Ford couldn't believe how casual Fisk seemed to be about this whole thing. Of course, casual wasn't really Ford's thing, at least when it came to potentially awkward conversational moments, but given how long they'd just stared at each other and how loaded the stare had been he was amazed that anyone had the ability to speak in full sentences following. Maybe Fisk had a lot more experience in matters like this (matters like what? Ford couldn't ignore the tension in his body when the other man was around or how clouded his head got when they talked about "quidditch" but he still hadn't really parsed together what else could happen. It was leading somewhere, but he didn't know what lay down that path and there was no one he could have asked).
The other option, of course, was that Fisk was acting just fine because despite all indications to the contrary, he hadn't cared about that long silent moment after they'd both tumbled to the ground. It was possible that when he said Quidditch he really meant Quidditch. Possible, but unlikely, Ford thought. He couldn't have explained it, but he had a feeling neither of them had meant Quidditch, even if Ford still hadn't put the pieces together on what they were actually talking about.
Ford pushed himself up to a sitting position and glanced at Fisk, still on the floor next to him. He'd placed his hand on the ground to support himself and Ford had a sudden thought: what would happen if he put his hand on top of Fisk's? It was reasonably within the realm of accidental touch, but they'd both know it wouldn't have been accidental at all. Ford's heartrate picked up at the thought. It might be just the push needed to get them from this tense stage to whatever followed, whatever stop was next on the obscured path. Did he want to go down that way? Did Fisk?
He couldn't. This was all well and fine as a fantasy, to wonder what might happen, but he was in no position to actually take leaps into the unknown. He cleared his throat; it was suddenly dry and very tight. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks to you."
Set by Lady!
The other option, of course, was that Fisk was acting just fine because despite all indications to the contrary, he hadn't cared about that long silent moment after they'd both tumbled to the ground. It was possible that when he said Quidditch he really meant Quidditch. Possible, but unlikely, Ford thought. He couldn't have explained it, but he had a feeling neither of them had meant Quidditch, even if Ford still hadn't put the pieces together on what they were actually talking about.
Ford pushed himself up to a sitting position and glanced at Fisk, still on the floor next to him. He'd placed his hand on the ground to support himself and Ford had a sudden thought: what would happen if he put his hand on top of Fisk's? It was reasonably within the realm of accidental touch, but they'd both know it wouldn't have been accidental at all. Ford's heartrate picked up at the thought. It might be just the push needed to get them from this tense stage to whatever followed, whatever stop was next on the obscured path. Did he want to go down that way? Did Fisk?
He couldn't. This was all well and fine as a fantasy, to wonder what might happen, but he was in no position to actually take leaps into the unknown. He cleared his throat; it was suddenly dry and very tight. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks to you."
Set by Lady!