Taff was Tristan's favourite subject. He could talk about him forever. He ordered them drinks first, though, then took them to their own table.
"His name is Constantine," he started, grinning stupidly. "But everyone calls him Taff. One of our foster parents were Welsh and they called us Big Taff and Little Taff. His name stuck. So he's Taffy now. He's going to be eighteen...well, he's seventeen at the moment, he's very good at Quidditch, but he's a stubborn git and doesn't want to go back to school this year-" he rolled his eyes, fixing them on Dennis finally, knowing there was something more he really wanted to hear. "We are all we have, but I know even if that even if that wasn't the case I wouldn't love him any less. I would happily die for him if I thought it would make his life better. His happiness is worth me sacrificing everything for. It's a big brotherly thing. My world is him." He never usually admitted that out loud. Ever.