golden hour

"That's not Paul, you know that right?" He used air quotes liberally.

As if Liam could tell the two turtles apart— his long fingers and nose pressed up to the enclosure like a god damn six-year-year old— and as if Gabriel didn't call them both turtle on any other day. His tone was defensive to match his demeanor, but he fought a smile. How Liam hadn't spotted the strikingly unique shell that certainly did not belong to Paul (not that he would speak the name out loud because that meant he had given them names), the wizard wasn't sure.

Letting out a dramatic sigh, Gab sat back on the workstation of his greenhouse and wiped the dirt from his palms onto his already muddied jeans. It was early in the evening in California, the sun threatening to sink under the coast but seeming to pause to make the most of all that Summer had to offer, lingering just that bit longer. This was his favorite time of day, especially during this time of year, when everything was drenched in color, just before the dark.

"Thought you'd abandoned L.A.," He lifted his chin up to look at his friend, tilting his head slightly. "It's been, what—" Gabriel's dark eyes shot to the glass ceiling, the pink sky casting down on the greenery like a dream. "—months, anyway," It wouldn't have been that strange if Liam hadn't been there what seemed like every weekend to collect something or other prior to that.

"Hey, don't tap the glass," He shot up with a shake of his head, Liam holding his hands up like he was under arrest.

@Liam Thompson

Liam couldn’t ever explain the magnetic fascination he had toward animals, given his general disinterest in everything about them. He’d known animal lovers and he certainly wasn’t one. Put an owl or a cat or a tank of stupid turtles in front of him, though, and Liam was there in a second.

He’d given Gabriel’s turtles names, because their owner hadn’t and that had been too nonsensically dispassionate for Liam to bear, but he couldn’t really tell them apart. “Hullo, Paulie,” he said as the more awake of the pair lifted its head to look at his hand on the glass. Paul was generally whichever one bothered to notice him first.

Apparently he was incorrect. Liam brushed off Gabriel’s admonishment with a flap of a hand, the one with a cigarette in it.  “John’s having a good day, then,” he said. He chuckled softly. Whatever insane pretense Gabe was keeping up about refusing to distinguish the turtles, he’d at least decided which was which.

Liam brought his gaze up to Gabriel as he spoke. “Almost sounds like you missed me,” said Liam with a smug little grin. “You know I don’t actually live here, yeah?” Would that he could, of course—that might have been the upside of Charlie and Kate, the thought of a permanent relocation. But now it looked like two-thirds of Banshee weren’t forsaking the British Isles anytime soon.

Well, not permanently. “We have some shows around Europe coming up,” said Liam. “Had to squeeze in a trip to see the best before we left, of course.” He gestured to Gabe, with a genuine smile but an ironic little flourish of respect.

As Gabriel had his back turned Liam lifted a finger to try and rouse the actual Paul, but he was swiftly reprimanded before he touched the tank. He stepped back abruptly, hands raised like Gabriel had a wand on him. “Merlin’s sake,” he muttered. He moved his hand slowly over to put his cigarette back between his teeth. “You act like I’m leering over ‘em with a knife.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. His chest tightened when one of the turtles— decidedly not Paul— picked up his little head, heavy with sleep, from one of the heated rocks in the enclosure. Sentimentality, was it? Despite his effort to be anything but, the wizard was a sucker for them. He'd handcrafted their home— without so much as a second thought when he found them— expansive, with plenty of room for them to roam and swim and climb. But they always ended up right there. Just beside his work station. Watching him as he did the things that he did.

Sometimes it made him feel guilty, that they had to witness them, but then again, he'd probably spent too much time alone with his thoughts.

The iguana was far less judgemental.

"There was a time you might as well have," Gab countered, studying the fresh cut on his thumb, wondering where that one had come from before his dark eyes canvassed Liam again. "Think I've lost about half my revenue, anyway..." He teased making that the reason that he'd brought it up. As much as he hated having unannounced visitors, particularly the entitled ones like Liam, there was a part of him that missed the man's unique ability to entertain. It was almost like it was his job or something.

