesn’t know.

But he clings to it the way Anthony clings to every scrap of Kate’s attention.
Colin has never considered himself a jealous man.

He’s had girlfriends in the past. Girlfriends who had been pretty, and witty, and who
commanded attention as soon they walked into a room. Girlfriends who other men had found
attractive. Who had been approached at bars and parties by those men wearing smiles that
quickly dropped as soon as Colin returned from the bathroom, sidling up to the girl and
wrapping his arm around her waist.

Whenever that happened, whenever he kissed her blushing cheek and casually bid farewell to
the unlucky suitor, he had never been particularly jealous. He had been amused, if anything.
Even a little flattered. Justified in his taste in women. After-all, if he found the girl attractive,
why wouldn’t others?

Every time someone flirted with his girlfriend, he simply felt vindicated.

So he wasn’t jealous when all the rugby lads hit on his Year 13 girlfriend, or when his
university one constantly texted her study partner called Brad. Hell, he wasn’t even jealous
when Marina not only cheated on him, but also managed to get herself knocked up in the
process. He was sore, sure, and he spent a few long weeks cursing her name and staring at the
bottom of a whiskey bottle, but the emotion strangling his throat was mainly embarrassment,
not jealousy.

Marina had been his girlfriend for a year.

Penelope has only ever been his friend.

So why, when he sees her smile at Debling, does it feel ten times more painful than Marina
telling him she’s leaving him?

Colin stares at the dining table in a way that cannot possibly be considered normal, his eyes
narrowed.

There are loads of them. Bridgerton siblings, and their significant others, and even a ‘friend’
Benedict has brought with him from art school. Without doing a quick headcount, Colin
doesn’t even know how many of them there are — but he does know there’s one chair too
many at the table.

He narrows his eyes at the offending object again.

Someone doesn’t belong.

“Everything okay, brother?” Anthony asks slowly, arching a curious brow. Colin must look
truly mental because his brother places a wary hand on his shoulder and looks like he’s
genuinely asking.
He shakes himself out of it as everyone else starts to filter in.

“Yep,” he pops the ‘p’, faking a smile, “I’m dandy.”

He’s not. He’s never said that before.

Anthony’s brow climbs higher, but he leaves it, gravitating towards Kate because he’s been
away from her for 0.5 seconds.

They all begin to take their place at the table. Colin shamelessly attempts to sit between
Penelope and David Attenborough before Gregory and Hyacinth descend and insist he sits
between them. With a grim sigh, he silently laments on how being the favourite brother is a
heavy cross to bear.

Penelope and Debling don’t sit next to him, but they do end up taking the seats directly
opposite him which is… worse. Now he has to look at them, and watch them, and wonder
what the hell she’s trying to do to him.

It’s the first night and it’s barely begun, but Colin’s jaw is already starting to ache from
clenching it so tight.

The dining room fills with the sound of soft chatter as Daphne retires to the kitchen, eager to
step into their mother’s shoes. It’s the first time in years that Violet isn’t joining them, off
instead on her honeymoon with Marcus. Pretty selfish, if you ask Colin… because he loves
his sister, but cooking is not her strong point. He grieves the fact that she won’t let anyone
help her. He reckons she’ll be so frazzled and distracted, he could definitely sneak some meat
into Debling’s—no.

He chastises himself.

Not a good idea.

As the night rolls on, Colin finds himself becoming more and more irate… which in-turn
frustrates him because he’s never irate. He’s a very positive person. Especially when he’s
surrounded by his family, the people he loves most in the world. But staring at Penelope and
Debling as they smile, and talk, and laugh is setting his teeth on edge, and Gregory’s choking
down whatever the hell Daphne’s presented them with absolutely no decorum, and
Hyacinth’s laughing too loudly.

He takes a breath, wondering how he’s going to get through the night, let alone the weekend.

But then, over the next hour, he notices two things that spark a kindling of hope inside him.

Firstly, Debling doesn’t know what kind of wine Pen likes.

Her glass is empty, and he goes to fill it with the open bottle of Chardonnay on the table
before Colin stops him. He picks up the Merlot instead and says—

“She likes red.”

Then he begins to pour it for her, locking eyes with her, daring her to correct him. His smile
is smug, and her narrowed eyes are fierce, but she doesn’t correct him because she knows as
well as he does that the last time she drank Chardonnay, they were at the pub and she thought
it would be a good idea to dance on the table… which led to her falling off said table, which
led to him sitting with her in A&E and holding her hand as she grimaced through five
stitches.

He’d bet his left ball Debling doesn’t know that.

Secondly, it’s not just the wine.

Debling doesn’t seem to know anything about her.

When Benedict makes a joke (not even a funny one in Colin’s opinion but he admits he’s not
in the best of moods), Debling chuckles and says “well, I can see why he’s your favourite!”
and all the Bridgerton siblings, even Benedict himself, glance at each other, puzzled.

They all love Penelope. She loves all of them. But Colin knows, without a doubt, that if she
had to rank them, Benedict wouldn’t even break into the top five.

They can hold a conversation, and they always greet each other with fond hugs, and if anyone
ever said anything bad about her, he knows Benedict would be right there, chewing them out.
But when it comes to closeness, to favourites, she doesn’t consider him a father figure the
way she considers Anthony. She doesn’t play with him the way she plays with Gregory, or
gossips with Hyacinth, or lives with Eloise.

