26 December, 1891 — A Hotel in Paris
It was Boxing Day and Ford was in Paris. He hadn't expected to be in Paris. He had expected to be in Black's, and while he'd been dreading it ever since receiving the invitation, Black's was manageable. Black's was nearly public and relatively safe. Macnair could probably give him a Christmas present at Black's, or he could maybe subtly call things off at Black's if he was hoping to prevent Ford from making a scene (as though Ford would have wanted to), but he couldn't do anything at Black's that would really twist at Ford's heart. When they'd met up at Black's, though, Macnair hadn't had a drink and hadn't wanted Ford to get one either, and then they were out the wrong door, the not-London not-Hogsmeade door, and in Paris.
How was Ford supposed to hold himself together in Paris?
They'd been at a restaurant, eating food so rich and decadent it made Ford want to cry even without everything else that was going on. The bottle of wine was so good Ford was surprised each time he found his glass empty. They'd walked through a park decorated with so many beautiful lights that Ford's breath kept catching when they turned a corner. Once when they were far enough into the park that there was no chance they'd be seen, Macnair slipped his arm around Ford's waist while they walked. They'd checked in to a hotel and Ford's stomach had dropped even further at the realization that Macnair wanted this to be an overnight outing. They weren't supposed to surprise each other with requests to spend the night — it was something they'd agreed on, back at the very beginning — but they were in Paris and Macnair had gotten a hotel room, so how could Ford have said no?
It was up several flights of stairs. It was a room with a view. The chances that Ford was going to get through to tomorrow without breaking down entirely plummeted with each floor they climbed.
He tried not to look too closely at anything in the hotel room once they'd gotten inside, because he didn't think he could handle it. "No more surprises?" he asked Macnair. Merlin, no more surprises, please.
How was Ford supposed to hold himself together in Paris?
They'd been at a restaurant, eating food so rich and decadent it made Ford want to cry even without everything else that was going on. The bottle of wine was so good Ford was surprised each time he found his glass empty. They'd walked through a park decorated with so many beautiful lights that Ford's breath kept catching when they turned a corner. Once when they were far enough into the park that there was no chance they'd be seen, Macnair slipped his arm around Ford's waist while they walked. They'd checked in to a hotel and Ford's stomach had dropped even further at the realization that Macnair wanted this to be an overnight outing. They weren't supposed to surprise each other with requests to spend the night — it was something they'd agreed on, back at the very beginning — but they were in Paris and Macnair had gotten a hotel room, so how could Ford have said no?
It was up several flights of stairs. It was a room with a view. The chances that Ford was going to get through to tomorrow without breaking down entirely plummeted with each floor they climbed.
He tried not to look too closely at anything in the hotel room once they'd gotten inside, because he didn't think he could handle it. "No more surprises?" he asked Macnair. Merlin, no more surprises, please.
Set by Lady!