July 3rd, 1891 — A Generic Dance, Hogsmeade Ballroom

When Ford had written to Macnair that he was busy that week, it hadn't entirely been a lie. Sure, he was mostly just trying to be flippant and avoid any further invitation to talk. If he'd wanted to talk to Macnair, he could have found a time to do so. The things filling up his calendar this week were the same things that had been filling it up during the month of May, when he'd still managed to spend hours wrapped up in the other man's bed. It was just the Season, and Ford's heart and mind weren't really in it, but he was going through the motions.

He was dreading seeing Macnair on the seventh. They'd already accepted the invitation, although there was nowhere Ford wanted to be less. It wasn't up to him, although he was the head of the household — Mama and Verity and perhaps even Grace would never have gotten over it if he'd decided not to go for no reason, and even Noble probably would have raised an eyebrow and asked him about it afterwards. The last letter read like a threat, but surely Macnair couldn't expect to catch him alone during his own wedding reception? Surely he'd be too busy to be seen off in a corner talking to someone like Ford? The entire Macnair and Lestrange families would be there, and anyone else who mattered. Ford wasn't even entirely sure why they'd been invited, but he wasn't laboring under the misconception that they were on par with everyone else at this party. He was hoping that would save him, and that if he did have to talk to Macnair directly, it would only be for a minute or so while he was surrounded by other people who could insulate him from any danger. He'd been thinking he might have to enlist help from someone, too — maybe Noble, maybe Cash Lestrange, maybe someone else — to interrupt the conversation if by chance Macnair did corner him. Mostly, though, he was relying on the bustle he imagined the reception would have, at least for the groom, to keep him safe from further inquiry from his one-time lover.

It hadn't occurred to him that he might see Macnair before then. It was the second dance of the evening when he spotted him, and Ford immediately began panicking. He'd already been standing with Grace, but now he became almost obsessively attentive to her so that he had an excuse not to even look in Macnair's direction. He had to look busy, or else he might find himself alone (as alone as two people could be in a ballroom, anyway) with Macnair, which was what he wanted to avoid at all costs. It was more than just the embarrassment. It was more than just not knowing what Macnair would say or do in response. Partly it was that Ford hadn't meant to say that when they'd run into each other on Saturday, and he still didn't know why he had. Some strange magic at work, like the tongue-tie spell he was still suffering from but in reverse? Or just an appalling lack of impulse control where Macnair was concerned? Either way, he couldn't risk it happening again.

But then someone was asking Grace to dance, and it wasn't as though Ford could tell Grace not to dance with an eligible bachelor, no matter how distressed he was. He smiled weakly at her as she was lead off to the dance floor, then immediately tried to scan the crowd to see if he could find Noble or Verity or even Mama — anyone he could talk to so that he wasn't left alone here, a sitting duck. Of course, he didn't find any of them. Instead, his eyes landed squarely on Macnair's, and a touch of the color drained from his cheeks.

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Valerian Macnair & open to interruption!

  

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Set by Lady!

Valerian had not intended to see Greengrass before his wedding. Hell, he hadn't intended to indulge in any of the Season's parties between the last letter he'd sent and the wedding, but he'd found himself roped into it by a friend who'd hoped to use him in some grand scheme to win over the father of a girl, who apparently also worked at St. Mungo's and was attending the party. He'd gotten used to attending balls by Tatiana's side since their engagement had become public knowledge, so much so that standing alone in a large ballroom made him feel rather... out of place. As if he was a ship adrift at sea without an anchor.

It was a feeling that did not last long. He first caught sight of Greengrass from across the room, and in that moment his heart skipped a beat. Not with nervousness, not with giddiness, but with anticipation. It was an opportunity, and one he knew he couldn't pass up—not when the alternative was his own wedding. Another dance or two passed before Greengrass seemed to notice him, but the moment their eyes met Valerian knew what he must do.

He broke the eye contact, but only long enough to glance at the large wooden doors that were propped open behind him, leading into the foyer of the house. Rows of gentlemen and their dance partners began to line up in the middle of the dance floor, but Valerian crossed the floor before the couples could finish lining up. He did not break his gaze as he approached, his lips pressed tightly together in a hard line.

"A pleasant surprise," he said smoothly, trying to keep all emotion from his voice.

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Ford felt trapped as Macnair approached, though he technically could have turned and walked away. The way that Macnair held him with his eyes and the determination in his step as he approached had him frozen in place. This felt dangerous. Surely someone else might notice the intensity in Macnair's manner as he approached, and might think it strange? Surely it couldn't just be Ford's perception of the circumstances?

"Stop it," he pleaded under his breath. "Someone will notice."

