we'll be fine lines

After pulling back from him, Ophelia returned to leaning against one of the countertops to watch him cook. She’s tried learning at one point, but she simply didn’t have the patience for it, and it wasn’t exactly something that inconvenienced her considering her mother insisted on having sent Binks to cook and clean her apartment at least twice a week. But she did appreciate the talent in others. She pondered his words a moment before answering. “Causing terror is what the hope to achieve, isn’t it? They want to keep power and prestige with an iron grip, that’s all it is.” Those in their world couldn’t tolerate change, they couldn’t tolerate the long standing traditions and order of the world gradually changing as it was. In that regard her family was far better off because they’d come to realize that even beyond purity there was power in wealth and position, the Selwyns if nothing else were adaptable.

His family wasn’t all that different, which was why they’d had such long standing friendships, bridging generations. Ophelia quirked an eyebrow, their fathers being in business together she imagined spoke nearly everyday. So that much wasn’t news, so it was likely the topic of conversation that he wanted to discuss. “If our mother’s were involved it probably wasn’t about business…” Ophelia commented unable to keep the hint of bitterness from her voice at that. Her brows shot up when he suggested the wine, but she obliged accios two glasses before she cast a spell on the cork to unfasten. Once she had a glass for both of them poured she held out his and raised an eyebrow. “Just tell me what they’ve come up with now,” she said with a sigh, knowing it was likely something grating as always.

In some ways, Jean-Luc understood the sentiments. Although he was so quick to pick out the very best parts of others, a part of him still saw himself as separate from the rest. It would never color his actions or relationships, of course, but even if he couldn’t relate to the fear of those deemed below others, he knew what it was like to believe others were below him. Still - “if I remember my history, terror has never really made anything better.” Lips twisting into a faint scowl, he focused all the more intensely on the familiar, repetitive motions of cooking. It wasn’t his war, it would never truly affect him the way it would the Selwyns, and yet still it seemed so determined to creep into his life. “Power changes hands, regimes fall, it’s just the cycle of life.” And there he was, spouting philosophies once again. Over his shoulder, he tossed her a teasing smile. “Except ours, of course. The Selwyn and Delacour legacy is eternal.”

Or it would at least continue into another generation, if their parents had their way. “Not quite,” he agreed. What was it about this matter that had him acting like a teenager again? This was Ophelia, he knew her in every way one could know someone, he trusted her with every bone in his body. Any reaction she had couldn’t cause any real damage to that. Yet the very fact that he was nervous at all made it all the more difficult to just say it. Jean-Luc took a long sip, savoring the taste of the wine he so rarely drank and stalling for time. “It’s nothing new. Or too awful, I hope.” Something flashed across his face, there and gone in the blink of an eye. A tiny corner of his mind wondered what he’d do if she did find the idea awful? “They want us to get married. Again.” The words rushed out of him all at once, and he ran a hand through his hair to collect himself. “It seems the last time we shot down the idea, it came with a time limit. Since we have both failed to come up with suitable matches on our own...”

there weren’t a lot of people that molly trusted to come to her house and be around her children, but jean-luc was one of them. it was clear he was going when she passed over her youngest child and ginny didn’t start crying. she was in a weird phase where if anyone but someone she trusted, like her mother or father, were holding her, she would scream bloody murder until one of them was holding her.

it was certainly a relief, as she often took when people where over to do things she wouldn’t be able to do, had she been alone (like going to the loo by herself). walking back into the kitchen, where she had heard jean-luc’s footsteps making their way towards and placed ginny onto her hip, much like the jean-luc had. she planted soft kisses in quick successions against her baby’s cheek, getting giggles in return. “of course i don’t mind, babe,” she said with a soft smile. 

with a flick of her wand, two cups came flying out of the cupboards and made their way to the table while molly sat down. she sighed ever so slightly at the question, her answer very obvious. “when this one isn’t screaming bloody murder,” she said, a tired smile gracing her features.

