Ford was here to meet someone, not just to kill time, which was the only reason he hadn't already turned around and left. He hadn't been spending much time at Black's since his break with Macnair, but it hadn't occurred to him that he might have been avoiding the club for any particular reason. He was just busy with the season, that was all. There were events nearly every night, and when there weren't events sometimes he just needed a break from it all and he'd spent a quiet night at home (Mondays, always Mondays — those felt particularly quiet, anyway). So it was natural that he hadn't been to Black's quite as often, and if he hadn't been seeing Macnair as a consequence, well, it wasn't as though he'd meant for that to happen.
Though if he'd expected this, he would have been avoiding Macnair with far more intentionally, and with more determination, because now he was sitting here at this table with a drink he hadn't touched wishing he could make something burst into flames on a whim, just to give him an excuse to break his appointment and leave. A part of him thought that maybe it was his own fault, because maybe he ought to have been expecting this. Ford had always known that Macnair was more experienced than he was, and it hadn't been much of a leap from there to assume he wasn't as invested in their relationship as Ford had been. He'd known that Macnair wasn't going to be sitting at home pining for him, or anything. His show of intimacy was just that — a show. Their brief affair would probably have no lasting impact on Macnair's life at all after it was through. Ford knew that. So maybe he should have been prepared to encounter this, the next time that he saw Macnair at the club. Maybe academically he even was prepared; maybe if he'd just heard about it or read about it or something, he would have been able to rationalize his way out of any particular reaction. Sitting here and seeing it, though, Ford couldn't help how angry he felt that Macnair was flirting — flirting — flirting! — with someone else.
He should have expected this. He knew Macnair hadn't been that invested in their particular relationship. He knew these affairs were something Macnair did. But Merlin, did he have to do it so soon? It had only been a month since the last time they'd kissed. Two weeks since Macnair had fucking caressed Ford's ankle at a party, as though he still wanted to kiss him. Ford tried not to be too obvious about how much attention he was paying to Macnair and his new friend, but it was pointless to try and prevent himself from looking over every few seconds, especially when he had nothing else to do except wait for the person he was supposed to be meeting here. At first he tried to convince himself that he didn't really know what was going on, since he wasn't close enough that he could hear what they were talking about. Maybe these were just old friends, catching up. He couldn't really believe that, though, because he knew what Macnair flirting with a man at the club looked like, because he'd fucking been there and he remembered it.
Oh my god, were they even sitting in the same fucking chairs? The fucking indignity! Not that Ford had any particular claim to those chairs just because he'd sat there one night in April, but holy hell — it just seemed to make it all worse, adding insult to injury. Couldn't Macnair have made even the slightest effort to pretend that Ford had been any different from the string of men he'd been with before, or would be with after? Fucking hell...
Ford checked his watch, wondering how much longer he'd have to wait until he could give up on this meeting and go home, and discovered to his absolute anguish that there were still three minutes before the time they'd even agreed to meet, so the fellow wasn't even late yet. Fuck's sake, why had he showed up early? Ford glanced back at Macnair again without thinking about it (he had not gone much longer than thirty seconds since arriving without glancing at Macnair, despite his best efforts to be less obvious about it) and saw Macnair looking back at him, now without a partner. Ford's cheeks flushed and he dragged his eyes down to his glass. He might have been gratified to see that the gentleman Macnair had been flirting with had left, if Macnair hadn't caught him looking. Now Macnair was going to know that Ford had been watching him, and he was going to know how much this whole thing bothered him — Ford had never been very good at keeping his feelings off his face and had no hope that he had suddenly developed the skill now, when he felt as though he might as well have manifested a literal storm cloud over his head.
Though if he'd expected this, he would have been avoiding Macnair with far more intentionally, and with more determination, because now he was sitting here at this table with a drink he hadn't touched wishing he could make something burst into flames on a whim, just to give him an excuse to break his appointment and leave. A part of him thought that maybe it was his own fault, because maybe he ought to have been expecting this. Ford had always known that Macnair was more experienced than he was, and it hadn't been much of a leap from there to assume he wasn't as invested in their relationship as Ford had been. He'd known that Macnair wasn't going to be sitting at home pining for him, or anything. His show of intimacy was just that — a show. Their brief affair would probably have no lasting impact on Macnair's life at all after it was through. Ford knew that. So maybe he should have been prepared to encounter this, the next time that he saw Macnair at the club. Maybe academically he even was prepared; maybe if he'd just heard about it or read about it or something, he would have been able to rationalize his way out of any particular reaction. Sitting here and seeing it, though, Ford couldn't help how angry he felt that Macnair was flirting — flirting — flirting! — with someone else.
He should have expected this. He knew Macnair hadn't been that invested in their particular relationship. He knew these affairs were something Macnair did. But Merlin, did he have to do it so soon? It had only been a month since the last time they'd kissed. Two weeks since Macnair had fucking caressed Ford's ankle at a party, as though he still wanted to kiss him. Ford tried not to be too obvious about how much attention he was paying to Macnair and his new friend, but it was pointless to try and prevent himself from looking over every few seconds, especially when he had nothing else to do except wait for the person he was supposed to be meeting here. At first he tried to convince himself that he didn't really know what was going on, since he wasn't close enough that he could hear what they were talking about. Maybe these were just old friends, catching up. He couldn't really believe that, though, because he knew what Macnair flirting with a man at the club looked like, because he'd fucking been there and he remembered it.
Oh my god, were they even sitting in the same fucking chairs? The fucking indignity! Not that Ford had any particular claim to those chairs just because he'd sat there one night in April, but holy hell — it just seemed to make it all worse, adding insult to injury. Couldn't Macnair have made even the slightest effort to pretend that Ford had been any different from the string of men he'd been with before, or would be with after? Fucking hell...
Ford checked his watch, wondering how much longer he'd have to wait until he could give up on this meeting and go home, and discovered to his absolute anguish that there were still three minutes before the time they'd even agreed to meet, so the fellow wasn't even late yet. Fuck's sake, why had he showed up early? Ford glanced back at Macnair again without thinking about it (he had not gone much longer than thirty seconds since arriving without glancing at Macnair, despite his best efforts to be less obvious about it) and saw Macnair looking back at him, now without a partner. Ford's cheeks flushed and he dragged his eyes down to his glass. He might have been gratified to see that the gentleman Macnair had been flirting with had left, if Macnair hadn't caught him looking. Now Macnair was going to know that Ford had been watching him, and he was going to know how much this whole thing bothered him — Ford had never been very good at keeping his feelings off his face and had no hope that he had suddenly developed the skill now, when he felt as though he might as well have manifested a literal storm cloud over his head.
Set by Lady!