Maybe Macnair wanted someone to notice, or at least wanted Ford to think someone might. Maybe this was a strategy, to apply some amount of pressure either to get Ford to be more cooperative when they spoke or to try and leverage him into a more private setting. Macnair had been planning on cornering him at the wedding, apparently, so he would have had time to strategize a way to handle this when half a dozen other eyes were on them, just as Ford had been strategizing a way to avoid Macnair that didn't involve either apparating out of the middle of a party or making a scene by literally running away. He might still have resorted to running away, if he thought it would work, but Macnair was already too close for that — if he was going to run, he at least needed a head start. As it was, he'd risk making a scene for nothing. Actually, now that he was running through the possibilities for how this might play out in his mind, it occurred to Ford that it might be in his benefit to follow Macnair out of the ballroom, if offered the opportunity — at least then he could resort to tactics like being openly hostile in the hopes of shutting down his questions, or in the worst case scenario, fleeing the same way he had on Saturday (hopefully with less blood this time around). So long as they were in the middle of the ballroom, he was limited in what he could say or do to only what no one else would find especially noteworthy.

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Set by Lady!

So Greengrass had already resorted to pleading. Interesting.

In some ways, this had turned into something of a game for Valerian—maybe because he was angry and enjoyed the cat-and-mouse chase, or maybe it was because it was much easier to treat it like one instead of letting his heart ache whenever Greengrass tried to avoid him. Either way, this was a game now, and he was determined to win.

"I haven't a clue what you mean," he said, feigning ignorance, although he hardly expected Greengrass to believe it. He leaned a little closer, as if trying to talk over the noise of the ballroom, and said quietly, "I haven't even started yet."

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Once he'd decided speaking alone was preferable to speaking in the ballroom, he'd been hoping Macnair would respond with something that pushed them in that direction — pointing out that if Ford was worried about someone noticing, he could have made time to talk elsewhere; he could make time now. This was... not that. This was much worse. Macnair was still looking at him with that intensity that Ford was just sure someone else could have picked up on, if they were paying any attention. Although — maybe he only thought it was so obvious because he already felt so exposed, as if when Macnair looked at him he could see all of his thoughts and feelings laid out around him. Which wasn't far from the truth, after that ill-conceived confession on Saturday. So Macnair was looking at him like that, and he apparently wanted to stay and have this conversation right here, and he was making vaguely threatening comments in low tones.

Ford knew it hadn't exactly been... chivalrous, or whatever, to abandon Macnair half-dressed in an alleyway while he was still in the process of recovering from a splinching wound. Still: he didn't think he deserved this degree of cruelty.

He clamped his mouth shut before he could say anything that he regretted, and gave Macnair an irritated but helpless look, like a dog who was aware of just how short its leash was.

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Set by Lady!

Greengrass had nothing to say to that. In a way it annoyed him—Greengrass had done such a good job of not talking, especially about all the things he'd been keeping in his heart since before they'd even broken up, and then he'd gone and made that confession, and now he was back to holding his tongue.

"You look at me like you're the one who has a reason to be angry," he observed, letting his lips relax into a frown, "Like I'm the one messing with you."

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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Ford's brows lowered slightly. What did Macnair think he was doing right now, if this didn't qualify as messing with Ford? Cornering him in a ballroom and forcing him into a conversation he'd made it clear he had no desire to have, taunting him by saying he hadn't even started yet, looking at him like that. And before, at the club, coming over and starting up a conversation even though he knew Ford was irritated, and poking and prodding until Ford said that — and before that, at the Fae Ball, coming over and insisting on helping with his ankle and caressing his leg. He was constantly finding ways to insert himself in Ford's life and wave what Ford was missing out on around in front of his face, which was cruel when Ford already knew he couldn't have it.

Only he couldn't really blame Macnair for all of those other times before tonight, Ford realized. He'd thought that it had been obvious when he broke things off, but the surprise on his face on Saturday night made it clear that Macnair hadn't put everything together until then. So he hadn't realized how high the stakes were for Ford when they'd interacted at the Fae Ball or even at the start of their conversation at the club. He was doing what he could, consciously or not, to get Ford to come back. It only hurt so much because Ford was determined not to let it work. Macnair didn't know all of that, how things looked from his end.

But he'd know now. If he didn't know, he'd at least have some vague indication after what Ford had said on Saturday.

"I didn't mean to say it," Ford said quietly, cheeks flushed. His meaning was clear: I wasn't trying to mess with you. He could see, now that he'd taken a step back from it, why Macnair might feel that way — it was a hell of a thing to say to someone less than two weeks before their wedding, even if it wasn't a real wedding — but it hadn't been his attempt to reopen this conversation. He hadn't had any intent at all.

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Set by Lady!

Greengrass hadn’t intended to say it, but he had, and now the fact that Greengrass had left him not out of a disinterest or outside commitments or Tatiana but out of a fear of falling in love with him was a piece of knowledge he couldn’t forget. What could he say to that? Oh, that’s alright then, I’ll just pretend that I’m alright with that?