Not for the first time of late, Jean-Luc felt the faint desire for children of his own. Always one to accept his lot in life, he would never dare complain or wish his life had gone differently. Yet still the call was there, every time he visited Bea and his niece and nephews, every time he saw the little Selwyn child, every time he babysat for a friend; Jean-Luc loved being an uncle or simply a friendly face, but he knew he would love being a father, too. Cradling Ginny, he couldn’t help but note the thoughts rising up in the back of his mind.

Molly’s soft smile was met with one of his own before his attention returned to the kettle. As much as he loved the other woman’s fire and passion, he loved her kind heart too. “I am glad to hear it; I would hate to have this tea be tainted.” Even tone took on a joking lilt, a playful gleam in his eyes. In truth, had she shown any sign that he’d overstepped or imposed, he would’ve been quite overcome with guilt. But if it was fine with her, well - the scream of the kettle came at the perfect time, and he was quick to fill up the two cups she’d procured.

Setting down the kettle, he settled into his seat, hands wrapping around the cup as if taking comfort in its warmth. “It is hard to believe something so sweet could cause such a ruckus, but I do not doubt you.” As he reached out a hand to gently brush across the baby’s cheek, he pulled a face at her, reveling in the sweet sound of her laughter. “Perhaps it goes without saying, but if you ever need someone to watch her - or the others - so you can catch some sleep, you know I am an owl away.”

achille had made a concentrated effort to arrive late, preferably sometime during the second course of the meal, but it seemed jean-luc had managed to guess as much as he arrived at the same time as the bottle of wine. resisting the urge to sigh, he settled for narrowing his eyes as he pulled out his seat. while he had no ill-feelings towards his handler, he had a lot of thoughts regarding the rather clandestine nature of their meetings. a short explanation was that he found it to be ridiculous, over the top, a waste. he certainly didn’t hate venturing into muggle london, in fact, he did it fairly often, but going all the way for a dinner? especially when most people wouldn’t bat an eye at two french wizards meeting for dinner? but, out of loyalty and perhaps a fear of what would happen if he openly protested the ministry’s rules, achille did his job. and he did it well. perhaps it was the very idea of having a handler that left him with such a sour feeling, he was capable of doing his job, he didn’t need someone to check in on him. 

but regardless, he kept his mouth shut as he briefly studied the older male, as he silently reached for the wine. he had no plans to start talking before he’d consumed at least one glass of wine, if not more. taking a long sip, he continued to stare at jean-luc over the top of his glass, reluctantly lowering it to answer his question. “i’ve been fine,” he responded, making no effort to go into more detail, having no doubt that jean-luc would know if anything had happened to him. “this is ridiculous,” he continued, slipping into their natural language as he allowed a sigh to escape from his lips, “i am capable of doing my job, without needing to check in with a handler.”

If nothing else, Jean-Luc was accommodating, adaptive; he was quick to pick up on patterns and quick to adjust his own actions to fit others. As much as this applied to his actions, though, it never quite seemed to extend to his moods. Jean-Luc offered a sympathetic smile at Achille’s scowl, pouring the other man a generous glass of wine in an attempt to make up for it. Aside from these meetings, Jean-Luc tended to stick to the magical side of England; sure, perhaps in France he had had his dalliances with the muggle world ( Parisian culture would always fascinate him), but his most glaring point of arrogance had always been his disdain for that other world.

It was subtle, the sigh of relief as soon as the French reached his ears. The switch in languages meant slipping into a sense of comfort, ease, anonymity; no matter how close the two countries were, he could confidently rely on the fact that most of the patrons within eavesdropping distance would not be quite as able to understand them. “Good. I am relieved to see you appear untouched by the English and their war,” despite the smile on his face, his eyebrows furrowed; although the war was the crux of the reason he and Achille were in this position, he could never get over how ridiculous the whole thing was. “I do not doubt your abilities, mon ami, nor does the Ministry.” Assuring tone, calm smile; Luc was no stranger to flaring tempers. “It is merely protocol and a chance for me to remain caught up on all you are learning.”

where: a food establishment in Diagon Alley who: Damocles Belby and anyone

Damocles has become a pretty common face for the people who worked in pubs and shops that sold food in Diagon Alley. That’s because the man never cooked for himself. He didn’t have the time, he’d say. Too engrossed in his work, the potioneer preferred to spend his time in his laboratory instead. He’d rather brew potions than cook his own meal any day. 

