Ugh, why did Macnair have to sound so miserable about it? Ford would have been back through the door into the ballroom before Macnair had even finished his sentence if it wasn't for his tone. As it was he'd pushed off from the wall and taken half a step to increase the distance between them before hesitating, his hands shoved into the pockets of his suit jacket.

It wasn't as though he could do anything to help. Even if Macnair meant it, even if they felt (roughly) the same way, what was he supposed to do next? What did that mean, when Macnair's wedding invitation was still sitting in Ford's parlor?

"Where are you going on your honeymoon?" Ford asked abruptly.

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Set by Lady!

Valerian gave an exasperated look, his gaze finally finding Greengrass' once more. "My honeymoon?" he asked, wondering how Greengrass could possibly be thinking about his wedding... Except, the longer he allowed that train of thought to settle, he remembered how upset Greengrass had been at the revelation of his engagement, and how jealous he'd been acting just days ago at the club. But still, why bring it up? Trying to figure out how long you have to concoct a plan to never see me again?, he wanted to ask, but that would have been cruel and he wasn't trying to upset Greengrass.

He pushed away from the wall, and in doing so somehow found himself closer to Greengrass than he'd been before. "It's my job to pretend to care about my honeymoon. You don't have to," he answered.

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Well, what was he supposed to say to that? Nothing, he supposed. Maybe that was his fault. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, when he asked the question. For Macnair to answer him and for Ford to nod and say sounds nice, probably — the subtext being see? What do you want from me? Because at the end of the day he was still getting married (at the end of the week, literally), which left them no better off than they had been when this conversation started. Ford couldn't just decide to go spend the night with Macnair three days before his wedding and hope everything would work out alright in the end. Maybe if they'd worked this all out beforehand and Ford had some idea of whether it was even possible to keep it up, maybe, but Macnair had never been particularly interested in talking about that. Admittedly, Ford hadn't been particularly interested in hearing it, either — and then things had ended.

Maybe if he hadn't ended things when he had. Maybe if he'd believed it was actually possible that Macnair might mean any of those little things he kept doing. . .

But this was only torturing himself, thinking through all these maybe ifs when there was only one thing that was.

"Alright," he said after a moment. He'd taken his time considering how to respond, but had come up with nothing better than this. "I guess I'll see you."

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Set by Lady!

There were so many things he could have said, maybe things he should have said, but he couldn't envision anything that would have changed the outcome of the conversation. Maybe he'd feel differently in an hour, when he was still watching Greengrass from across the ballroom, reflecting on the turns in their conversation and how he could have done things differently—but here and now, he knew he couldn't change anything.

"Wednesday," he murmured, suddenly very anxious at he prospect of facing Greengrass at his own wedding. But he'd made sure the Greengrasses were on the list—more a courtesy than anything, because he hadn't honestly expected them to come with Greengrass as the head of household—so he would have to find a way to manage.

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Ford had meant I'll see you as more of a general send-off than a reference to anything. Obviously he knew exactly when the wedding was, but he expected that if Macnair wasn't going out of his way to corner him during the reception — which he would presumably no longer feel any need to do — that it would be easy for him to ignore or avoid Ford. His answer made it seem that wasn't the case, or at least that Macnair didn't think so. Ford was reminded of his earlier words: I tried. I can't.

Ford shifted his weight from foot to foot. He wanted to say something, but was nervous — not necessarily about the words themselves, but about the implication behind them. He glanced towards the ballroom door and considered just leaving, then looked back towards Macnair, who wasn't meeting his eyes. Ford chewed his lower lip and frowned.

"Would you rather I didn't come?" he eventually asked. "My sisters would never have forgiven me if I turned down an invitation from the Lestranges, but I can send them with my brother and pretend to be sick or something," he offered. His tone tried for levity, but was a little too awkward and stilted to manage it. "Fake dragon pox, maybe."