He looked around, and while nobody was looking directly at them their presence was enough to stop him from being frank. “We’re going to discuss this in private,” he said quietly, nodding in the direction of the open doors, “I suggest we do it now.” He would corner Greengrass at his wedding if he needed to, but he’d rather not.

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Ford glanced towards the foyer at the front of the ballroom indecisively. He'd just been thinking a moment ago that it would be better to be alone with Macnair than to have to suffer through this conversation with the potential for an audience at any moment, but faced with the actual prospect of it he was less sure. They couldn't really get anywhere properly private during the middle of a party, but they could probably find a corner far enough away from the main throng of partygoers that Macnair would feel comfortable speaking his mind. Ford didn't know what that would mean, since he hadn't given him a chance to say anything at all except a few expletives the last time they'd seen one another. He might say anything, and Ford hadn't prepared for any of it, because he'd been preoccupied trying to think of ways to prevent this from happening in the first place. Worse, he might do anything, and Ford already knew he couldn't handle that while maintaining any semblance of composure.

Ford swallowed and glanced at some of their other options for a private conversation: the retiring rooms, the balcony over the ballroom, one of the game rooms if they could find one that wasn't in use. None of them were exactly private, but neither was the foyer, unless they were going to go hide in the back of the coat check. He'd already hesitated long enough that Macnair would have noticed, but he wavered for another second before glancing over at Macnair's face.

"Promise not to touch me," he said, quietly but firmly. He could maybe (maybe) handle whatever Macnair wanted to say, but he couldn't handle Macnair touching him. It was too risky in a place like this anyway, but that didn't mean Macnair wouldn't try it. He had a habit of slipping into physicality that Ford had noticed, and which he found particularly maddening during their last two encounters (on all of their encounters, really, but before they'd broken things off Macnair's touch had been maddening in an entirely different way).

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Set by Lady!

He'd expected a No, if he was being honest, or more realistically some diversion to avoid moving. Then he would have pressed further, until Greengrass finally relented and agreed to discuss. He hadn't expected Greengrass to immediately give in, nor did he expect him to say that. He could feel his chest tightening in response, although he wasn't sure whether it was pain or guilt or betrayal, as if Greengrass was expecting him to corner him off in some faraway room and have his way with him without consent. Surely Greengrass didn't mean that, but—just for a brief second—it crossed Valerian's mind that he might.

So he agreed, even if he didn't want to have to. "Come on, then," he said, reaching out to Greengrass' shoulder to begin to guide him in the right direction, only to realize that this is what Greengrass meant. His chest tightened again, and this time he could identify the feeling as hurt, even if he wasn't sure what about not being able to touch Greengrass in such a casual manner hurt him. He dropped his hand, and without making eye contact began to head towards the foyer.

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Macnair's agreement, his words, how he started to reach for Ford's shoulder and how he stopped himself all happened in short succession, and each brought up a different collection of feelings and reactions, so that by the time Macnair had started walking (without having touched him) Ford's chest was a tangled mess of things he couldn't even begin to sort out. He was gratified, he was disappointed. For a moment there had been a rush of either fear or longing but it had flickered out as soon as it had appeared and now he was left with the absence of it, as though it was a river that had hollowed out a space and left traces of itself all through him once it had evaporated. He wanted to sort through all his feelings so that he could determine which ones to dismiss and which to hold on to; at the same time he had an instinct to push all of this down and pretend none of it existed, just as a survival tactic. He was impatient with himself for feeling so entirely off-balance after what amounted to only half a gesture from Macnair, and he thought (without knowing whether or not it was a serious thought) that if things kept up this way he might go mad. Hopefully not in the foyer at the Hogsmeade Memorial Ballroom — that would be quite the spectacle, wouldn't it?

They slipped out of the ballroom without saying anything. Ford moved far enough away from the door that they wouldn't be in any danger of being overheard from inside, but not far enough away that anyone who saw them might think they were intentionally trying to hide themselves away in a corner. He leaned against the wall and chewed the edge of his thumb, his eyes sliding from the floor up to Macnair's face and then back down again.

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Set by Lady!

It wasn't any easier once they were alone.

Valerian leaned against the wall a good armlength away from Greengrass, not wanting to make Greengrass so uncomfortable he wouldn't be capable of talking, but also not wanting to give himself any room to break the promise he'd made just a minute before. And it was hard, because Greengrass was chewing on his thumb and looking so nervous that he felt a strange instinct to protect him (as if he wasn't the one Greengrass apparently needed protecting from!). It was maddening and a little cruel, but he was determined to make his point without letting himself be distracted by the little things.