Entering the establishment he chose to have his late lunch today - because he never ate his meals on time - Damocles greeted the person at the counter with a nod, even though they were still taking the order of the person in front of him in the queue. Unfortunately, they were a couple of sickles short and only had galleons and knuts. There wasn’t any change available with the cashier either. Damocles didn’t even hesitate. “Here,” he reached out from the person’s back and placed a couple of coins on the table. “Don’t worry about it mate.”

Although he’d become quite adept at cooking a small - very small - assortment of meals, Jean-Luc preferred to spend his meals at the various cafes and pubs and restaurants that dotted wizarding London. Call it an inability to properly feed oneself without a house elf around, call it a desire to support those who owned and worked at such establishments, Jean-Luc didn’t particularly care. So long as the food was edible and the company decent, he would be pleased.

As he waited in the queue, he couldn’t help but observe the going-ons before him. Ah, but Jean-Luc had always been so susceptible to small acts of kindness, and his heart warmed at the move. Admittedly, his hand had already been reaching for his own coins, his actions just a beat too slow. “You are a kind man,” Jean-Luc remarked in his typical calm, sweet tone. “Here, let me get your meal. Let me keep the kindness going, if it isn’t any trouble?”

“Of course.”, she confirmed. “But to be honest, I know more about Scotland. And I enjoy it far more.”, having grown up in Scotland was where Odette’s heart truly lied. Even though England was the place where most of her friends lived, she would always prefer Scotland. Even thought of it as more beautiful. “You would be interested in teaching me some of the things you know? she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Is that allowed?”, she did not know if what her cousin was doing was more of a secret or a public knowledge. Odette would never want to get him into trouble.

“Then perhaps you can show me around Scotland as well?” The comment held the lilt of a question, genuine interest in his kind smile. If Jean-Luc’s knowledge the country he now called home was spotty, his knowledge of his cousin’s native country was even worse. A lover of knowledge and books, he’d certainly read enough about the beautiful sights this side of the channel, but actually getting the chance to see them was a completely different story. There were few he would rather show him around than Odette. With a laugh, he nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep trade secrets to myself. Anything else is fair game, though. I must confess, I know more about growing wandwood than I do about half of the issues I must negotiate, but by now my knowledge must be passable.” A faint smile grew a hint of nostalgia as his mind returned to years spent working amongst the production, overseeing the majestic trees of so many types that would eventually become magic themselves.

Jean-Luc’s idea of a relative home brought a warmth to Emilie that stirred her from deep inside. Knowing that the expectations for familial love within the world she lived in were often limited to ensuring survival for your kin, she lived in a peculiar place where she did have genuine love for her family. They were her protectors and advocates and while she might spend large portions of her days wondering how her life could be different, if it ever came down to it Emilie would likely come up drawing a blank on how she would want to change her family. “That’s a lovely sentiment,” she replied, not aware of the way her voice slipped into a girlish swoon. There were few men who spoke this way, she was much used to a rally of flirtation or conversation voided of any emotions whatsoever. Jean-Luc was a welcome breath of fresh air and she suddenly became intent on letting him know that. “My grandparents have a villa in Marseilles we used to go all the time. Perhaps that’s something we must start doing again, though it would be better with a well-versed guide. My French is only remedial.”