Before he could ask how much Liam was after— a European tour, he imagined, warranted quite a bit— he'd raised his pointer finger to the glass in preparation to the do the very thing Gabriel had scolded him for all those years before. It was almost as though he could see it coming before it actually had. Liam was nothing if not predictable. "No—" Not a knife. "— just a cigarette," He pushed himself from the bench and in one fluid motion pulled out his wand to dispel the little flame at the end. "It's 2003, no one smokes inside anymore..." He returned his wand to his pocket with a scoff.

"Traveled all this way, you must need a lot this time?" Gabriel cut to business, striding forward to the enclosure, subtly gauging what level of sobriety his friend was currently in. He seemed different, calmer, was it, for him? "Want to feed them?" He asked, knowing fully that he would. He shifted by Liam to the set of drawers underneath the enclosure to reveal a misted array of greens. He'd charmed it to keep them fresh.

There was a time you might as well have. “Yeah, mate, when London was a bleedin’ war zone,” replied Liam with a light scoff. He’d spent a week or a month or a season here in the five years since, but never as long as Banshee had spent hiding out in the late nineties. “Shame they got that Swedish nutter out of office,” he said. “The refugees could’ve got your business back to booming.” It had been far nastier a comment than he’d intended to make, which he’d realized halfway through—but by that point he’d had to commit.

Liam looked away from Gabriel and back down at the turtles. He didn’t want to face whatever Gabe had to say to that. It had always felt disingenuous to liken himself to a refugee—he was as good as pure-blood, after all, and could have been perfectly fine in Britain if he’d had a better sense of when to keep his mouth shut. Both of them knew this, and while Liam may speak more, Gabriel was far better at it.

He was also more uptight about smoking. Liam grimaced back around his freshly unlit cigarette before plucking it out of his mouth to vanish it. “Americans,” he muttered, only half in jest.

At least Gabe was willing to repay him with stupid turtle tasks. Liam knew he was being treated like a bratty little kid at a petting zoo—and he had little doubt there were a number of other clients that required this also. But he also knew how much Gabriel knew he enjoyed it. “Maybe fifteen vials?” he said, noncommittally. He dangled a long lettuce leaf into the tank; even sleepyhead Paul extended his neck to investigate. “It’s only a couple weeks, but I’ve got some mates in Berlin who really like this stuff.”

Liam said it was a shame there weren't more refugees of the war in LA— for the sake of the business— a dark joke, even for him. He figured he didn't even have to react for him to know that he didn't agree, though he imagined his resting scowl had inadvertently deepened. If it weren't for his family he was more than happy for business to simply dry up. 

Dark eyes, cast in the shadow of the setting sun through the glass of the greenhouse, watched carefully as he held a piece of lettuce over the heads of turtle one and two. Gab was waiting for him to do something that he would have to correct. It was Liam after all. While on paper their friendship was purely transactional— drug supplier meet drug user— he knew the way that the other man worked. It was almost too easy to see when he was deflecting with a joke, much like the one about the refugees just moments before.

"Fifteen?" Gabriel repeated, looking back over his shoulder as he made his way to the cabinets left of the turtles. He shook his head briefly. "This better not be like the last time you asked for fifteen of these..." His voice quieter in his vaguely non-American accent. It hadn't been fifteen exactly, but either way, Liam was frantic and writing about the couches melting into the floor.

Definitely not a side effect of Nopal.

 "What's in Berlin?" He asked conversationally as he rummaged through one of the drawers. Liam was in the music business, he knew, but Gabriel had done little to research his music. He figured if he could afford such regular (and large) orders of drugs at the drop of a hat, they had to be doing alright. Instinctually, he looked back again to make sure that the other man wasn't reaching into the enclosure or something.

