Ford frowned tightly as Macnair leaned his elbow on the table. This was accompanied by another surge of what Ford now recognized as entirely irrational anger. Macnair hadn't promised him anything and didn't owe him anything, and he could go flirt with whomever he wanted, and he could even waltz over here and given Ford a look like that afterwards if he felt so inclined. Ford didn't have any ground to stand on, with his anger over this.
But didn't he, at least a little bit? Macnair had flirted with him, starting this whole thing off. Macnair had written the first letter. Macnair had kissed him. Macnair had asked him to stay the night. He'd reached for Ford's hand that night they'd been interrupted, and he'd started signing his letters yours. So if Ford was feeling awful and miserable about the fact that he wasn't around any more, whose fault was it, really? He kept telling himself that he had only himself to blame, for setting his expectations too high and allowing himself to get too invested too quickly, but it wasn't as though Macnair had played no role in this whole mess.
"And you thought coming over to chat would help my agitation?" he snapped.
But didn't he, at least a little bit? Macnair had flirted with him, starting this whole thing off. Macnair had written the first letter. Macnair had kissed him. Macnair had asked him to stay the night. He'd reached for Ford's hand that night they'd been interrupted, and he'd started signing his letters yours. So if Ford was feeling awful and miserable about the fact that he wasn't around any more, whose fault was it, really? He kept telling himself that he had only himself to blame, for setting his expectations too high and allowing himself to get too invested too quickly, but it wasn't as though Macnair had played no role in this whole mess.
"And you thought coming over to chat would help my agitation?" he snapped.
Set by Lady!