It was a daft joke, really, and offered incredibly awkwardly (not that Ari could talk, after every single word out of his own mouth); and, somehow, anyway, it was horribly endearing, and the laugh that Ari let out was more than genuine.
"Well, consider me at your service," Ari offered, quite sure he was drunk. Had he said his magical wares were in the back? Was he still reading into this, or was that some kind of... proposition? (He supposed if he had not spent the last several years stubbornly in love with a man who would never love him back, he might be more competent at navigating subtext. Or at propositioning people.)
"I'd rather like to be -" he could feel the words forming almost of their own accord, more than, and suddenly panic tore the rug out from under him, wrenched the phrase from his tongue and forced it back down, violently. Either he was drunk or drugged, or he had gone completely insane, to be even considering being as forward as that - in a public place! And Mr. Aymslowe was a veritable stranger! And even if he was inclined that way - no, there was no excuse. "Friends," he said, his tone sounding strangled to him, but Ari finally feeling as though he had wrested back control of his mouth from its mutiny. With that self-control descended self-consciousness, embarrassment flaring up to new heights, and Ari decided it was probably time to remove himself from this situation.
There was still the lingering temptation to visit him in Irvingly, just to see if there was something, but - best not. "I've, er, I've got to go, but - it was lovely to meet you, enjoy the apple cake," he declared, all in one breath, rue written across his face as he took a few steps back and hastened away.
"Well, consider me at your service," Ari offered, quite sure he was drunk. Had he said his magical wares were in the back? Was he still reading into this, or was that some kind of... proposition? (He supposed if he had not spent the last several years stubbornly in love with a man who would never love him back, he might be more competent at navigating subtext. Or at propositioning people.)
"I'd rather like to be -" he could feel the words forming almost of their own accord, more than, and suddenly panic tore the rug out from under him, wrenched the phrase from his tongue and forced it back down, violently. Either he was drunk or drugged, or he had gone completely insane, to be even considering being as forward as that - in a public place! And Mr. Aymslowe was a veritable stranger! And even if he was inclined that way - no, there was no excuse. "Friends," he said, his tone sounding strangled to him, but Ari finally feeling as though he had wrested back control of his mouth from its mutiny. With that self-control descended self-consciousness, embarrassment flaring up to new heights, and Ari decided it was probably time to remove himself from this situation.
There was still the lingering temptation to visit him in Irvingly, just to see if there was something, but - best not. "I've, er, I've got to go, but - it was lovely to meet you, enjoy the apple cake," he declared, all in one breath, rue written across his face as he took a few steps back and hastened away.