Emilie laughed, “A small cliche, but it’s welcomed.” Running her hand over the vase, she wondered what a life it might have lived before it wound up there lined up with all of the other tokens of affluence looking to find worthy homes. “France seems very intimidating,” she admitted as she peered up at him through her eyelashes, “You’re all so chic, I feel as if I would be such an obvious foreigner.” Though she was lithe and poised on stage it was in those moments where she stood in her own body on her own accord that Emilie felt ungainly. 

Although he liked to profess that the wizarding world was just different in France, perhaps that wasn’t entirely true. Sure, they didn’t have to face silly squabbles over matters such as blood as the English seemed so inclined to do, but that didn’t mean there was no societal hierarchy. There was, and the Delacours were pretty damned high up in it, yet Jean-Luc had always viewed the stringent and cold pureblood society across the channel as an oddity. For him, it wasn’t even a question: he’d do anything for his family’s happiness and knew they would return it in kind; yet he knew from others this was far from the standard. Speaking to Emilie, though, he’d never know it; the girl always seemed to speak so fondly of her family.”Ah, there is no better respite from the world than the sea.” Luc perked up immediately at the topic. “I must admit, I have spent most of my life at the ranch - have you ever been to the countryside? It is so peaceful - but Marseilles is beautiful this time of year.” Nodding his head as if it was as good as decided, he grinned. “I would be honored to show you all the sights, my dear.”

Jean-Luc loved cliches, loved how universal they were and how bright they always seemed to be. Truth be told, he was a walking cliche, but he had always preferred to lean into it. “Don’t sell yourself so short, mon cherie - you would fit right in.” The old streets of Paris could be harsh on outsiders, it was true, but even to a scrutinizing gaze ( and Jean-Luc’s was far from that ) it was hard to believe that Emilie wouldn’t fit right in amongst the bakeries and shops and sights. “I must admit, I felt the same way about England at first. What with the weather, I assumed you would all be so dour.” An overstatement, sure, but it was said to reassure, to make her laugh, and Luc pulled an over-the-top face as an example.

While the rest of the people his age spent their free time hitting pubs and clubs, Félix prefers to spend his time and quaint and quiet places like the tea shop. There, he could hear himself think. He could ruminate after a tiring week at St. Mungo’s Hospital, calmed by an excellent cup of tea. That morning, Félix was just enjoying a cup by himself when a familiar face arrived. He was only familiar because they’ve stayed at the shop together albeit at different tables multiple times before. Félix looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights. This was the first time that the man acknowledged him. He turned his head just to make sure that he wasn’t addressing someone else behind him. Finding no one there, Félix turned back and returned the wave. “Er- no! It isn’t.” Félix definitely didn’t plan on mingling but he didn’t mind a little company. “It’s okay. I just finished thinking,” he found it in himself to make a joke. “You come here often.” It really wasn’t a question, Rather, it was an acknowledgment that he was at least aware of the other man.

Jean-Luc smiled, goodnatured and warm as he watched the other man process the question. Although he let out a soft laugh when he looked around, he exuded patience as he always did. As much as he loved the chance to meet someone new, to learn the stories of those he didn’t know, Jean-Luc hated to interrupt or overstep, and he had half a mind to back up a step. “Ah, good, so I am just in time.” Calm tone and lighthearted words matched his smile, and he pulled out the empty chair, sliding into it smoothly. Really, it was about time he introduced himself properly to the man he seemed to see across the tea shop on a semi-regular basis.”I do. There is nothing better than a nice cup of tea after a long day of work, I always say.” With a smile and a nod, Jean-Luc gestured vaguely around the shop, at the variety of patrons and their variety of drinks. It was truly one of the most calming places he had found in Diagon Alley, even with all the hustle and bustle. “As do you, yes? It seems we are both men of good taste.” The joke dripped effortlessly from his lips, and he offered his hand out to shake. “I am Jean-Luc, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