Except... He wasn't really sure what point he wanted to make. He wanted Greengrass to acknowledge what he'd admitted in the club, but he'd done so with the added explanation that he hadn't meant to, whatever that meant. What he really wanted was Greengrass to admit he hadn't moved on and that breaking up with him had been a mistake, but after chasing Greengrass down and physically cornering him he doubted he'd get a response that was remotely similar to that. He wouldn't be surprised if Greengrass hated him now—Greengrass had broken up with him, and although his jealous little glances and admissions had given him a glimmer of hope it wasn't as though Greengrass had invited him back into his life—but somehow he didn't care.

"You said you didn't mean to admit what you did," he said quietly, letting the side of his head rest against the wall, "but that doesn't change that you said it, and I—I can't wrap my head around it."

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Ford shifted uneasily. Macnair was right. Now that the words were out there, it hardly mattered that Ford hadn't meant to say them; he had to reckon with them all the same. All the more reason not to say anything else. Nothing he could say now would make this better, or easier. He couldn't make it make sense for Macnair, if that was what he was after, because it didn't make sense in general... or maybe it did, but Ford was too inexperienced with these sorts of things to recognize it, so he certainly couldn't explain it.

If he was just going to stand here silently chewing the edge of his thumbnail, though, he ought to have just made another attempt to flee. This wasn't going to help either of them with anything. He didn't know what would help, because he wasn't sure what he wanted, except for this conversation to be over — or better still, to have never begun in the first place.

But he'd told Macnair he was maybe a little in love with him, and Macnair understandably thought that was the sort of thing that required a little explanation, so here he was. The one thing Ford wanted, a speedy and painless ending to this conversation, was off the table. What else was left to say? He'd admitted he was maybe a little in love with Macnair, but he was really trying his best not to be — it was just that he wasn't very good at this.

"I wish you'd leave me alone," he said quietly. They were mostly alone here, but he still didn't want to risk being overheard, so he was nearly talking to his thumb rather than to Macnair as he continued. "Long enough to get over you."

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Set by Lady!

He hated this—feeling so vulnerable, hanging onto another man's every word. It was him who was supposed to leave Greengrass hanging onto his ever word, him who enjoyed playing hard-to-get. It was easy with other people, because they'd played the game, enjoyed it, and never felt the need to acknowledge that there was a game at all. Greengrass, however, was exactly the opposite: by refusing to play by the rules, by actively fighting against them, he'd become the one with the power and he didn't even seem it realize it. Valerian might have liked it this way, might have even enjoyed having the game reversed, but then Greengrass had ended things for the one reason that Valerian couldn't accept.

And how could he accept it? When was falling in love a bad thing? Valerian didn't think he was in love with Greengrass, but to be pushed away because he was apparently too lovable seemed a terrible way to end a relationship, especially one he didn't want to end.

Did Greengrass even realize how his heart panged when he said things like that? Valerian's lips curved up into a helpless little smile, but his eyes were sad. "I tried," he answered, and his lips settled back into a frown, "I can't."

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Ford looked up sharply at that. You don't mean that was his first thought, because he'd spent so long thinking that about every little thing Macnair did that sparked that fire in Ford's chest. None of his old excuses held up, though. Initially he'd dismissed Macnair's gestures and words as just thoughtless things, empty, made only because they were absent of the context Ford couldn't help but see them in. His confession Saturday, however, meant Macnair had to know what he'd said, and the way Ford would hear it. The only other similar comment he'd made since the club had been I trust you, and Ford had dismissed that because he'd been in pain and probably not thinking clearly. He didn't have that excuse now, either. So two possibilities remained: either Macnair had deliberately chosen to say that knowing how it would make Ford feel, laying it out like a trap (and Ford could not truly believe he had it in him to be so malicious and conniving as that)... or he meant it.

Did Ford want to believe he meant it? What would that mean, if he did? What would they do about it?

"I should get back," he blurted out, although they'd been in the foyer together for less than a minute. "My sister might be done with her dance by now and looking for me."

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   Valerian Macnair

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Set by Lady!

Valerian mindlessly dropped his gaze to Greengrass' lips. He heard every word he spoke, but his focus was still caught on the long enough to get over you that had left his lips moments ago. Greengrass continued to say things that suggested that he still wanted him, only to try and flee before Valerian could begin to process it. If he hadn't promised not to touch him, he would have reached out and taken his hand—not because he needed the affection, but because he desperately wanted to know if Greengrass would snatch it away or let it stay there for just long enough a moment to decide whether everything he was saying was sincere or whether it was just another way to escape his feelings. And maybe if he would have let his hand stay there, Valerian might have moved closer, and maybe then...

But it wouldn't happen. Valerian tore his gaze from Greengrass' lips, but he couldn't meet his eyes. Instead he focused on a statue at the far end of the foyer, but even then found himself trying to watch for any changes to Greengrass' expression out of the corner of his eyes. "If that is what you want," he responded, his tone as hollow as his chest felt.

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