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By the time Lord Sebastian realized peace had finally descended upon his household, it was already too late.
The scandals were resolved. The courtships concluded. The babies were arriving at such an alarming rate that Lady Whistledown had begun running out of synonyms for fecund.
They were fools.
Because peace, in a Bridgerton household, was merely the pause before the next dramatic inhale.
Peace, after all, never survived long in a family where every single son had married for love and then proceeded to multiply like rabbits.
The Bridgerton estate was no longer a dignified home of polite conversation and tasteful teas...it was a battlefield of wooden horses, shrieking laughter, spilled juice, and grandchildren sprinting through corridors like they were being chased by demons.
Henry and Grace Leclerc were currently under the dining table, attempting to “rescue” Daphne and Helena Russell from an imaginary dragon.
Cynthia Webber toddled behind them wielding a spoon like a sword.
Theo Webber had climbed onto the back of a sofa and declared himself king.
Cecily was braiding Aurelia’s hair with extreme concentration while Daniel hovered nearby, offering wildly incorrect advice.
Sebastian took one look at the chaos, sighed deeply, and said the words that would doom everyone:
“I miss matchmaking.”
Fernando Alonso...his best friend, co-conspirator, and newlywed menace...grinned like a man presented with a loaded weapon.
“Oh?” Fernando said. “Because I was thinking the same thing.”
Jenson Button, Fernando’s equally besotted husband, rolled his eyes fondly. “You two are never allowed to be bored again.”
They were, unfortunately, very bored.
Which was why, when Mark Webber’s nephew Pierre Gasly arrived in town, recently inheriting his late uncle’s estate and looking both wealthy and unattached, Sebastian and Fernando locked eyes like hunting dogs.
Pierre was charming. Devastatingly handsome. Unmarried.
And worst of all...
“He flirts,” Fernando observed cheerfully, watching Pierre wink at a footman.
“With everything that breathes,” Sebastian added, watching Pierre charm a passing dowager into laughter.
Pierre, for his part, was deeply aware he was being assessed like livestock.
“I want you to know,” he said mildly, sipping tea, “that I am open to love, romance, devotion, and possibly scandal.”
Sebastian clasped his hands. “Perfect.”
….
Within a week, the ton was buzzing.
Pierre Gasly...rich, charming, unattached...was escorted everywhere by Seb and Fernando Alonso, who were clearly enjoying themselves far too much.
Every ball. Every musicale. Every tea party.
Including Lady Tsunoda’s tea, an event famed for impeccable manners, delicate pastries, and a guest list that leaned… intimidating.
Pierre arrived fashionably late, surveying the crowd.
Instead of scanning the room like a normal person, he looked down.
Very deliberately.
And that was when he saw him.
Yuki Tsunoda...laughing brightly with Lady Tsunoda, gesturing animatedly, entirely unbothered.
Pierre blinked.
Then smiled.
“Well,” he murmured. “This is promising.”
Fernando leaned over. “What is?”
Pierre pointed subtly. “I found him by looking down.”
Sebastian groaned. “Do not...”
“Pun very much intended,” Pierre added brightly.
Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose.
….
Yuki Tsunoda had perfected the art of not being perceived.
He stood slightly behind his sisters at gatherings, hands folded neatly, expression pleasant but unreadable. He spoke when spoken to, laughed softly when appropriate, and slipped away before conversations grew too long.
It was not that he disliked society.
It was that society very rarely noticed him.
And Yuki preferred it that way.
Which was why, when Pierre Gasly...the newest, most popular bachelor in the ton...looked directly at him, Yuki immediately assumed something had gone terribly wrong.
….
Pierre approached with his usual charm, smile warm and open.
“Lord Tsunoda,” he said, bowing. “May I have the pleasure of your company?”
Yuki froze.
Why was he talking to me?
Outwardly, Yuki inclined his head. “I am… occupied.”
Pierre glanced around.
Yuki was standing alone.
Pierre’s smile widened. “Seems to me that you are free.”
Yuki retreated immediately...slipping behind his sister like a ghost.
Pierre stared after him.
“…Did he just vanish?”
Fernando, watching nearby, laughed into his drink. “Oh, you’re doomed.”
…
Yuki did not understand what was happening.
Pierre Gasly spoke to everyone. That was known. He flirted like breathing. He charmed like survival depended on it.
So why...
