20 December, 1891 — Greengrass Home
Normally Ford liked Christmas, but since they'd put up the tree this year he'd been avoiding the parlor whenever he could. It was easier said than done; the house was too small for the lot of them already, and there weren't many spaces to just exist beyond the parlor. He could only spend so much time in his room, and even then he could see holiday decorations outside his window if he glanced that direction. Twice in the last week he'd even heard caroling from the street, so there really was no escaping it.
He liked Christmas. He'd even managed to get the money to work, supplying Grace and Clem with their allowances to go buy presents, by picking up extra afternoon shifts earlier that month that no one in the division wanted. So he'd been screamed at by a few ghouls — worse things had happened. If it was just the money and he would have been over the Christmas anxiety the minute he handed allowances off, because in the past two years he'd found enough tricks to get his own shopping done for next to nothing. There was something still gnawing at him though, something unresolved that was brought to mind every time he glimpsed the tree or heard bells or smelled something laden with cinnamon from the kitchen: he hadn't bought a present for Macnair. He didn't know if he was supposed to, and didn't know if Macnair was planning to get him anything. They hadn't made any firm plans to see each other the rest of the week, and Ford had been avoiding the club except for his conversations with Cash so that he had less of a chance of running into him by accident. Maybe he was overthinking it — but he couldn't stop overthinking it.
They weren't supposed to still be together. Macnair should have broken things off by now. Ford was starting to worry that he wouldn't.
What was Ford going to do if they saw each other on Christmas Eve or something and Macnair had some wonderful, thoughtful (probably expensive) gift to give him, and Ford was empty handed? On the other hand, how would he ever recover if he spent hours trying to find the perfect gift, and handed it off just to be met with the breakup he'd been expecting for so long?
He'd been in his room for an hour after dinner, but it was too early to go to sleep and he wasn't tired yet anyway. He headed to the parlor and tried to avoid looking at the tree while he poured himself a drink. Noble was there, though, and he couldn't just leave after making a drink. That would be obviously weird, when he didn't have any good excuse for where he was going. With a short, internal sigh, he moved to one of the armchairs and dropped down.
"Finished your gift shopping yet?" he asked, without much enthusiasm.
He liked Christmas. He'd even managed to get the money to work, supplying Grace and Clem with their allowances to go buy presents, by picking up extra afternoon shifts earlier that month that no one in the division wanted. So he'd been screamed at by a few ghouls — worse things had happened. If it was just the money and he would have been over the Christmas anxiety the minute he handed allowances off, because in the past two years he'd found enough tricks to get his own shopping done for next to nothing. There was something still gnawing at him though, something unresolved that was brought to mind every time he glimpsed the tree or heard bells or smelled something laden with cinnamon from the kitchen: he hadn't bought a present for Macnair. He didn't know if he was supposed to, and didn't know if Macnair was planning to get him anything. They hadn't made any firm plans to see each other the rest of the week, and Ford had been avoiding the club except for his conversations with Cash so that he had less of a chance of running into him by accident. Maybe he was overthinking it — but he couldn't stop overthinking it.
They weren't supposed to still be together. Macnair should have broken things off by now. Ford was starting to worry that he wouldn't.
What was Ford going to do if they saw each other on Christmas Eve or something and Macnair had some wonderful, thoughtful (probably expensive) gift to give him, and Ford was empty handed? On the other hand, how would he ever recover if he spent hours trying to find the perfect gift, and handed it off just to be met with the breakup he'd been expecting for so long?
He'd been in his room for an hour after dinner, but it was too early to go to sleep and he wasn't tired yet anyway. He headed to the parlor and tried to avoid looking at the tree while he poured himself a drink. Noble was there, though, and he couldn't just leave after making a drink. That would be obviously weird, when he didn't have any good excuse for where he was going. With a short, internal sigh, he moved to one of the armchairs and dropped down.
"Finished your gift shopping yet?" he asked, without much enthusiasm.
Set by Lady!