who: open! where: a cute outdoor cafe when: afternoon

It was finally starting to feel like summer in England, the sun being out for what seemed like ages. Angel had stumbled on this place in her first week in England and seemed to return to it like clockwork. Everyone there knew her by now and the couple of times she had skipped a few weeks because she had been in France and forgotten to inform Samantha (the owner who ran the place along with her wife) she had been in for a lecture of a lifetime when she finally did come back. “So anyway, it was this close-” Angel was chattering excitedly to the person she had gotten hold of, indicating with her thumb and forefinger just how close it had been, “I was aiming for the Puddlemere Chaser but their Beater was aiming for me and I didn’t see but Laurie did and he pushed me out of the way-” She laughed. Her and Laurie did make one hell of a team and had saved each other countless times, “Which is why he’s my hero because otherwise I would not be sitting here. It worked out because I managed to take the shot and it gave us enough time for our Seeker to catch the Snitch and- we won!” she shrugged, a grin spreading across her face, clearly delighted. “Which is what matters.” She took a sip of her iced coffee, “But that’s enough about me - tell me what you’ve been up to.” 

Anywhere Angel liked, Jean-Luc would like, but he had to admit her choice in cafes seemed to be exquisite. This was far from the first time she’d dragged him here, and would certainly be far from the last, but he couldn’t say he minded in the slightest. As the days grew warmer, he found himself seizing every single opportunity to step outside. Combine that with his favorite little sister, and what better way was there to spend an afternoon after a long morning of meetings? Leaning with his chin in his hand, he watched her talk fondly. Not that he’d ever admit it to her, but Jean-Luc had never quite gotten the quidditch fad. Sure, he turned up to every single one of her and Laurie’s games fully decked out in the team’s colors, but had they not been players he never would’ve seen the inside of a stadium. “It was quite impressive from the stands, mon cherie. It is good to hear it was just as exciting in action.” He could spend a lifetime listening to his siblings talk - already had, really - and he would never, ever grow tired. Even if his sister was telling him every detail of a game he’d personally seen. “Have you been resting since the game? No matter how much you love quidditch, please be careful not to exhaust yourself.” Adopting the concerned big brother tone that he wore so well, despite his serious words, the affection in his gaze didn’t waver. “Oh, you know how this work is,” Jean-Luc’s lips twitched up in a half-smile, leaning back in his chair. “Plenty of meetings, plenty of businessmen who love to argue. Everyone in the department believes so strongly in their points, I do wish more people were like that.”

One of the things she had been enjoying most about her moves was the walks that she had been taking with Melo before work. They were simple and relaxing, allowing her to feel more comfortable in a country she was still getting to know. But what she had hoped would be a peaceful walk was soon interrupted by something colliding with her legs and a voice saying her name. A voice that makes her still as the realisation dawns on her. There were far too many emotions coursing through her for her to be able to fix on just one, let alone one of them. So instead she resorts to old habits, “Jean-Luc.” The sound of his name from her lips sounds almost foreign after all these years when it lacks some of the fondness that she had always said it. Some but not all affection when after all this time all she could remember was how much she had loved him first as a friend and then more. 

It was hard to remove all traces of that despite the hurt and in that moment all she knew was that she’d missed him as much as she was missing France. For a moment she sets aside the hurt that still lingered from their break up, instead choosing to take comfort in such someone so familiar. “I was just wondering the same thing.” Voice was softer than usual, her smile more hesitant than the practised one that she had used to flash around at Beauxbatons. A tug on the lead reminds her of why she was there. “Sit, Melo.” With her gentle instruction given to her dog, gaze flickers back up to Jean-Luc, hesitating slightly over what to say next. Where could she possibly start? “Have you been over here long?”

Guilt was not foreign to Jean-Luc, but it certainly was rare. Yet every time he’d thought of Rosa in the years since he’d so monumentally ruined everything, it had been tinged with the kind of heavy weight that came with unshakeable guilt. Seeing her again held none of that, though, not at first. No, the first thing he’d felt was relief, excitement - she’d been a part of his life for so long that even though she’d walked away, his happiness was nothing but pure. For a few moments, he reveled in it, shock fading into a grin. “So you really have crossed the channel, then,” he said with a laugh, fondness glinting in his eyes. “Permanently, or are you visiting someone?” And that’s when the guilt started creeping back in. 

