Chapter Text
Kisses were a thing of beauty. One instance of love and friendship and family and passion that leaves its mark. Etched on their skins.
A moment in time forever changed.
Colin was lucky to experience many kisses in his life - from family and friends and women and loves and children; his and his siblings. But some kisses stood out for him, suspending in his memories - as moments in time that made him who he is.
One
It wasn’t something to be proud of, Colin knew that very well. He was a boy of twelve - no no, a young man of twelve. A big brother to the littles, and another babe waiting to join their family.
He couldn’t cry.
He couldn’t.
It wasn’t done.
Colin Bridgerton, third son of the great Viscount Edmund Bridgerton would not cry.
It was unbecoming of his name and station.
He was not weak.
He did not need to be consoled like Eloise and Daphne.
He was fine.
His father was dead.
His strong, kind, loving, playful, perfect father was dead.
But Colin was fine.
And as he sat on his bed, exhausted and spent from what was clearly the worst day of his life - he could not cry. His legs and hands shook as he told himself again that he wouldn’t cry.
That was of course, until Anthony knelt in front of him and smiled. Eighteen, but so so burdened, Anthony was here. Even if father was gone, Anthony was here.
Colin had to be strong for them. For Anthony and Benedict, who’d run from mother to the littles consoling and comforting and holding them as they wept and wept and wept .
Colin would be strong, for Anthony. Who’d sat with Eloise in his arms for hours, assuring her that she did everything she could, that she was okay, she would be okay.
Colin would be strong, for Benedict. Sixteen and a free spirit, who’d spent all day taking care of Gregory and Francesca, refusing to let the nursemaid take them.
Colin could not cry, not in front of Anthony. Who must have had enough of people crying on him, people needing him to take care of them, people looking up to him to solve all their problems.
Anthony had enough things and people and estates and tenants and finances and an entire viscountancy to take care of - Colin would not add himself to the list of things Anthony had to worry about.
He was twelve, the third eldest. He would help them, he had to.
Of course, his eyes were not in accordance with his line of thought.
As Colin cried and cried and cried , and then finally stuck his head in his hands at the look on Anthony’s face.
“I don’t know why I can’t stop crying,” Colin sniffed, shaking his head angrily, “But I’ll stop, I’ll stop Anthony. I’m fine. I’m fine .” He added for measure, in all his two and ten years glory, wiping his nose on his sleeve and looking up at his big brother.
A big mistake that was.
Anthony had his heart in his eyes. And with that kind, warm, understanding look he looked so much like father that it only made Colin cry even more.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m a young man now, I will be good. I will help you.” Colin said roughly, almost angry at himself and Anthony right now. Why was he looking at him like he was Daphne or Eloise or the littles? He wanted Anthony to rely on him, to fall back on him like he did with Benedict.
“Go look after mother, I’ll be fine.” He added with a hiccup and a groan at his eyes sheer inability to stop leaking.
“Oh Colin.”
Anthony’s hand on his knee, his low avowal and his presence was too tempting. Colin wanted to hurl himself into his brother’s arms and seek all the comfort only Anthony could provide now. But that’s now what Benedict had done, that wouldn’t help Anthony.
“You cry Colin. You cry all you want, I’ll be here.” Anthony said softly, slowly, his voice barely a whisper as he leaned forward and kissed Colin on the forehead. Just like father would when he was hurt or scared or sick.
Anthony held him there, by his chest as he pressed his lips to the mess on Colin’s hair, speaking to him slowly and softly.
Telling him that he was safe.
That he was loved.
That he wasn’t alone.
That father may be gone, too early, too cruelly, but Anthony was here.
Anthony would always be there.
And suddenly, Colin realized he didn’t need to be strong. He didn’t need to put on a front, not for Anthony.
He was a boy. A boy of two and ten. A boy who’d lost his father.
A boy who wanted, no, needed his big brother.
A boy who would always need his big brother.
Years passed and Colin was no longer two and ten. But no matter how old he was, how settled in his life, how many of his own children filled the nursery, but he knew he’d always need his big brother.
And just like the whispered promise made by an eighteen year old man whose life was turned upside down, Anthony was always there for him.