Gabriel didn’t acknowledge the refugee stuff, but it hadn’t occurred to Liam that he might have opinions on his order. He gave the other man a mighty roll of his eyes. Liam hadn’t ever been able to wrap his head around the sheer bollocks Gabriel had to worry about the well-being of the people he was providing with drugs. Yeah, he’d embarrassed himself before, more than once—but frankly that was none of Gabe’s business. It had been a stupid idea to write him that time. Now he thought he had license to be a busybody. “Oh, I don’t know, Mum,” Liam replied. “Want to come along and make sure I don’t down ‘em all at once?” He sniffed haughtily. “Merlin’s sake.”

What’s in Berlin? “Mates,” said Liam with another sharp exhale. “Aren’t you listening? We’re going on tour.” He shrugged and reached for another lettuce leaf. “It’s not a tight schedule, more like a vacation, really. So—got to fill up our time somehow.”

He'd expected that kind of reaction out of Liam, didn't even bat an eye when he called him mom, and focused instead on counting the bottles in front of him. It took a couple of times starting and stopping, making sure he was being accurate, math (even simple) was not his strong suit. He avoided using his fingers to count though, as he would have without company. "There is nothing I'd like to do less..." He replied matter-of-factly.

Fourteen. He reached to the back of the shelf for another before searching for one of the nondescript, little knit bags charmed to hold any volume of supplies. They would only open at the word assigned to them, each unique, and usually bespoke to the customer. It was one of the few things Gabriel genuinely enjoyed about the whole transactional side of the work.

"Sounds like you need a vacation, wey," Gabriel said more quietly, sarcastically, pulling his wand from the front pocket of his jeans. He whispered a quick spell and tapped his wand to the bag that then flashed in the bright colors of a sarape. After loading up the contents, he turned to face Liam and leaned back against the desk.

"I would ask what's got your wand in a knot, but—" He wouldn't say that he didn't care, that wasn't entirely true, but at the moment it almost was. "Beer?" He asked instead.  Gabriel made his way to the old fridge under the desk that was usually filled with some varying degree of canned imports. that his brother usually filled up when making a trip up.

Thankfully, he hadn’t been rude enough to make Gabriel truly angry. The other man refused to engage him at all. And it worked—in spite of his bitterness, Liam cracked a smile. “Yeah, we’re going to have loads of fun,” he said, leaning his elbow on the top of the turtle tank. “You’d hate it.”

He may not have been interested in the idea himself, but Gabriel thought Liam could use a vacation. “What?” he replied. “Am I being weird?” He’d been doing his very best not to be weird, considering the emotional turmoil of late that he had no interest in getting into during a drug transaction. Never mind that their friendship was founded entirely upon getting into emotional turmoil—Liam wished, again, that he hadn’t created the precedent in the first place. “My wand in a knot?” he repeated, growing increasingly defensive. “Look, see?” Despite full knowledge of the idiom, he drew his wand and waved it about to prove its unknottedness.

Liam flicked the wand toward the cans of beer, summoning one and catching it easily. He could see Gabriel’s train of thought here, and it bothered him, but as with feeding the turtles, he wasn’t about to turn down the hospitality. “Come on, now, mate,” he said as he popped his can open. “You think I’ll have one drink and start sobbing. No one else’s dead, Gabe.”

He took a long sip and wiped his mouth with his wand hand. “Tell me,” he said. “Does anyone else you sell to get sick of your acting like they must be mental?” Shame this condescending prick was the best there was.

"Maybe I just forgot how much of an asshole you are," He meant it in a nice way, half-grinning as Liam waved his wand around. Despite the pretense that made it impossible not to give each other shit, Gabriel liked to think that it came from a good place. It had from him, at least. Liam had been more open with him than people in his own family, and there had to be some merit to that, whether or not they were addressing it.

