Ty staggered to his feet and Ford instinctively took half a step closer to him, in case Ty stumbled and needed someone to catch him. "I thought you said you stopped after I..." he started, then shrugged instead of finishing the sentence. Maybe he was misremembering; he knew he had told Tycho he couldn't read poetry anymore, but now he didn't actually remember exactly what Tycho had said in response. He supposed it didn't matter; he couldn't really take Tycho writing poetry as a sign of stability if the only evidence he had of it were discarded scraps of paper. Scraps he clearly didn't want Ford to see, if his haphazard attempt to scoop them away with his foot was any indication. Ford frowned.
"Sit down," he said, tone gentler but still firm. Less a suggestion than a directive. He reached out for Ty's elbow so that he could try to guide him back down towards the bed. "I won't read them. Just tell me if you want them on your desk or in the bin."
"Sit down," he said, tone gentler but still firm. Less a suggestion than a directive. He reached out for Ty's elbow so that he could try to guide him back down towards the bed. "I won't read them. Just tell me if you want them on your desk or in the bin."
Set by Lady!