Tristan had no idea about any of the factors in Gallivans life aside from his father being dead and the man having inherited the team, more or less. He had no idea he had somewhat struck a nerve with his curious question.

"I enjoy it. I was hired before I ever even graduated Hogwarts so I suppose I have talent," Tristan said, mildly modest but also clearly confident in his own ability. "If I wasn't doing this, I would be a musician." He had been considered a prodigy and before her passing, his mother had been distraught that he had intentions to 'thrown it away' for Quidditch. She had not lived to see it happen - but it had. Sometimes he wondered if that made him an unfilial son.

  

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Theo might not have known much about Michaud, but he knew that much was true – he’d gotten onto Puddlemere early, and been promoted fast. And he had risen to the challenge of it well enough, had obvious talent on the pitch.

“Yeah,” Theodore allowed, with a nod, “you’ve done pretty well.” He kept the compliment offhand, though – no sense in being too forthcoming, when Michaud played for a rival team. People would think the Cannons were trying to poach him.

Maybe he should consider it, though. (But no – the last thing he needed was to seem too friendly with every player on his team. Best to actually try and be professional... most of the time.)

But he blinked at the next part, never having much connected the name Michaud to the music shop. “That’s – those are quite different,” Theo blurted out, surprised and bemused, eyebrows arching. “Is there any overlap –” between the skills needed for chasing and for music? He couldn’t fathom one; so this last was slightly tongue-in-cheek – “or are you just multi-talented?”

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"It really is, isn't it?" Tristan agreed with a chuckle. One was also more respectable than the other to most people, especially Tristan's late parents. He did not regret his choices though.

"Uh, timing I suppose? But otherwise, I suppose I am just mult-talented." Had he been with someone he was more deeply friendly with, he might have made a joke about being a man of many talents. He doubted Gallivan would appreciate the innuendo that would be in his words though nor were they close enough for him to risk it.

  

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Timing. Speaking of timing: this whole conversation would have been entirely innocuous just a few months ago, and Theo wouldn’t have thought anything of it. (Not that there was anything to think, except – well, maybe there was something?) No: all that was different was him these days, because this should have been easy and normal and Michaud’s last remark was still hanging in the air between them and why was Theo’s brain utterly blank of anything to say that wasn’t overfamiliar or inappropriate or just a little too playful – ?

It was one thing, having let his guard down with Lestrange (this was all Lestrange’s fault, in fact) but it shouldn’t – couldn’t – happen with anyone else, especially someone he barely even knew. So. Theo was clearly going to have to start from scratch and work out how to make casual conversation with other men again, to be friendly without wondering all kinds of things he hadn’t used to.

His thumb had been tracing absently around the mouth of the wine bottle; he halted the movement abruptly and decided he should probably stop drinking for the day, before he let himself get too comfortable here. “Mm, timing,” Theo agreed, a beat too late. “Speaking of, I should probably get back to the party,” he said, with a jerk of his head towards the people below them. Hastily, he slid the last of the wine over to Michaud’s side and stood up. “But thanks for –” he waved a hand to finish that inarticulate thought. “See you round?” (It was probably for the best if Theo went and suffered through some conversation with someone less... interesting, before he said something he’d inevitably regret.)

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wrap?

  

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