“Why is he talking to me?” Yuki hissed to his sister.
She smiled serenely. “He is hot and he seems to be interested in you.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Mother approves.”
Yuki stopped cold. “Mother what.”
Lady Tsunoda sipped her tea peacefully. “He asked to court you. I said yes.”
Yuki nearly dropped his cup.
….
Pierre did not pursue loudly.
He simply… appeared.
At teas. Walks. Musicales.
Always just close enough.
Always respectful.
Always watching.
“Good afternoon, Lord Tsunoda.”
Yuki bowed stiffly. “Lord Gasly.”
Pierre waited.
Yuki waited.
Pierre leaned down slightly. “May I walk with you?”
Yuki’s brain screamed.
“…Briefly.”
Pierre walked beside him, hands clasped behind his back like a man enjoying a stroll rather than hunting prey.
“So,” Pierre said lightly. “Do you always hide?”
Yuki stopped walking.
“I do not hide.”
Pierre tilted his head. “You do.”
Yuki flushed. “I prefer observation.”
Pierre smiled. “Then observe this...I am courting you.”
Yuki nearly tripped over his own feet.
….
Yuki avoided him.
Pierre adapted.
Yuki left early.
Pierre arrived earlier.
Yuki stood at the edge of rooms.
Pierre stood near the edge.
Yuki hid behind Sebastian’s grandchildren.
Pierre sat on the floor and let them climb him like a jungle gym while maintaining eye contact with Yuki across the room.
Yuki was deeply unsettled.
…..
Henry tugged Yuki’s sleeve.
“Uncle Yuki, that tall man likes you.”
Yuki hissed, “He does not.”
Pierre waved cheerfully.
Grace added, “He looks at you like Papa looks at Papa.”
Yuki turned red.
Pierre mouthed, I do.
…
This becomes a new topic of the Webber household.
Grace whispered, “Uncle Pierre likes the short man.”
Henry squinted. “Is he gonna marry him?”
Theo shouted, “ARE YOU GONNA KISS?”
Sebastian hissed, “THEO...”
Pierre merely laughed and said, “Not yet.”
Fernando raised a brow. “Yet?”
Pierre grinned. “Optimism.”
Aurelia tugged Pierre’s coat one afternoon.
“Papa Max says when you look at someone like that, you should marry them.”
Pierre crouched. “Does he?”
“Yes. Granddada told that he looked at Papa Daniel like that once and then never stopped.”
Pierre glanced at Yuki across the room, laughing with Cynthia.
“…That’s concerning.”
….
Yuki Tsunoda was, for once, at peace.
The garden was quiet in the way only carefully curated aristocratic gardens ever were...soft birdsong, distant laughter, the clink of teacups.
Sunlight filtered through trellised roses. A breeze carried the smell of citrus and fresh grass.
Yuki sat at a small table with Alex and Carlos, his shoulders finally relaxed.
No Pierre Gasly hovering.
No intense eye contact.
No mysterious compliments delivered like loaded weapons.
Just peace.
Alex was gently feeding one-year-old Albert, new addition to Charles and Carlos’s family , who was seated like a very serious little lord on Alex’s lap, gripping a biscuit in one chubby hand and staring judgmentally at the world.
Carlos sighed happily. “See? Nothing is happening. You’re safe.”
Yuki exhaled. “I survived.”
Yuki was mid-sip of tea when Carlos’s expression shifted.
“…Don’t look now,” Carlos murmured.
Yuki stiffened. “What.”
Carlos tilted his head subtly toward the center of the garden. “Pierre is here.”
Yuki’s spine straightened like he’d been struck by lightning.
Across the lawn, Pierre Gasly sat at a table several paces away, flanked by Lord Sebastian and Fernando Alonso.
The elders leaned in like conspirators.
Pierre looked… trapped.
Yuki narrowed his eyes. “Why do they look like they’re interrogating him.”
Alex glanced over. “Because they are.”
….
Fernando gestured animatedly. “No, no...smile. Your best one.”
Sebastian nodded gravely. “The charming one. The one that says ‘I am harmless and devoted.’”
Pierre frowned. “I have many smiles.”
Fernando pointed. “That’s the problem.”
Sebastian leaned closer. “Flash it when he looks at you. Confidence. Assurance. Romance.”
….
Yuki, against every instinct he had, looked.
Pierre caught his eye instantly.
And then...
Pierre smiled.