It doesn’t touch what he shares with her.

He just wishes she would remember that.

He stares at the flames licking up the side of the fireplace, as though if he stared hard enough,
they would send him a message.

He needs a moment. He needs space away from his family, and Alfie fucking Debling and
even Pen.

He needs space to breathe.

So, he comes to what used to be his father’s study and he stares at the roaring fire, knowing
he needs to pull himself together before he can join the after-dinner games they’ve already
started playing.

He turns his head to the side, chin dipped, when he hears footsteps.

“I thought I’d find you in here.”

He smiles at the sound of her voice; it’s just a gut reaction. He hears her close the door
behind her and then she’s taking a seat on the chair next to him, just on the other side of the
fireplace.

“I am found,” he murmurs, a wry smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

She hums.

It’s silent for a moment. It’s a silence that Colin appreciates, the comfortable kind that comes
from years of knowing someone. They don’t have to fill it. It takes a level of security, of
closeness, to achieve that and he’s pleased that much hasn’t changed at least.

Eventually, she does break it.

“They’re starting with Scrabble,” she says, “it’s already getting pretty heated.”

Colin chuckles.

“Gregory making words up?”

“Yeah, when I slipped out, he’d just had his turn, and him and Anthony were shouting at
each-other and Fran was trying to Google it. I think Hyacinth threw a ‘C’ at him too.”

Colin smirks. Of all the letters, he knows that wouldn’t have been an accident. He’s always
equal parts horrified and impressed with his littlest sister’s potty-mouth.

“I don’t know why he does it,” he says, “every single year. He knows it pisses the girls and
Anthony off.”

Penelope smiles.

“I think that’s why he does it.”

He smiles back. A warmth that has nothing to do with the fire spreads through him. He loves
his family. He loves the fact that every year, Gregory makes shit up when they play Scrabble,
and Anthony rages at it, and Francesca always pulls out a random nine letter wild card, but in
the end, Eloise always wins. He loves how predictable, and safe, and warm it is.

It’s home.

The only difference this year is Debling — and suddenly he just needs to know.

“He good to you?”

His voice is quiet and low, a rumbling hum above the crackles of the fire.

She doesn’t need to ask who or what he’s referring to. He watches her lips part. He watches
her take a breath.

And then she simply whispers—

“Yeah.”

He nods, not really understanding why that one word relieves him and makes him want to cry
at the same time.

He’s a mess.

That silence falls over them again for a few moments before she breaks it.

“Are you coming back in?” she asks, tilting her head in the direction of the door, “they miss
you in there—”

“Do you miss me?”

The words just come flying out of him. They’re out of his mouth before he can even register
them as a thought. Then they just hang there, in the stretched silence between them.

She meets his eyes, hot gazes locked.

“I’m sorry… you know, for not replying to your texts. I wanted to, I just…”

She breaks the eye contact, gaze sliding away. He understands. She still can’t talk about it.
Maybe he can’t either.

He registers that she didn’t strictly answer the question, but the apology is still something.

“I know you miss him too,” she adds, her eyes flickering above the fireplace to find the
portrait of his father hanging proudly on the wall, “you seemed out of sorts tonight… so I
thought you might come here.”

A tightness seizes his chest. She knows him so well.

“I had a dream about him the other night,” he divulges, voice quiet, “well, not strictly about
him. It was about you actually.”

She swallows, eyes flickering.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it was the day after we met. You remember? Your mum brought you to the house and
forced you to apologise for making me fall off my bike.”

She blinks, then purses her lips to conceal a smile.

“That was a shit apology.”

He laughs — a loud, genuine laugh.

“It really was.”

The smile breaks through, splitting her cheeks.

 God, she’s lovely.

The thought flies through his mind unbidden.

“There she is,” he murmurs, voice fond as his gaze flits from her eyes to her lips and back
again.

The smile falters, melting into something more serious. She holds his gaze for a beat too long
to be considered appropriate and then breaks it again.

Colin thinks about his father then. He thinks about his kindness, and his strength, and how he
was always, always there for them. He thinks about how sad it is that he never got to see his
children in love, got to see how happy that love makes them. How he never got to meet
Simon, or Kate, or John and how he will never meet anyone else they fall in love with.

And then it hits him like a thunderbolt.

He met Penelope.

Chapter End Notes

I have extended the chapter count because I’m not wrapping this bad boy up in one more
chapter (not with the revelations, and angst, and fluff, and smut I have planned hehe!!).
I’m sorry there was no smut in this chapter, I ended up yapping about Colin’s feelings
more than I expected, but that’s the hard thing with friends to lovers… I don’t want it to
be rushed as he needs to work out what’s changed between them, but I also don’t want it
to drag out too long… the balance is hard! I’m not going to apologise for the angst I’m
afraid as that is just who I am = a messy bitch! Things will defo be moving in the next
chapter tho and I always follow the pain up with a happy ending :)

P.S. Colin’s utter hatred for Lord Debling despite never speaking a word to him was one
of my favourite parts of pt1, so I wanted to mirror it here. My petty king <3
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!