27 May 1894 — Tycho's House, Wellingtonshire
Somewhere past three in the morning, after the family had returned from the Hogwarts Coming Out Ball and various stories had been exchanged with Mama and Grace, after the final nightcap with Noble, after Ford was confident his wife and the rest of the family had retired to their rooms for good, he stole out to the garden. He was still dressed from the ball, except for having loosened some things that would have been suspicious otherwise; he didn't want anyone to know he was planning on going out tonight, but he'd been planning it for the better part of six hours, ever since Tycho had purposefully brushed past him at the ball. He didn't have much to say, but what he did want to say couldn't be appropriately conveyed in a letter, he didn't think — at any rate, he thought Tycho would take him more seriously in person. So he apparated to Ty's bedroom. The curtains were open and it was a clear night, so the room was bathed in moonlight; it took only a second for his eyes to adjust and land on Tycho's figure on the bed.
"Hey," Ford started. His tone was abrupt; he crossed his arms over his chest. "Stop it."
Tycho didn't respond. Ford glowered at him a moment before his eyes further adjusted to the light level in the room and he realized Tycho hadn't responded because he was very definitely asleep. This made Ford pause, posture deflating and frown softening. He had been imagining this conversation for several hours and he had never imagined a version of it where Tycho was... sleeping. He didn't want to wake him — that seemed invasive in a way that apparating directly into his bedroom, somehow, did not. But he also didn't want to go home without having communicated something. Maybe he ought to leave a note...? Perhaps the fact that he had been here in person, had hand-delivered the missive as it were, would lend it some of the gravitas of an in-person communication, compared to a letter sent by post?
Uncertainly, Ford started across the room towards Tycho's writing desk. The room was more untidy than usual — Ty had servants, but if he'd been spending more time locked away in his room than usual it made sense that they wouldn't have intruded to clean around him. He wasn't taking care of himself, Ford surmised — little surprise there. He glanced back at Tycho on the bed, eyes lingering on his close-cropped hair (what possessed him?) — a beat too long, evidently, because he'd been looking at Ty and not at where he was placing his feet and was sent sprawling when his toe caught on a discarded piece of clothing. His knee knocked into a piece of furniture on his way down and Ford sucked in a breath, then swore.
"Hey," Ford started. His tone was abrupt; he crossed his arms over his chest. "Stop it."
Tycho didn't respond. Ford glowered at him a moment before his eyes further adjusted to the light level in the room and he realized Tycho hadn't responded because he was very definitely asleep. This made Ford pause, posture deflating and frown softening. He had been imagining this conversation for several hours and he had never imagined a version of it where Tycho was... sleeping. He didn't want to wake him — that seemed invasive in a way that apparating directly into his bedroom, somehow, did not. But he also didn't want to go home without having communicated something. Maybe he ought to leave a note...? Perhaps the fact that he had been here in person, had hand-delivered the missive as it were, would lend it some of the gravitas of an in-person communication, compared to a letter sent by post?
Uncertainly, Ford started across the room towards Tycho's writing desk. The room was more untidy than usual — Ty had servants, but if he'd been spending more time locked away in his room than usual it made sense that they wouldn't have intruded to clean around him. He wasn't taking care of himself, Ford surmised — little surprise there. He glanced back at Tycho on the bed, eyes lingering on his close-cropped hair (what possessed him?) — a beat too long, evidently, because he'd been looking at Ty and not at where he was placing his feet and was sent sprawling when his toe caught on a discarded piece of clothing. His knee knocked into a piece of furniture on his way down and Ford sucked in a breath, then swore.
Set by Lady!