Not his usual warm, easy, flirtatious smile.
This one was… different.
Too wide.
Too intense.
Too focused.
It was the kind of smile that belonged on a portrait that watched you from the walls.
Yuki froze.
“…Why is he doing that,” Yuki whispered.
Carlos squinted. “Oh. Oh no.”
Alex grimaced. “That’s not charming. That’s...”
“Unsettling,” Yuki finished faintly.
Pierre, encouraged by Sebastian’s approving nod, held the smile.
Longer.
And longer.
Yuki’s heart rate skyrocketed.
Is he alright?
Is this a cry for help?
Has courting finally broken him?
Yuki leaned closer to Carlos. “I think he’s unwell.”
Carlos nodded solemnly. “I think he’s being coached.”
Alex tried not to laugh. “Both can be true.”
….
Albert, who had been calmly accepting spoonfuls of mashed fruit, suddenly paused.
The baby followed Yuki’s gaze.
Tiny head turning.
Eyes locking onto Pierre.
Pierre was still smiling.
Albert stared.
Albert’s face crumpled.
And then...
“SCARY UNCLE!!!”
The scream was piercing.
Absolute. Devastating.
Albert burst into wails, clinging to Alex’s shirt like the world had betrayed him.
The garden fell silent.
Yuki jolted upright. “Oh no...no, no...”
Alex bounced Albert instinctively. “Hey, hey, it’s okay...”
Carlos stood halfway. “Albert, sweetheart, Papa’s here, don’t cry”
Too late.
At the far end of the garden, Charles Leclerc snapped his head up.
He saw:
- His child crying.
- Alex panicking.
- Carlos reaching out.
- And Pierre Gasly still smiling like a deranged suitor.
Charles’s glare could have ended wars.
Pierre felt it before he saw it.
He turned.
Met Charles’s eyes.
And immediately dropped the smile.
Sebastian sighed. “Ah.”
Fernando winced. “That’s unfortunate.”
Charles stood.
Pierre’s soul left his body.
“Pierre,” Sebastian said calmly, patting his arm. “I believe that concludes today’s lesson.”
Pierre stared at Henry, horrified. “I frightened the baby.”
Fernando nodded. “You frightened the baby.”
Pierre whispered, “I would never...”
Yuki, flustered and guilt-ridden, hurried over. “It’s not...he was already sensitive...”
Charles did not break eye contact with Pierre. “My son does not cry without reason.”
Pierre bowed so fast he nearly hit the table. “My deepest apologies. I was...smiling.”
Charles stared. “Then Don’t.”
Mission: FAILED.
….
Later, Pierre sat on a bench, face in his hands.
“I smiled,” he muttered.
Sebastian patted his shoulder. “You smiled incorrectly.”
Fernando nodded. “Spectacularly.”
Across the garden, Yuki peeked at Pierre.
He hesitated.
Then quietly said, “…He does look sorry.”
Carlos smiled. “He is.”
Alex smirked. “You scared of him now?”
Yuki watched Pierre...no smile, shoulders slumped, utterly miserable.
“…No,” Yuki admitted softly.
“…Just concerned for his sanity.”
And from his bench, Pierre looked up...
Not smiling.
Just hopeful.
And somehow, that was worse.
…..
Sebastian and Fernando had retreated to a secluded corner of the garden like generals planning a war.
Pierre sat between them, elbows on the table, chin in his hands, looking like a man who had just been defeated by a one-year-old with lungs.
“I frightened a baby,” Pierre said hollowly. “I will never recover.”
Sebastian sipped his tea. “Babies are honest critics.”
Fernando waved a dismissive hand. “Focus. We need a new strategy.”
Pierre groaned. “Your last strategy involved smiling.”
“Incorrect smiling,” Sebastian corrected. “A technical error.”
Fernando leaned in conspiratorially. “We go subtle.”
Pierre squinted. “I have never been subtle in my life.”
At that precise moment, Jenson Button appeared, immaculate and glowing in the way only a man deeply, offensively in love could be.
“Fernando,” Jenson said fondly.
Fernando turned...and Jenson kissed him.
Not a polite peck.
A proper, lingering, ‘we forget we are in public’ kiss.
Sebastian stared into the middle distance. “Every time.”
Fernando smiled into the kiss, utterly shameless, before pulling back.
“I’ll be home for dinner, love,” Jenson murmured. “Small meeting with Lord Henderson.”
