Alfred was relieved by both parts of her answer, though the latter was a little perplexing. She'd said in her letter that she wouldn't have wanted to marry him, if there had been trouble, which meant there could hardly be any benefit on her end to informing him. He wasn't sure what he would have been expected to do with the information, if it had happened, but still he supposed he would have wanted to have known. The idea of having created a child at some point in his life who was then wandering about somewhere in the world while he, Alfred, was utterly ignorant of the fact didn't sound appealing to him at all.
"That's... good," he said uncertainly. He felt as though there was some piece of this he was missing, and it was hard to work through what it was when they were dealing exclusively in hypothetical conversations that would now never happen. He tried to imagine what she would have said to him if there had been trouble — would she have made a point to say she didn't want a 'wandpoint marriage' then, or would she have gone along with it for the sake of the child? Of course he would have offered — there wasn't anything else to do in that situation, whether they ultimately wanted to be married or not.
After the last interaction on the boat, and then his setting sail so soon afterwards, he wouldn't have been surprised if she hated him. She had every right to be angry with him, or disappointed in him, or to avoid him forever — but she certainly hadn't shown any inclination to do the latter, by showing up here, and so far she didn't seem angry.
There was a long, awkward moment where Alfred couldn't think of anything to say — or, rather, he thought of lots of things to say but no halfway decent way to phrase any of them — and the only sound was the shuffling of his feet as he walked on through the streets, eyes on the cobblestones and one hand rubbing sporadically at the back of his neck beneath his long hair. After a moment, he asked — with his eyes still down at the road and his ears and cheeks tinging red — "The first time you came to the boat — when you said you wanted to kiss me — is that still how you feel?"
MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER
"That's... good," he said uncertainly. He felt as though there was some piece of this he was missing, and it was hard to work through what it was when they were dealing exclusively in hypothetical conversations that would now never happen. He tried to imagine what she would have said to him if there had been trouble — would she have made a point to say she didn't want a 'wandpoint marriage' then, or would she have gone along with it for the sake of the child? Of course he would have offered — there wasn't anything else to do in that situation, whether they ultimately wanted to be married or not.
After the last interaction on the boat, and then his setting sail so soon afterwards, he wouldn't have been surprised if she hated him. She had every right to be angry with him, or disappointed in him, or to avoid him forever — but she certainly hadn't shown any inclination to do the latter, by showing up here, and so far she didn't seem angry.
There was a long, awkward moment where Alfred couldn't think of anything to say — or, rather, he thought of lots of things to say but no halfway decent way to phrase any of them — and the only sound was the shuffling of his feet as he walked on through the streets, eyes on the cobblestones and one hand rubbing sporadically at the back of his neck beneath his long hair. After a moment, he asked — with his eyes still down at the road and his ears and cheeks tinging red — "The first time you came to the boat — when you said you wanted to kiss me — is that still how you feel?"
MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER