They are still doing this, then. He'd thought so, from the inclusion of "I didn't want to leave," but it is good to be sure. He would not have been surprised to open a text from Stanford today saying that they should simply remain friends. That... doesn't seem to be the direction here.
There is a delay as Ozpin considers his next message. Anything to the tune of would you like to try again would carry implications he does not actually mean to convey. Taxes have never been a high priority for him, so to speak. He cannot remotely read the tone of that last message: it might be eager, or it might have been composed in the same tight, frantic manner of the explanation above. He does not want a repeat of last night.
First, he stalls: ]
I can imagine.
[ He remembers Stanley's help at the party, when he had been notably altered by Deerington and Ford had been... charmingly off-kilter. Hiding a red face behind one broad hand. He thinks of that now and tries to take pity. ]
Then shall we plan for lunch on Monday?
[ It's their usual routine, no more intimate than their friendship has been since they first discovered the cafe in November. Standing alone, this might look too firmly like a step backwards, so Ozpin follows it up: ]
And dinner again whenever you'd like. It was good to have the excuse to cook.
[ Ford, at least, is hopeful that they're still doing this. Taxes aren't something he'd consider pivotal to a relationship, but they're still fun, and there are plenty of stages of intimacy preceding them that he'd still like to indulge in. He and Ozpin had reached approximately none of those stages last night.
Something as simple as lunch does, indeed, read like a step back. Ford doesn't take it poorly, however. Last night's abrupt ending was probably unpleasant for both of them. Taking a step back makes sense.
It also makes it a pleasant surprise when he extends an invitation for a second dinner. That's good, right? That has to be good. Ford just has to not fuck up lunch and things will be fine. ]
Lunch on Monday sounds perfect.
And then dinner next time we're both free?
[ As soon as he sends that last message it strikes him that it's almost certainly overeager and presumptuous but... well, it's not like he can take it back. ]
[ Overeager is a far sight better than last night had been, and Ozpin will take it gladly. Lunch seems a good way to find their footing again, and from there... it seems they're both willing to give it another try. ]
Certainly.
I will see you then.
[ This... will take a good deal of working through, he is realizing. It may not be a simple progression, and they are in the awkward phases now. But there is something exciting about having a relationship to work on. There is something exciting about, well, having reason to care.
It sounds rather trite to say that he feels alive when he is with Stanford, and yet it is true. Ozpin has preached a great deal of advice about the bonds one forms with others, the importance of those connections. Through the millennia, his tendency to follow that advice has waxed and waned. It feels as though he may be approaching a crest again now.
It's a terrifying thing to realize. But he had not lied to Qrow: forming bonds with others is not only something he is capable of, but something he needs to survive. Eternity would not be bearable without it. The world is far brighter with Stanford's enthusiasm at his side.
He knows what the flatline buzz of apathy feels like, and knows that it is almost indistinguishable from despair. He has spent whole centuries numb; he has quite recently known the panicked urge to hide away from everything.
It is... disconcerting, but good, to live this instead. ]
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no subject
They are still doing this, then. He'd thought so, from the inclusion of "I didn't want to leave," but it is good to be sure. He would not have been surprised to open a text from Stanford today saying that they should simply remain friends. That... doesn't seem to be the direction here.
There is a delay as Ozpin considers his next message. Anything to the tune of would you like to try again would carry implications he does not actually mean to convey. Taxes have never been a high priority for him, so to speak. He cannot remotely read the tone of that last message: it might be eager, or it might have been composed in the same tight, frantic manner of the explanation above. He does not want a repeat of last night.
First, he stalls: ]
I can imagine.
[ He remembers Stanley's help at the party, when he had been notably altered by Deerington and Ford had been... charmingly off-kilter. Hiding a red face behind one broad hand. He thinks of that now and tries to take pity. ]
Then shall we plan for lunch on Monday?
[ It's their usual routine, no more intimate than their friendship has been since they first discovered the cafe in November. Standing alone, this might look too firmly like a step backwards, so Ozpin follows it up: ]
And dinner again whenever you'd like. It was good to have the excuse to cook.
no subject
Something as simple as lunch does, indeed, read like a step back. Ford doesn't take it poorly, however. Last night's abrupt ending was probably unpleasant for both of them. Taking a step back makes sense.
It also makes it a pleasant surprise when he extends an invitation for a second dinner. That's good, right? That has to be good. Ford just has to not fuck up lunch and things will be fine. ]
Lunch on Monday sounds perfect.
And then dinner next time we're both free?
[ As soon as he sends that last message it strikes him that it's almost certainly overeager and presumptuous but... well, it's not like he can take it back. ]
no subject
Certainly.
I will see you then.
[ This... will take a good deal of working through, he is realizing. It may not be a simple progression, and they are in the awkward phases now. But there is something exciting about having a relationship to work on. There is something exciting about, well, having reason to care.
It sounds rather trite to say that he feels alive when he is with Stanford, and yet it is true. Ozpin has preached a great deal of advice about the bonds one forms with others, the importance of those connections. Through the millennia, his tendency to follow that advice has waxed and waned. It feels as though he may be approaching a crest again now.
It's a terrifying thing to realize. But he had not lied to Qrow: forming bonds with others is not only something he is capable of, but something he needs to survive. Eternity would not be bearable without it. The world is far brighter with Stanford's enthusiasm at his side.
He knows what the flatline buzz of apathy feels like, and knows that it is almost indistinguishable from despair. He has spent whole centuries numb; he has quite recently known the panicked urge to hide away from everything.
It is... disconcerting, but good, to live this instead. ]