Seein' you tonight, it's a bad idea, right?
Seein' you tonight, it's a bad idea, right?
Seein' you tonight, it's a bad idea, right?
Seein' you tonight, fuck it, it's fine
December 1st, 1894 — Greengrass Residence

Life was hard when you were lonely and heartbroken. But time moved things along. His shingles were still starkly black but his clothing were once more vibrant. He went out with his friends, he worked on his inventions, he scammed muggle ghost hunters, he had even flirted heavily with a man at the last 'art' party he had gone to and had even come close to kissing him. However, the last point had left him feeling guilty and feeling the need to numb his feelings about it.

He also missed having regular sex. He felt guilty about that too. He had not been touched in months, not since the last time Ford had been successfully tempted back into his bed. Which had been a while ago considering they were doing their best to not contact one another. Or at least Ford was not reaching out as far as Ty was aware.

Tycho was still unsure if the whole literal stroll through memory lane had been real and not some fever dream. As his intoxication deepened, his hold on his inhibitions lessened. And so, at about four in the morning a drunken raven flew out of Tychos window and landed on Fords windowsill. Or at least tried as he initially thudded against the window. He was irrationally offended that it was closed. Never mind that this was a logical choice to make in December weather.

He noisily knocked on the window with his beak, a little wobbly even in bird form.

Fortitude Greengrass

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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Ford woke with a start, and knew immediately that something had woken him but took a second to realize what. Cash, he thought immediately. The last time had been Cash. Noble off the rails again was his second thought, although that had happened during broad daylight and Noble was (probably) chastened enough not to do it again so soon. Gradually, groggily, he became aware of a repetitive noise at his window. He stumbled out of bed without pausing to think through what it might be, off to investigate and resolve whatever the issue was. He was anticipating something mundane... maybe a shutter that had just lost a hinge. To anyone else a bird on the windowsill might have been in the category of mundane. To Ford it was anything but.

He stepped back from the window. He took a breath and ran his hand through his hair, waiting to see if he would wake up. It was far more reasonable to believe that this was a dream than to think that Tycho was actually showing up in his room again, months after they'd called everything off.

He didn't wake up. Tycho remained on his window. The raven seemed to be looking at him disapprovingly, if that was an expression ravens were capable of making.

"No," Ford said through the shut glass.

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Set by Lady!

And there was Ford. Looking so sleepy, beautiful and adorable that Tycho felt like he might combust. The world was unfair. The 'No' was muffled due to the stubbornly shut window but he could hear it.

If a raven could make itself look forlorn and pitiful, Tycho certainly did his best to express it. Then he tapped again, more insistently now that he knew Ford was awake.

Fortitude Greengrass

  

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The bird kept tapping. Ford was sure that Ty had heard him, and was intentionally ignoring him. Theoretically Ford could go lay down again, or at least draw the curtain closed so that Ty might suppose he was laying down, but that wouldn't stop him. It would be a battle of wills: who would give up first? Tycho on the windowsill or Ford tangled in his sheets being driven slightly mad by the persistent noise? It was December, and probably cold outside, so maybe he had some chance of winning this — but then the thought of drawing the curtains and shutting him out while Tycho waited forlornly in the cold made his stomach flip. Were feathers much protection from the elements? Surely not to the same degree as fur; birds were supposed to fly south in the winter.

He approached the window again and undid the latch. "You can't be here," he said, still through the window, but only because he hadn't managed to lift it yet. In another moment he had the window raised and had, with a begrudging expression, stepped aside to leave room for the raven to come in.

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Set by Lady!

Tycho felt victorious when the window unlatched. He knew he shouldn't be here but yet here he was. As the window opened to him, he flew into the room. He took a moment to shake off his feathers and preened his feathers with his beak.

He shifted to human (fully clothed) and immediately invaded Fords space. "Can I please just kiss you?" He asked in a whisper, resting his forehead against Fords. He didn't know what that might solve but he felt desperate for it.

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   Fortitude Greengrass

This was exactly why Tycho couldn't be here. Hadn't Ford made this clear the last time Ty had invaded his room? Hadn't he made it clear in the letters they'd exchanged that fall? He knew he had. He knew Tycho knew better. And he knew better, too; he'd known that he shouldn't have even let Tycho inside, that nothing good could come of it, and here Tycho was immediately proving him right by leaning his forehead up against his and making impossible requests. But there was something that immediately set his heart racing why Tycho stepped up to him — something in his body that didn't care about shoulds and shouldn'ts, something that tingled with possibility. He took a breath and steeled himself to say no, but then —

"Are you drunk?" he asked, picking up the scent of alcohol immediately. He took half a step backwards to put distance between them, but as he was wedged into the space between Tycho, the bed, and the wall there wasn't much space to be had.

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Set by Lady!

Tears came to Tychos eyes and he chuckled at the question asked. "I was at a party, a man liked me, really liked me," he murmured, not sure if he was making sense. He stepped closer again. "I couldn't even kiss him when he tried. Because he wasn't you.. I am always missing everything about you. I miss that noise you make in your throat when I make a love mark on the inside of your thighs, the way your hair tumbles against me when your snuggling into me, the way you are always dubious about my purchases." He was rambling and he forced himself to stop. "Kiss me?"

  

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Tycho launching in with the news that he'd flirted with a man at a party and then that man had tried to kiss him was the verbal equivalent of when cats woke you up in the morning by dropping a dead rat on your pillow, as far as Ford was concerned. He couldn't even react to it, though, because now Ty was waxing romantic. Ford wouldn't have been surprised if he'd made up a poem right there on the spot — probably the alcohol was at least half the reason he hadn't. Ford's cheeks were turning red. He wished he had somewhere else to back up to, but he'd already exhausted the space available to him unless he decided to crawl across the bed.

