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If you asked Fiddleford, would he say he didn't really love Emma-May? Of course not. That would be cruel, and... and, well, he liked her - had a particular love for her, most certainly. She was kind, and sweet, but knew how to stand up for herself, knew how not to take shit from anyone - and he admired that in her. She could be a little unconventional sometimes, maybe, but that was fine.
If you were to actually take a good look at him, though...
He didn't really believe Stanford's pet project would wind up being possible. He was also pretty sure that, even if it was, it'd likely wind up being dangerous. Who knew what such a portal might bring into the world, the things they might be inviting? And that was in the best case scenario, assuming travel actually worked. What if the rift it created collapsed, spelling disaster? Would either of them still be alive at that point to shut it down? Or would it go on to... to consume the world around it, even the world beyond?
Dark, dark thoughts. No, no, he was... He had to be certain that Stanford knew what he was doing. Even if it was for this mysterious "muse" character... It was all going to work out. They were close friends, and perhaps... Perhaps this would draw them even closer. Give Fiddleford some time, some kind of a break, away from his spiralling thoughts. It would be nice to spend some time with him again, really. For no reason other than simply enjoying his company. He was a wonderful man - a bit standoffish, maybe at times a bit self-absorbed, but he certainly knew what he was talking about. And he had such a lovely, kind smile, it was enough to make his heart flutter.
So despite all his hesitations, he took on the offer.
Stanford looked a bit more ragged than the last time they'd seen one another - though he was sure he did too, all things considered, so he didn't think much of it. Over the coming days, he walked Fiddleford through everything he had worked through already, everything that had yet to be done. If he was talking quite a bit about his muse... Fiddleford tried not to pay mind to that. His muse was simply that, right? A force of inspiration, a man guiding him through the process, but never meddling too much. It was fine. It- It was going to be fine. It had to be.
Not that it should matter. He didn't love Stanford Pines, so whatever the man felt about other men was... was none of his business. Realistically, he wasn't ever going to swing that way, probably. And so what if he did? It didn't matter. Not one single bit. He would just be his friend's greatest supporter and ally. He didn't need to be anything more! He was... he was absolutely fine with... anything that might happen. Anything at all...
...oh, he was in deep shit now.