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Did he want Greengrass to come? On one hand, the thought of having to introduce Tatiana to him (and vice versa) was something that was likely to appear in one of his nightmares between now and the wedding, but Valerian couldn't imagine telling Greengrass he didn't want him anywhere, even if that place was his wedding reception. "I would never turn down the opportunity to be in the same room as you," he said, the corners of his lips tilting up again as if he wanted to smile, but the conversation had dampened his mood so much that he couldn't find it in him to do so. "But I don't want you to be miserable. Ever. It's your choice."

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Ford wavered, unsure what to make of that. If Macnair had asked him to miss the wedding it would have been telling, because that was probably what Ford would have done had their positions been reversed. That was why he'd been so hesitant to ask in the first place; it wasn't that the offer itself was difficult, but rather that Macnair's answer might illuminate how he was feeling and what he was thinking in a way that his words had only hinted at so far. Of course, if Ford took Macnair's words at face value he had his answer, but he didn't think he could. That was the sort of thing someone might say while flirting; it could be fake. The tone of his voice gave some hint, but it wasn't as clear of an indication as admitting he didn't want Ford there would have been. There was vulnerability in that, because it meant he wasn't strong enough to go through it himself — or maybe that he was afraid of something after all. In any case, if he'd said yes Ford knew he would have believed it, in a way he wasn't sure he could given how Macnair had responded instead.

"I don't want you to be miserable, either," he said carefully.

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Misery was subjective. He didn't think he'd be miserable on his wedding day whether or not Greengrass was there. He wasn't thrilled to be marrying Tatiana because she'd be his wife, but because marrying her meant he'd finally succeeded in the one way that seemed to matter to his mother. Of course, in the context of his relationship with Greengrass, it was slightly different. Of course being in the same room would invoke the feeling of longing he experienced at the Fae Ball and at the club and even here, but Greengrass not being in the same room wasn't likely to make him magically forget his feelings.

"Your physical presence won't make me miserable, if that's what you're asking," inching forward unconsciously but making no move to touch him, "Unless you choose to flirt with my guests. That would probably make me miserable." It was a deflection and he knew it, one he'd only employed to hide the truth: he would be miserable, not because of Greengrass' presence or lack thereof, but because either way Greengrass would be out of reach in all the ways that truly mattered.

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Ford frowned. That wasn't what he was asking, exactly. What he was really asking was did you mean it, but he was trying to ask without coming right out and saying the words, and Macnair kept answering his questions in ways that didn't really get at what he wanted to know. He'd had a chance to ask about it directly earlier, right after Macnair had said I can't, and he'd thrown it away by trying to run out instead of digging in. It would probably be better if he just followed through on that initial instinct and went back to the ballroom, but now that he'd started sort-of hinting at that question he thought going back to the party without knowing the answer would drive him crazy.

But Macnair probably wasn't going to just come out and say it any more explicitly than he already had, if he was feeling the same way Ford was. Ford hadn't had any plans to be explicit about it, until the moment those words had left his mouth Saturday night. If their positions were reversed, if Macnair had made an admission and was now trying to draw a similar one out of Ford on nothing more than a hunch (or maybe a hope), would it have worked?

And even if he did get the admission he was after, what happened next? Ford still didn't know.

He shifted his weight and glanced towards the ballroom door. "I'll probably have to flirt with a few of the ladies," he pointed out. At least, if he could hold himself together well enough to do more than just stare across the room at Macnair and Miss Lestrange for the whole event. Ford's eyes found Macnair's face as he continued, "I probably ought to be off flirting with a few of them now."

He made no move to leave. His eyes swept over the foyer: the front doors, the coat check closet, the staircase up to the balcony. No where to go, he thought, without knowing why he was looking.

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Set by Lady!

So much for a deflection. He'd been joking about the flirting, but Greengrass apparently was not. He stared at Greengrass, biting down on the inside of his bottom lip until a little bump formed, torn between replying and the ominous feeling that whatever he answered with would be used against him. Was Greengrass hoping he'd be jealous? Because if so he'd managed it, and while it might not have expressed it immediately with words it was evident in the way his gaze intensified. There was an equal chance that Greengrass was looking for him to admit that he didn't want him at his wedding, which would give Greengrass the excuse not to come without becoming the bad guy. Why was it so difficult to figure out, and moreover: since when had he become the type of person to hesitate in banter like this?

