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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