He kissed Fernando again and left.
Pierre watched him go, then turned slowly back to Fernando.
“You bagged him,” Pierre said flatly. “But you cannot help me successfully bag my man?”
Fernando placed a calming hand on Pierre’s arm. “Different battlefields.”
….
Fernando leaned back. “We have learned something.”
Pierre straightened. “What.”
“Yuki likes poetry.”
Pierre blinked. “…He does?”
“And writing,” Sebastian added. “Quite talented.”
Pierre frowned. “How do you know this.”
Fernando smiled sweetly. “Because he writes.”
Pierre’s stomach dropped. “Writes what.”
Sebastian laughed.
Fernando said casually, “Newspaper columns. He writes them under penname Lord Whistledown”
Pierre’s brain began connecting dots at a terrifying speed.
“…Yuki is” Pierre lowered his voice instinctively, “...Whistledown?”
Sebastian laughed outright.
Pierre looked betrayed. “You’re laughing??”
Sebastian wiped his eyes. “Oh, Pierre. You’re adorable.”
Fernando leaned in. “The identity is technically unrevealed.”
Sebastian continued, far too cheerfully,
“But a soldier once tried to bribe the printer for clues.”
Pierre stiffened.
Fernando counted on his fingers.
“He was told Whistledown is...
One: a noble Lord .
Two: five foot tall.”
Pierre closed his eyes.
Sebastian smiled brightly. “Which rather narrowed the field.”
Pierre whispered, “Does Yuki know.”
Fernando and Sebastian exchanged a look.
“…No,” Fernando said gently.
Pierre stared at them. “You’re telling me half the ton knows and he thinks it’s still a secret?”
Sebastian nodded. “He’s very oblivious.”
Pierre buried his face in his hands. “I have been courting a mystery columnist unknowingly.”
Fernando patted his shoulder. “Romantic, isn’t it?”
….
Sebastian leaned forward. “Write letters.”
Pierre looked up slowly. “Letters.”
“Thoughtful ones,” Fernando added. “Quiet. Personal. Something he can read alone without panicking.”
Pierre considered this.
“…I can do heartfelt,” he said cautiously.
Sebastian raised a brow. “Can you do sincere without flirting?”
Pierre hesitated.
Fernando winced. “We’ll edit.”
….
Pierre Gasly had written ten letters.
This, in itself, was alarming.
Pierre had never written more than a thank-you note in his life. He flirted verbally. He charmed in person. He smiled (incorrectly, it turned out). He did not compose.
And yet...
Ten letters lay spread across his desk.
Each one worse than the last.
One involved metaphors about stars.
Another compared Yuki to silence.
One somehow managed to include both storms and teacups.
Pierre stared at them, horrified.
“I cannot choose,” he muttered.
So naturally, he sent them all to Uncle Sebastian.
…..
2:14 A.M.
Mark Webber woke up because something was wrong.
Specifically:
There was no Sebastian on his chest.
Mark blinked awake, hand instinctively reaching for the familiar weight, the warmth, the quiet little breaths that usually grounded him back to sleep.
Nothing.
“…Seb?” he murmured.
No answer.
Mark sighed, resigned, and followed the faint glow of lamplight down the corridor.
….
Seb sat slumped at his desk, hair a disaster, surrounded by papers.
Mark leaned against the doorway, squinting.
“…What,” Mark asked slowly, “are you doing?”
Sebastian looked up, eyes bloodshot, yawned so wide his jaw cracked.
“Choosing a letter,” he said vaguely.
Mark frowned. “A letter.”
“For Pierre,” Sebastian mumbled. “To send to Yuki.”
Mark walked closer, peering down.
“…Why are there so many.”
Sebastian rubbed his face. “Because he panicked.”
Mark picked one up.
Read two lines.
Paused.
“…Seb.”
“Yes, love?”
“These are… terrible.”
Sebastian closed his eyes. “I know.”
…..
Sebastian sagged forward, exhaustion finally winning.
Mark didn’t hesitate.
He sat in the armchair and gently tugged Sebastian back until Sebastian settled instinctively into his lap, curling sideways, cheek pressing against Mark’s shoulder like muscle memory.
“There,” Mark murmured. “Sleep.”
Sebastian made a soft, content noise, kissed Mark’s collarbone, then...without shame...straddled him, arms looping loosely around his neck.
