This was nerve-wracking—all of it. Greengrass being in his home on his lunch break, Greengrass wandering around his house trying to talk to the ghost without him, being left in the parlor of his largely empty home, the knowledge that after Greengrass was done they’d be having a talk.

And his experience, talks were never good. It didn’t help that their relationship dynamic had shifted since his engagement to Tatiana had been announced in the paper and Greengrass had questioned whether or not this could work.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been waiting in his parlor. He’d taken an extended lunch with the excuse of needing to handle a pressing family matter, and his superior hadn’t really cared anyways since he so frequently stayed past his shift anyways, but he’d arrived home and hadn’t even taken note of the clock when Greengrass appeared through the green flames. But it had to been at least an hour, or near to it, and he’d become all too aware about how slightly off the decor in his parlor was.

(Which annoyed him, because while he hadn’t personally decorated itself, he’d paid someone handsomely to do it while he was at work. He’d have to demand they at least fix the portraits—they were crooked by at least a few centimeters.)

Finally Greengrass entered the room, and Valerian hadn’t even been aware of how slouched over he’d been until he had to stand up. Long shifts always did a number on his back, but somehow sitting completely still was worse. He felt stiff as he moved to his feet, but only part of it was from his hour of stillness; he didn’t know what Greengrass would say, both in regards to the ghost or after.

“So,” he said, desperately hoping the tension would break soon. He just wanted to envelop Greengrass in his arms and kiss him until they’d forgotten this whole ordeal. “Did you—convince him?”

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