Would he ever be able to face Greengrass again? He felt so bad—the shame was almost as bad as the humiliation, because he’d brought Greengrass to his home and put him in an uncomfortable position, and now the other man looked absolutely miserable. After their fight in the parlor he'd done his best to avoid precisely this, because the last thing he wanted was another fight. Greengrass stuffed his head into the pillow and gave a loud moan that only worsened how he felt, because there was no clear way to help him, either. This was a far too awkward and pressing situation to handle through physical affection; at the end something still had to be done, and no amount of soothing touches would change that. But that was still the question, wasn't it? What could done? It was a decision Greengrass would have to make.

"Look," Valerian said, reluctantly prying himself from the bed. He pulled his clothes on—trousers first. which he struggled to get up, and then pulled his white shirt over his head, and then wrapped himself in his house coat. "This is my problem to deal with. I don't want you to be..." Upset. Unsettled by the idea of being in his house anymore than he already was. "I'll deal with this myself. Truly." In truth, Valerian did not like ghosts; they spoke to the reality of a life after death—or something after death—and the more Valerian considered it the more uneasy it made him. But the ghosts themselves were... far less a problem than a real, actual person, right? Right?

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