[ And still there's no response. This is a long enough wait for Ford to get caught up in his own head and, of course, start over-analyzing absolutely everything. Their second to last meeting had ended terribly, no questions there, but he thought their last meeting had gone fine. Ozpin hadn't seemed reluctant to join him (not that Ford is good at reading things like that) and hadn't brought up the picture (not that Ford had thought to ask about it, either). More importantly, the bulk of the evening and the following morning had been nice. Really nice. It's probably, barring his celebration with Jheselbraum, the most pleasant time he's had with anyone that he didn't already consider family or a very close friend at the time. The idea of doing it again is extremely appealing, and it's when that realization creeps in that he has to admit that Stanley is right and had somehow called it nearly two months in advance. He hadn't dared to ask directly, but he'd thought the feeling was mutual.
But now, with the 'benefit' of hindsight, he can see all the ways that was a foolish assumption. He has, in many ways, matured past the childhood anxieties that prevented him for so much as properly shaking hands with someone. In many other ways those anxieties still cling to him and always will, a persistent fear of being viewed as weird or abnormal always dragging on his attempts to connect with other people whether he notices it or not (and usually, he doesn't). That Ozpin is quite strange himself doesn't do much to mitigate the unease. There are plenty of ways for their different types of strangeness to clash, to be so incompatible as to suddenly truncate whatever it was that was forming between them. By the end of the third day with no response he's forced to assume that's exactly what happened.
Ford tries several times to write another message, but he doesn't end up sending anything. ]
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December 27th; not here
But now, with the 'benefit' of hindsight, he can see all the ways that was a foolish assumption. He has, in many ways, matured past the childhood anxieties that prevented him for so much as properly shaking hands with someone. In many other ways those anxieties still cling to him and always will, a persistent fear of being viewed as weird or abnormal always dragging on his attempts to connect with other people whether he notices it or not (and usually, he doesn't). That Ozpin is quite strange himself doesn't do much to mitigate the unease. There are plenty of ways for their different types of strangeness to clash, to be so incompatible as to suddenly truncate whatever it was that was forming between them. By the end of the third day with no response he's forced to assume that's exactly what happened.
Ford tries several times to write another message, but he doesn't end up sending anything. ]