Oddly, Theo thought he understood Bixby’s frustrations, just a little. He might not have played quidditch since Hogwarts, had never chosen to play professionally, but – coming back to the Cannons as the sponsor, being forced to take a back seat and an overview and rely on other people to take direction and not being able to just – take to the pitch and score a shot himself had taken some getting used to.
“Honestly, you’d be doing me a favour letting me, I don’t get to fly enough these days,” Theo explained with a wry laugh; if he didn’t keep up with these things he really wouldn’t know what he was talking about anymore. But he knew the market, and he was also keen to encourage any new enthusiasms in Bixby’s life, knowing full well how easily a downer could take hold.
But Alvin had drawn attention to his bad hand, and Theo’s face softened into a slight grimace, never quite able to resist directness. “Your hand’s no better, then?” It looked just as bad as he’d ever seen it, but maybe not all the damage had been permanent?
“Honestly, you’d be doing me a favour letting me, I don’t get to fly enough these days,” Theo explained with a wry laugh; if he didn’t keep up with these things he really wouldn’t know what he was talking about anymore. But he knew the market, and he was also keen to encourage any new enthusiasms in Bixby’s life, knowing full well how easily a downer could take hold.
But Alvin had drawn attention to his bad hand, and Theo’s face softened into a slight grimace, never quite able to resist directness. “Your hand’s no better, then?” It looked just as bad as he’d ever seen it, but maybe not all the damage had been permanent?