Following her gaze down to the dog, he focused on Melo to hide the emotions he was sure would’ve shown so clearly on his face. “Ah, and who is ce beau chien?” Napoleon and Eclair danced around his heels, as interested as him in the new acquaintance. One glance towards the park found Hugo loping after another dog, paying no heed to any of them. “A few years, yes, though I go back and forth as much as Bea allows. And yourself?” It felt foreign, not to speak to her in French as he was used to, yet for whatever reason he refrained, as if crossing that boundary would bring the past back into view.

Orion had never felt the sort of fondness for his own country that Jean-Luc did for France. He had never really been the patriotic sort, had in fact been trying to run away since he was eighteen. Most of his best memories were spend travelling. His mother always said he was too restless to stay in one place for so long and she was right but Ophelia was here and what would he do without her? “How very considerate of her,” He replied with a grin, “It’s true, sisters always come first.” Jean-Luc was always so easy to talk to, even if they were talking about nothing at all. There was just this sense of calm, as if he was right where he was supposed to be and Orion didn’t find that with many people. It wasn’t that he didn’t think he could talk to Jean-Luc, just that he didn’t think he could talk unless he was drunk. “Yeah, apparently we’re all well past our age and in another year no one would want us,” he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes. It wasn’t exactly a secret that their parents wanted to join their families through Jean-Luc and Ophelia and he had to admit if Ophelia had to marry someone, Jean Luc was a truly stellar option but the thing was if Ophelia didn’t want to marry him, Orion would always have her corner, no matter that he hated how part of her reasons was Rodolphus. “Do you want to get married?” He asked after a moment. The Selwyns weren’t as removed as the Delacours were and Orion had stopped feeling lucky a long time ago but he nodded anyway, “It could be so much worse.” 

For someone who prided himself as being a friend to all, calling someone his best friend was no meaningless moniker. His siblings were parts of himself, and how he felt for Ophelia would always be so wholly unique from how he cared about anyone else, but Orion was the person he knew he could always turn to. Of course Orion had understood that he held his sister’s opinion in the highest regard; after all, how different were Orion and Ophelia in that aspect? “Ah, but where would we be without them?” A fond sigh and a joking lilt punctuated his words - he’d swear from the mountaintops that he’d be nowhere without Bea, and she’d probably agree. “Do you think we are getting old? Or are they simply growing more impatient?” For as long as he could remember, their parents had made no efforts to hide their desire for Ophelia and him to marry, but a decisive no at their last real push back around Bea’s wedding had stopped them, for a bit. Not anymore, it seemed. “Of course I do,” came Jean-Luc’s immediate response. Although he’d dated for love and knew his family would have let him settle down with anyone, had it worked out, he knew too that there was a very real possibility his own marriage would be arranged. Really, the pushing and prodding was still a preferable alternative. “When the time is right, though. Do you?” It seemed like the question of the hour. As much as this ridiculous war was not his war, he knew it was ravaging Orion’s home nonetheless, and he worked to drop the callousness he saved only for such a topic. “Hopefully it will end sooner rather than later.”.

Though Ophelia grinned at his response she did bite her tongue, keeping herself from saying something entirely too suggestive despite the words sitting just at the tip of her tongue. That would be a slippery slope all things considering. Normally she was quite unadulterated and forward with him, having reached a level of comfort with him that literally took years in the making. But tonight she refrained from eluding to one of their favorite pastimes, and also from telling him about the relationship she was in, another uncommonality for her. However, this time around - at least for the moment, after all the chaos that had unfolded these last few weeks she wasn’t feeling the proudest of her choices, more so than usual. She knew what her brother had so say about it and didn’t particularly feel like hearing it from him.