"Alright, alright," His hands want up in mock surrender, eyes following skeptically as the can flew through the air. That was much too close to turtle 1 and turtle 2 given what he imagined was a lack of physical coordination on Liam's part. In true fashion, though, he proved him wrong, catching the beer with ease and cracking it open in one fluid motion. He shook his head.

 "I mean..." Gabriel began but knew well enough that all those years ago one beer was certainly not all Liam had ingested before he spilled his heart out. It dawned on him that they hadn't ever really talked about that sober. He didn't continue his thought and instead made his way over to where the iguana had his home among the plants and trees, looking for the familiar green of his scales.

"Usually they aren't so mental," He used Liam's terminology that felt foreign in his mouth, turning back with a smile, tossing the bag, charmed as heavy a few galleons, over. "The word is cojones," The key to unlocking the potions. Gabriel couldn't help but laugh. He wasn't sure how great the other wizard's Spanish was, but he thought he might appreciate it.

Liam caught the bag, somewhat less deftly than the beer given that he was now holding the can. He tucked it in the satchel on his back without checking the contents. Not that he’d been paying attention when they’d gone in, but he didn’t like to look as if he had anything less than every faith in his drug suppliers. Cojones. Liam laughed softly in response to Gabriel's.

He knew he didn’t have to worry about this one, at least.

“Usually,” he repeated, drawing out the word. “Who’s more insane than I am, then?” At long last he left the turtles—Liam fell back on the couch behind Gabriel and grinned. “I demand an anecdote.” After the first time Gabe had told him about a violent lover’s spat he’d once witnessed between two professional Quodpot players during a transaction, Liam had taken to asking for similar stories. The drama of famous people was nearly as irresistible to him as an animal to bother.

He took another sip and looked down at his can of beer—he ought to get some of these, he was sort of fond of the novelty. Liam thought things like that about most stuff here. Maybe he ought to just come stay altogether after the tour.
They wouldn’t need to start another album for a while. That would be his vacation: warm ocean air and Mexican beer and top of the line hallucinogenics. And a friend who actually didn’t mind him opening up.

“The boy left,” said Liam, unprompted. He gave Gabe a halfhearted shrug. “The one I brought last time. Ollie.”

He demanded an anecdote.

Even with time Liam was as demanding as he'd been the last Gab had seen him. How long had been, anyway, he wondered idly?

"No salacious stories this time..." He thought out loud. There were a few, of course, but they hadn't reached the point in the night where he felt like opening up. Liam usually led the way as far as that was concerned. As much of a pain in the ass the man was, Gabriel was envious of his inability to keep himself tucked away— the art of which he himself had long perfected. It started with the little things, then eventually snowballed. It wasn't that he didn't want to be open, he just wasn't sure how.

Gabriel followed suit and sat on the opposite end of the worn leather couch, his head tilted to Liam. "Oh—?" He quirked a thick dark eyebrow. The boy, Ollie. He scoured his memory and landed (finally) on the last time he saw his friend. Liam had stopped by with a new face to pick up before a party that he unsuccessfully attemped dragging him along to. He bit his tongue. The thought crossed his mind that maybe the Ollie guy hated ostentatious parties as much as he did. It wasn't the time.

"Something happen?" Of course something had, but it was the only way he knew how to ask for details.

“You’re a dirty liar, Gutiérrez,” said Liam, pointing at him with his middle finger as the pointer held his beer can. “Fine then, don’t tell me. Have a drink, you’ll run out of shite to say soon enough.” Not to be a teenager about this, but sober Gabriel was exhausting. Liam loved the man, but he was far better company when he talked. He kicked his loafers off and brought up his feet onto the couch, leaning into the curve of the arm to face where Gabe now sat.

Did something happen? “Not really,” said Liam. He still had trouble explaining precisely what had broken up him and Ollie. Neither of them were dead this time. He hadn’t ever really had a girlfriend in the same way, and if someone had stopped sleeping with him it was generally because one of them had done something wrong. “Artistic differences,” he said eventually. There was probably a relationship way of putting that, but they’d been musical partners as well, hadn’t they?

