Macnair didn't seem to be annoyed anymore, which did a great deal to lessen the tension in the pit of Ford's stomach over this. It seemed like the stakes were lower, if Macnair wasn't annoyed — like there was less pressure to sort this all out right away when he still wasn't even sure he totally understood what this all entailed. Macnair had taken a step closer, and it felt different than it had the last time, though that almost certainly had more to do with Ford than it did with Macnair. Last time it had felt like Macnair was closing in on him, and he didn't feel so trapped this time. Not now that Macnair had apologized for not writing, and not when he seemed willing to accommodate the boundary Ford had verbalized, however slight it was.

That, and — he knew he shouldn't think of it this way, because he'd already beaten himself up enough for similar sentiments, but — it was something to hear Macnair suggest he'd find another place. Ford knew he shouldn't think of it like that, because he doubted Macnair was thinking about it that way, but — a place Macnair picked out for them — for him. It made his stomach flutter in a way he knew it shouldn't, in a way he'd later try to convince himself it hadn't.

Ford chewed his lower lip and took a tentative step towards Macnair. He wanted to touch him, but he wasn't sure he ought to, given everything they'd been talking about. "Alright," he said, tone still nervous. "That's — alright. When is — when are you — the wedding?"

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