She knew the dish well enough after all her time spent along side the Delacours that she aided in pulling spices and utensils from her pristinely organized cabinets, a feat of both magic and lack of use, in an effort to be somewhat helpful. When she finally met his gaze again she stilled seeing how clearly he understood her hurt, while Ophelia wasn’t normally a hugger with most she allowed him to wrap his arms around her the tenseness in her posture slowly easing as she wrapped her arms around his center her head resting perfectly just at the crook his shoulder. A small smile playing at her lips as she leaned back after they stood that way for a bit. “It could’ve been much worse, it was for many…but I guess it just feels all the worst because some of them aren’t exactly strangers…” With a sigh she shook her head to get the thoughts out of her head they’d been too prevalent on her mind as is. “It’s over now, it’s been some time. I’m okay, we all are.”

If Jean-Luc was bothered by her lack of response, he didn’t show it. Sure, their horizontal activities were always well anticipated and well enjoyed, but it simply wasn’t in his nature to expect anything. If his casual attempt at flirtation was not returned, no matter. Besides, the night was young - he’d just walked in her door, if anything was to happen it certainly wouldn’t be so immediate. As she stepped in to help, he couldn’t help but note just how natural it all was; they knew each other well enough that their movements seemed to always compliment the other’s, he felt. Holding her felt that way, too. Ophelia had always just seemed to fit, as if sometime in all their years of knowing each other she’d carved out space for herself. “Of course,” Jean-Luc agreed with a nod, smiling fondly down at her. “I’m glad you are healing. I hope everyone else affected is, too.” With a sigh, his lips tugged downwards. “This violence.... it all truly seems so misguided. What can these people hope to achieve by causing terror and hiding behind masks?” It would be hard to find someone more genuinely neutral than him, but the violence - from both sides - was where he drew a line.

“You know,” Jean-Luc began, tone conversational. “My father mentioned a conversation with your parents, while I was home.” Even though he knew one way or another, him and Ophelia would come out the other side - wouldn’t they always? - there was just a hint of nerves, his normally so level head deciding he should bring this up far earlier than he’d intended to. Besides, it wasn’t anything formal, and certainly wasn’t anything new; Jean-Luc was pretty sure their parents had been expecting this since they reached marrying age. Maybe it wasn’t nerves, then, so much as curiosity. “It seems they’ve been talking again.” His hand stilled, and he turned to her with an almost sheepish expression. “Actually, how about we open that wine?”

Sometimes Gideon wondered if there was ever a breaking point. For Jean-Luc or for himself. Gideon couldn’t tell if the politeness from the other man was contrived or genuine. And Gideon knew himself well enough to know that he was having a hard time keeping up the act. He didn’t want to be blatantly rude to the man, but Gideon was secretly hoping that one day Jean-Luc would lose it and Gideon could give it right back to it. Gideon wasn’t one for fights normally, but he also wasn’t one to shy away from one if it presented itself. “Well, I suppose it’s easy to be distracted if there isn’t anything else pressing for you to attend to.”

Normally, he’d welcome any distraction, but now Gideon felt like he could feel the seconds tick by as he continued his conversation. For once, he worried what someone would think if they discovered he wasn’t in the Ministry like he was supposed to be. “I’m not sure, it’s been a while since France and I had a conversation. I should probably give her a call. Ask on your behalf.”

Jean-Luc’s lips twitched up, smile wry - and yet somehow even that was without sarcasm or malice. “It is a perk of the job, truly.” It was perhaps the sole thing that drove him crazy about his job, how little work he actually had to do. On the other hand, though, it did at least allow him to return to France with some regularity, and it seemed he always had enough free time for family and friends. “Businessmen and politicians seem to like to do as little as possible. And yet they can never seem to agree long enough to make anything easy on us.” It was about as close to a genuine complaint about his office as he ever got.