“I hate poetry,” Sebastian mumbled, already half-asleep.
Mark huffed a quiet laugh. “You married into the wrong family.”
Sebastian was out cold within seconds.
….
Mark adjusted Sebastian carefully, one hand steady on his back, the other flipping through the letters.
He read.
And read.
And regretted everything.
“These are the worst poems I have ever read,” Mark whispered to himself.
One letter compared Yuki’s quietness to a bell ringing softly in the soul.
Another described longing as a teacup left untouched because the hands tremble.
Mark shut his eyes.
“…Daniel,” he muttered. “I owe you an apology for all the time I insulted your poems.”
Because Mark loved his son Daniel.
And Daniel was...objectively...a terrible poet.
But Pierre?
Pierre was committing crimes.
Mark skimmed faster now, purely searching for survivability.
“This one is...no.”
“No.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why is there a moon again...”
Finally.
One letter.
Still sappy. Still earnest.
But mercifully short.
Mark nodded once. “You’ll do.”
He placed that letter neatly aside.
The others?
Filed away.
Deep.
Where no one would ever see them.
….
Mark shifted, testing Sebastian’s weight.
Sebastian sighed happily in his sleep, tightening his arms.
Mark smiled softly.
“Always you,” he murmured.
He gathered the chosen letter, stood carefully, and carried his husband back to bed like this was the most natural thing in the world.
The letters could wait.
Pierre’s romantic future could wait.
Seb came first.
Always.
…..
Yuki Tsunoda read the letter.
Then he read it again.
Then he pressed his lips together, staring at the page like it had personally offended him.
It was… bad.
Not bad in the way of malicious intent.
Bad in the way of crimes against the English language.
There were metaphors that did not agree with each other.
A stanza that should have been two sentences but refused to end.
Something about silence being loud, stars being shy, and teacups feeling lonely.
Yuki closed his eyes.
I am so sorry, English.
He felt tears prick...not because it was beautiful, but because it was trying so hard.
When he looked up...
Pierre Gasly stood a few steps away.
Hands clasped. Shoulders tense.
Eyes hopeful.
Waiting.
And suddenly the letter didn’t feel embarrassing anymore.
It felt… earnest.
Yuki swallowed.
….
Pierre watched Yuki’s expression shift from confusion, to horror, to deep contemplation.
This was it.
He had ruined everything.
“I know,” Pierre blurted, voice breaking the silence far too loudly. “I know the letter is...well...it’s not good. I panicked. I write terribly. I should never be allowed near a pen...”
Yuki blinked.
Pierre stepped forward.
“But I meant it,” Pierre said, voice rising with urgency. “And there are things I couldn’t say properly, so I will say them now.”
People turned.
Seb choked on his tea.
Fernando whispered, “Oh no.”
Pierre didn’t care.
Pierre said, words tumbling out.
“I like that you speak softly but never say anything foolish.”
“I like that you disappear and make the room feel emptier without you.”
“I like that you write truth with kindness and hide it like a secret.”
“I like that you scare me because you matter.”
He was practically shouting now.
“And I like that you look at me like I am ridiculous,” Pierre finished breathlessly. “Because I am. But only for you.”
The garden was dead silent.
….
Yuki stared at him.
This tall, ridiculous man.
This hopeless romantic with terrible poetry and too much heart.
He folded the letter carefully.
Stepped forward.
Pierre braced himself.
“…Take me for tea tomorrow,” Yuki said calmly.
Pierre froze.
Yuki smiled...small, soft, unmistakably real.
“And we will see.”
Pierre’s breath left him in a rush.
He nodded. “Yes. Tea. Tomorrow. I...yes.”
In that moment, Pierre Gasly knew.
Not hoped.
Knew.
The future Lord Tsunoda-Gasly was already deciding where to sit.
….
Sebastian wiped his eyes. “That went better than expected.”
Fernando grinned. “He shouted his way into love.”
Mark muttered, “I should’ve burned the other letters.”
And Yuki, walking away with his heart pounding, thought quietly...
Perhaps being noticed wasn’t so terrible after all.
....
Author’s Note:
A very lovely person asked for another part of the Bridgerton AU and honestly, who am I to deny fate
So here it is..... with quiet yearning, terrible poetry and entirely too much meddling.
AND HAPPY NEW YEAR💛
And as always don’t forget to comment, I love to hear your thoughts.