He took a sip again, nearly done. “Thinking I might come back to California for a bit, after I get back,” he said. “Help get your income back up. Solid gold cauldron would look great in your lab, I reckon.” He lazily stretched his neck out. “I could use a tan.”

Liam, as usual, called Gabriel out. He gave a noncommitted roll of his eyes in return. "If you're lucky..." He took pulled back the can of beer to take another drink. The cold on his hand, condensation on metal, was a welcome reprieve to the otherwise sticky hot California early summer. The heat was different from Mexico, thicker, he thought. But then again, maybe his blood had changed as his mother said.

"So he got sick of your shit," It hadn't been framed as a question. He quirked an eyebrow but his face softened when he looked Liam more squarely in the face. His friend had seemed different when he saw the two of them together, softer in some way despite himself, and he imagined that might've changed him. Then again, he was always a bit of a romantic. Too much so for his own good.

"Oh yeah?" Gabriel figured it wasn't just for the tan, anyway. No one moved across the world just for that, but then again— "Sticking around for a while this time?" Liam seemed to always be coming and going, a luxury that his profession no doubt allowed. Again, not something he figured that everyone could just decide on a whim, certainly not him. Every time Gabriel thought he might be jealous, he thought better of it.

"I would say you've got a place to stay—" He cut himself off with a shrug, knowing full well of the place Liam had on the coast. "How was the party, by the way?" The birthday party there that he'd not-so-politely-declined. "I'm sure I was missed..." He grinned, conjuring up a few more cans when he felt his go light.

Gabe was, of course, exactly, precisely, spot on. Liam forced out a laugh. “Yeah, I s’pose.” The last thing he wanted was to admit that Gabriel’s words had felt like a stinging hex to the chest, but Liam had a feeling his face had admitted that for him. He took a long sip of his beer. Frankly it was a miracle he’d ever kept anything a secret in his life for ten seconds, much less for over a decade.

He thought these days that people just saw what they expected to see. He’d been a horny idiot to his mates before, and now he was just a differently horny idiot no matter what he said. Maybe that was what he liked so much about Gabriel. Or, for that matter, Ollie. They hadn’t known him, they’d had to build their expectations up from scratch, and he could be nuanced for a hot minute.

If anything, that thought had made his decision for him. “I think I might,” he said. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t take a portkey anywhere he needed to. Muggle science was amazing and all, but Liam couldn’t imagine having to rely on flying machines to cross the Atlantic. “Get used to me.” He nudged Gabe’s leg with his toes and gave him a foolish grin.

“It was alright,” he replied, about the party. “Took a disappointing potion." He pulled his bag off his shoulders and rattled the vials, giving Gabriel an honest grin. "Won’t make that mistake again.”

[out]

"Bendejo," Gab leaned away from Liam's foot to no avail, his digits working their way over the top of his leg with what should have been surprising ease. "What did I tell you about your feet?" He pushed him off and shifted on the couch again, a reluctant smile pulling across his features despite himself. He hated feet. And he hated Liam's feet even more. How the man felt so comfortable in just draping them over everything and anything, he would never know.

"Look out Los Angeles..." He commented darkly, though deep down he was happy to have his friend back for a while. So frequently he was coming and going. By nature, Liam was all over the place, so it was nice to see him sit still, if even just for a few weeks. That way at least he could look out for him somewhat.

"Stop taking shit from people you don't know," There it was again. He couldn't stop himself from giving advice, no matter how unwarranted.

Reaching an arm over the back of the couch, he sat back. "Well you know you've got a place to stay for when that big old house gets to be too big..." He meant it sincerely despite the harshness in his tone that never seemed to go anywhere for too long. As much shit as he gave his friend, he would always be there for him, and it seemed that was exactly what he needed.

fin