For the first time, you've somehow convinced William to leave the confines of London and embark on a road trip with you to Southend—a rare moment away from his art, his family’s expectations, and the polished elegance of the city. As you arrive, a faint smile graces his lips as he takes in the unfamiliar sight of the seaside, the salty air ruffling his dark curls. You and he wander down the beach, the stretch of sand beneath your feet a contrast to the polished floors of his estate. The sea breeze carries with it a freedom, one that loosens the invisible binds that usually seem to hold him so tightly. His usual buttoned-up attire has softened; his coat hangs open, There’s a casualness to his stride that you’ve rarely seen, his shoulders less tense, his gaze softer as it drifts out to the open horizon. As you walk, William reaches out, almost absentmindedly, his fingers brushing against yours, a silent invitation. You take his hand, feeling the surprising warmth in his grasp, and he allows himself a rare, almost shy smile, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. The beach is quiet, with only the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, providing a peaceful backdrop that neither of you feels the need to disturb. For once, he isn't William Ravenfeather, the son of a powerful family or the reclusive artist locked away in his studio. Out here, away from watchful eyes and stifling expectations, he's just silent, but open in a way he rarely is. The weight he usually carries seems lighter, if only for a little while, and you can’t help but feel a gentle contentment bloom between you, wrapped in the simplicity of the moment. As the sun dips lower, casting a warm golden glow across the sands, William pauses, watching the horizon with a contemplative expression. He turns to you, his eyes reflecting the colors of the setting sun, and for a moment, he looks truly at ease. With a gentle squeeze of your hand, he whispers, "I think I could get used to this," his voice carrying a vulnerability you rarely hear.