As naturally as breathing, his wry grin transformed into one full of amusement, a small laugh leaving his lips. “I appreciate it. Please, let me know what she says. It seems she prefers to keep her feelings a secret from me.” Jean-Luc had always been good at steering into the skid, at rolling with whatever life threw at him. It didn’t even take conscious thought to follow whatever path the conversation took. “Ah, but where are my manners? How have you been - and how has England been - in my absence? I hope I haven’t missed much.”

For someone who so adamantly hated gossip, Jean-Luc sure seemed to have picked up a good bit of it. Between work and the pureblood circles his family name afforded him a place within, he knew names and he knew opinions, and he had heard enough about the man who’d just entered the bar to know he should perhaps steer clear. There was hardly anyone more hellbent on finding the good in others, though, and so despite never having met the man in anything more than casual passing, one glance at the near-full seating had him waving the older man over. “Jonas, isn’t it?” Jean-Luc inquired with a polite and welcoming grin. “If you’re looking for a place to sit, my companion just left and I would love some more company.” Another glance around the bar and an amused expression. “This place always does seem to fill up so quickly.”

Jean-Luc knew just about everyone in the Ministry; he’d made a point to do so, out of no ulterior motive besides a desire to know the names of the people he passed as he went about his day. Sure, he usually didn’t know much more than a face and a name, but the basics were a solid start. Even still, a single introduction was all he’d needed to put a face to all the stories he’d been hearing - his department was not short on gossip, and although he would never participate, he’d have to live under a rock to avoid hearing about the vampire in the Wizengamot. Although he couldn’t deny that he was curious - underneath the levelheadedness was a love for books, for knowledge - he’d hate to make the other man uncomfortable or put on the spot in any way. And so he’d avoided seeking him out, but when they all but ran into each other in the hallways, well, who was he if not friendly? “Alyosha!” he greeted warmly. “Good morning. You look well - those robes are very becoming.”

Evan hadn’t seen Jean-Luc in quite a while. He had no idea what Jean-Luc thought of the abrupt end to their fling; it wasn’t like Evan had bothered to explain himself, or really even had any desire to. The only thing he had been sure of was that he needed to put distance between himself and the other man before the whole thing turned into something he couldn’t control. Jean-Luc wore his heart on his sleeve and Evan’s was buried deep, a withering thing that didn’t even resemble what it was meant to be anymore. Evan could tell what Jean-Luc wanted and for a moment there he had almost wanted to give it to him. That one moment of weakness had been enough for him to realize it couldn’t continue. They hadn’t run into each other - the Ministry was big and they had entirely different jobs but it seemed like his luck on that front had ran out. He felt himself stiffen slightly before forcing himself to relax. “I’ve been fine,” he replied, his tone perfectly even. Evan hated small talk even when he realized it was necessary but Jean-Luc had that calm way of talking that he had made himself forget. He didn’t need to make anymore conversation and yet- “How about you? I hope you have been safe.” It was such a mechanical thing to say in the middle of the war but he found himself meaning it. 

For someone who shied away from anything serious, Jean-Luc had always given his heart away easily, too easily. He’d been made to be in love, it always seemed, and yet he clung to casual comforts and whirlwind romances, anything more than that few and far between, born only when he could see a genuine future with the other. Sure, Evan hadn’t been one of those few - but there’d been a time when Jean-Luc had wanted him to be and then he’d just ..... left. No matter, he didn’t hold it against the other man, he was sure he had his reasons, but even Jean-Luc was not completely unshakeable. In the past and no hard feelings, sure, but faced with him once again, how was he supposed to act? What could he say that wouldn’t drive Evan away the second those doors opened again? “Good,” he said, meaning it. Even when everything had still been raw, he’d never wished anything but the best for Evan. “Ah, luckily this war of yours has not quite crossed the channel. With how much I go back and forth, I have missed the worst of it all.” A worried look crossed his face, thoughts on the Selwyns who hadn’t been quite as lucky, even if they’d all made it out okay in the end. With a small sigh and a shake of his head, he did his best to drop the frown. “I would say the same, but I can’t imagine your line of work is the safest in the best of times, hmm?”