“I bet your father does,” Theo said darkly, care about politics. Of course he would. Theo wouldn’t be surprised if Lucius Lestrange ran the Wizengamot in the same manner he did Cash’s life. How is your father? he almost asked, bitterly. (Still in good health? Still holding your life hostage?)
It was too easy to be angry at Cash for things his father had done, though, so he abruptly felt bad about mentioning his father, bad about – asking about his life at all. Pretending to hate him felt good for a moment, but maybe he was just making things more miserable than they needed to be. And – honestly, he didn’t really want to talk politics, either.
“That’s your trick,” he said instead, pushing the cards they’d put down back Cash’s way, like he could lose the game in apology. He shifted under the table, too, nudging Cash’s leg with his own to try and say I’m sorry.
It was too easy to be angry at Cash for things his father had done, though, so he abruptly felt bad about mentioning his father, bad about – asking about his life at all. Pretending to hate him felt good for a moment, but maybe he was just making things more miserable than they needed to be. And – honestly, he didn’t really want to talk politics, either.
“That’s your trick,” he said instead, pushing the cards they’d put down back Cash’s way, like he could lose the game in apology. He shifted under the table, too, nudging Cash’s leg with his own to try and say I’m sorry.
