"I would not," Emrys snapped, his irritation flashing to the surface at Macmillan's stupid smile. He hadn't seemed to really comprehend the gravity of the situation, but Emrys wasn't sure it was within his power to impress it upon him. If he had gotten to nearly thirty years of age without having picked up basic self-preservation instincts, how was Emrys supposed to instill them within the next twelve hours?

"In fact," he continued testily, "If you survive tomorrow, I think it may be best if you lose my address. I can't have you making suggestive comments about me if you run into one of my brothers on the street." He was sort of joking, but not really. Obviously he didn't think Macmillan would make inappropriate jokes about fucking men whilst walking around in public, but his lack of discretion was deeply concerning to Emrys. Moreso, perhaps, than the fact that he apparently still thought bleeding out on some hill in Ireland would be terribly romantic.