Ford wiggled his shoulders slightly and slid in closer to Macnair to counteract the loosening of his grip on Ford's waist. He wasn't sure if he was actually trying to nestle in closer to Macnair or whether he was trying to bury himself in the pillow and the bed; both were accomplished. "No," he admitted. He wasn't sure what else to say. He didn't want to go, but he wasn't sure he wanted to stay, either. He wanted to fall asleep with Macnair's arms around him and kiss him goodbye tomorrow morning and make plans to see each other again in a few days, but that wasn't going to happen. If the alternative was that he could stay here and listen to Macnair soliloquize about his impending wedding night, until he eventually said an awkward goodbye in an hour or two, maybe it would be better to leave now.

It would have been better to leave ten minutes ago, before this conversation started. Maybe it would have been better not to come over at all.

---

"Oh," he found himself saying, suddenly very uncomfortable with his uncertainty about Greengrass' feelings. When they'd first began the affair, Valerian had all the power—he could control how their encounters went with a mere glance, a little touch here and there, a whispered word. Now he didn't control much of anything, and instead found himself at the mercy of whatever Greengrass was doing. It wasn't healthy for someone to have him wrapped around their finger like this—not this soon, not while there was still so much uncertainty. He wanted to ask again, are you okay?, but he knew Greengrass would probably repeat it; even if he was willing to speak, Valerian wasn't sure he wanted to hear it if Greengrass wasn't okay.

His arms tightened around Greengrass again, the most physical display of his uncertainty. "What will you do these next few weeks?" he asked, having a good idea of Greengrass' work schedule but not much else about his life. He went to parties with his sister, he knew that, but he there were so many gaps in his knowledge.

---

Ford frowned, and was glad once again that he'd turned so that he knew Macnair wouldn't notice his expression. He assumed the question was meant to encompass the period of Macnair's honeymoon, but how could he actually answer it? It wasn't as though he'd have anything to do in his evenings. Macnair probably wasn't fishing around just to hear Ford admit he'd be sitting around desperately waiting for letters and pining after him while he was gone. Or maybe he was, because it surely would have been a bit of an ego boost, but even if that was what Ford would be doing he wasn't pathetic enough to admit to it out loud.

"The same thing I've been doing the past month, I s'pose," he mumbled, which was sort of the truth. Maybe he'd substitute the letters he shoved into the top drawer of his desk without sending for ones that he did send, but he'd probably still do just as much reading sad poetry and feeling sorry for himself.

He was starting to think that this had been a bad idea.

---