"I'm not going to kiss you," he insisted. "I'm married." Then, a beat later and against his better judgement: "Who was this guy, anyway?"

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Set by Lady!

"That didn't seem to matter so much the last time I was inside of you," Tycho said with a humourless laugh. He shrugged his shoulders when he was asked about the guy. "What does it matter? You're married."

  

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The phrase last time I was inside you made Ford's skin prickle. It wasn't just the casual reference to his infidelity — it was that, but it wasn't just that. But Merlin, that phrase made it sound so cheap, so crass. It was just because Tycho was drunk, he told himself. Tycho wouldn't have said that sober. Tycho wouldn't have been here sober.

"Fuck off, Tycho," he grumbled. "Is your floo open at home?"

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Set by Lady!

"Probably," he mumbled. "Gonna march me over to your fireplace?" That seemed risky though coming here in the first place had been risky. What had he been thinking? The comedown from the adrenaline and drunkenness that had brought him here was crashing down hard. "I'll go the way I came. Sorry." Sorry I still love you. Sorry I can't seem to accept what you turned life into. "But you really did love me, right?" He felt it, knew it, knew how they had mutually struggled, but with everything, one could not help but want to hear it.

  

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Tycho hadn't made a move to the window, but Ford edged towards it all the same, ready to prevent him from leaving if he started that direction. Ty might have gotten here in one piece, but that didn't mean he'd get back the same way, and Ford wasn't going to sleep well if he just let him disappear into the darkness.

"What kind of a question is that?" he asked, tone softening. He didn't want to say it, because he knew if he tried to form the word love he'd have to work past a lump in his throat to do it, and in his present state he didn't trust Tycho not to use it against him.

"You're in no state to fly," he argued, reaching out to grab Tycho's arm. "I'll take you through the floo or we'll go through the garden and I'll apparate you, alright?"

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Set by Lady!

"Just thought I'd ask," he murmured, his answer given in the way Fords tone softened and the look on his face. How tragic it was. He should be trying to move on from all this but it felt like an impossible endeavour. "You'll always be the love of my life," he said as the other grabbed his arm. He stumbled a bit and grabbed onto Ford for some stability.

  

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What a disaster this was. Ford took a step closer as Tycho stumbled, so that he was in a position to catch him against his chest. It was an instinctive movement rather than an affectionate one, but it left him with one arm slid around Tycho's back and the other hand on his opposite arm. Given the way Tycho was leaning it was halfway to an embrace, and then given what he'd said...

Ford moved his head gently until he was in a position to smell Tycho's hair, beneath the scents of the things he'd had to drink tonight. He spent a moment there, holding Tycho and thinking you beautiful imbecile.

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Set by Lady!

It wasn’t light yet when she woke; the early hours of the morning. She probably had a few more hours in bed, but something had stirred her from sleep – she felt oddly bloated, maybe, and uncomfortable; or her bladder was full. She got out of bed and fished for the chamberpot under it rather than disturb anyone by going down the stairs. The contents vanished; Jemima had been about to crawl back under the covers when she registered that there was the murmur of voices already. Someone was awake.

It had to be Ford, because there was no one else but him on their floor, no one else to hear: but either he was talking in his sleep, which was new, or he was talking to someone. Was something wrong? Jemima felt a flash of uncertainty, a muddled concern. Blinking herself better awake, she moved to her door and cracked it open. None of the family were congregated on the landing; the voices were coming from Ford’s bedroom. Perhaps she ought to leave this be, but it was odd, wasn’t it? So she moved across the hall to his room instead. Even in her winter nightdress, she shivered here, feeling a waft of cold air under the crack of the door – and hearing muffled snatches of conversation. Her hand was on the doorknob, but she paused there, perplexed. Miss you, had that been, or kiss you? She heard the word married; something dropped in her stomach; and it sounded like the other person was going to leave, and Jemima thought surely she was imagining this, that it was all a bad dream, because for some reason the other person sounded like a man.

The nightmare got worse. Love of my life, the other man said, and Jemima tensed for the reply. When no answer came, her pulse gave a jagged leap. Were they kissing now? They had gone worryingly quiet – was he going to leave? – or was she going to let this alone and tiptoe back to bed, hoping and praying she was perfectly wrong about everything she had just heard?

Her heart was drumming in her ears, so she didn’t know how loud or softly she had done it: but Ford’s bedroom door swung open before her. They were still there, Ford and his friend, not kissing as she’d dreaded but – entwined, nestled into each other in a way that was – was –

“His what?” Jemima echoed shrilly.

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   Adrienne Lestrange, Fortitude Greengrass, Noble Greengrass, Rosalie Hunniford, Tycho Dodonus

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Tycho just about jumped out of his skin as the door swung open. He moved away from Ford as his eyes took in the form of his wife. This was never what he had intended.

"Nothing. I'm just... drunk and teasing my friend," he said, giving Ford an opening to claim either one-sidedness on Tychos part or simple close friends joking around because they were menfolk or something. Surely, this was salvageable. He would not survive it if he had blown up Fords life with his selfish inability to let of his love for the man. He had no idea if she was the naive sort or not but given she had once been disrobing at a ball, he kind of doubted it.

He should have moved to a country far away when it had first crossed his mind to do so.

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