There was a pause far too long after Ford spoke and before Macnair replied. Macnair's expression was difficult to read and Ford felt unbalanced and exposed. He knew his own mind on this perfectly, of course — after so many nights retracing it as he tried to fall asleep in his empty room it was impossible not to understand what he was feeling. Macnair was, by comparison, an enigma. Waiting for him to react and having no idea what he would say or do was unnerving. What was he thinking? Why was he here at all? Ford's comment could have been read as a social platitude, but it was true: Macnair hadn't had to come heal his ankle. He'd come out of his way to do it, and Ford didn't really understand what the motivation behind that had been.

When Macnair finally did respond, it didn't offer Ford much insight into what he might be thinking or feeling. His expression was still dark and unreadable. Maybe that was for the best. Would it have mattered? Say Macnair liked him, missed him, was miserable without him — so what? It wouldn't have changed anything. It wouldn't have made Ford feel any better to know that. Conversely, say he was entirely unaffected; say he'd chosen to toy with Ford because it amused him and he knew he could. Would that have made Ford feel any better about this? Hardly.

"I won't dance on it," he promised lightly. He didn't know if Macnair cared, but it was something to say that wasn't goodbye. For all that he'd been counting down the seconds until he could end this conversation a moment ago, he was reluctant to actually make an excuse to leave.

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Set by Lady!

This is where they parted ways. Valerian knew how the game of small talk worked, and they were on their way to a very awkward exchange of it. He couldn't do it, not after all they'd done and been through together. He couldn't pretend—and yet telling the truth seemed somehow a worse option. He pushed his shoulders back and shifted his weight on his feet, trying not to feel so stiff, so stuck in place. Showing his discomfort was almost as bad as voicing it, and he didn't want to give Greengrass any indication that he was going to walk away from this conversation unable to stop thinking about him.

"A smart choice," he answered, his tone devoid of all emotion and his eyes diverted to the spot left of Greengrass' head. It was easier that way, and he hated it, because if one of his ex-lovers who wasn't Greengrass suddenly appeared he knew he wouldn't have felt so vulnerable. He would have been cocky, maybe even mean; he knew he couldn't be like that with Greengrass, though. Greengrass was... different, or at least their dynamic was.

"I'll leave you now," he said, turning his had back to the door that led back into the ballroom. How would he return to Tatiana as if nothing had happened? Would she even notice? She probably will, he found himself answering, Not that she'll say anything. Tatiana was too good at wearing the mask that all debutantes and socialites were expected to be wearing. He ought to be more worried about what she'd be thinking. (Or should he? Should he even care at all? He hadn't worked all that out yet.)

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Oh — Ford had been stalling, but it seemed they had reached goodbye after all. Of course they had. It had been an awkward interaction and Ford had been hoping it would end quickly, so why wouldn't Macnair had been thinking the same thing? They might not have been touching any more, but that hadn't made this any easier. It was just — awkward as it was, Ford still felt a twinge of regret when Macnair said his goodbyes and he realized that the interaction was coming to an end. He didn't want to have to think of something to say to Macnair, but he still wanted to be around him. It was a strange dichotomy, but Ford didn't have the understand it in order to feel it in the pit of his stomach as the other man turned to go.

"Oh, uh — of course," he said, flustered for no identifiable reason. "I, uhm — thanks again. 'Bye."

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Set by Lady!