"And yet you're here," he said finally, taking another step towards Greengrass that effectively shattered the veil of separateness between them. He was in Greengrass' space now, close enough to touch him if he wanted to—and he did want to, but he didn't, because he respected Greengrass' wishes no matter how stupid and hurtful they were, "With me."

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As Macnair stepped forward, Ford felt a rush of anticipation — anticipation which lingered on the edges of his skin, prickling like electricity instead of discharging, because of course nothing happened. Ford had told Macnair not to touch him, and so far he hadn't, but — Ford wanted him to. Not here, not now, but he wanted it. He'd been so used to thinking about their relationship as entirely one-sided when it came to emotional investment, and in that case being touched was dangerous and painful. It made it harder to think rationally about what was happening, and harder to put the right amount of distance between himself and his feelings, and it would only lead to more nights spent staring at his ceiling, not sure what to think and unable to sleep.

If Macnair was feeling the same way he was — which Ford was still unsure was really the case, but the evidence in favor of it seemed to be mounting — then touch was something else entirely. A connection, a chance to try and communicate something neither of them were willing to come right out and say.

He probably still shouldn't. He was letting his heart run away without his brain; he had no concrete proof that Macnair did feel anything for him that went beyond the physical chemistry they had when they kissed. And this was still the wrong place and time to test the theory, if he decided it was worth testing.

He needed time to think.

Ford took a half-step towards Macnair, his eyes moving from the other man's feet gradually up to his face. "Write me a letter and tell me what you want," he said. "With all the details. Exactly how you want it to work after Wednesday."

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Set by Lady!

Valerian felt himself go stiff as Greengrass stepped closer, putting no more than a foot of space between them. He didn't still out of discomfort or anxiousness—no, he was only anxious to reach out and wrap his arms around Greengrass' waist, to trace the planes of his back through his coat, or maybe even under it if he allowed his mind to wander that far out of the realm of reality. Valerian wanted him—not just in a sexual way, but in a different, but still very physical way. He wanted to be wrapped around Greengrass, to wrap Greengrass around him, to bury his head in the crook of his neck and feel the rhythmic beating of his pulse.

In any case, it would have been easier to show what he wanted than it would be to write it down on a letter. He'd always been better at showing than telling, but Greengass clearly intended to make him prove how badly he wanted him, intended to torture him by making him sit at a desk and contemplate all his options for getting the man back in his bed. "I'm not the most eloquent correspondent," he responded, mindlessly reaching out to trace his fingertips down the arm of Greengrass' jacket, pulling back the second his fingertips brushed against the back of Greengrass' hand, "And I don't think I need to write a letter to tell you what I want." Greengrass knew what he wanted, didn't he? The answer should be rather obvious now if it hadn't been before.

"But if it's what you need," he said, his gaze dropping from Greengrass' eyes, down to his lips, "I suppose I can manage it."

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A shiver went down his spine as Macnair's fingers brushed against his sleeve. A smile started at the corner of his mouth as he noticed where Macnair's eyes were going and he started to bite it back, but decided against it. Macnair was slipping, with his fingers and his eyes. Why not allow himself a smile? Merlin knew it had been long enough since he'd even wanted to smile in the other man's presence, but he did now.

He leaned in and imagined planting a soft kiss on Macnair's cheek. Maybe sometime soon he'd be able to actually do it.

"I'll look forward to reading it," he said, still smiling. "I promise not to hold any inelegance against you."

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Set by Lady!

Valerian's gaze snapped back up to Greengrass', and seeing him smile at him—something he hadn't seen in what felt like forever—he couldn't stop himself from smiling back. "You'd better not," he quipped, mostly teasing. Had this been a more private settings, he might have pushed the boundaries even further. Greengrass was standing here, smiling and offering him a chance to formulate a plan to continue their affair. It would take a few days, but he would finish it before the morning of his wedding. He had to.

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