When he was younger, perhaps two or three years ago, Baldric had the fortune of meeting a handful of Veela that were practising for the show they’d put on at the Puddlemere United game. It was the European Championship and exceedingly important he got it right. His father had always been particularly simpering towards them - like all men, really - and so they were clucking and cooing over the young Baldric who, at thirteen or fourteen, was considered a baby much to his frustration as he found that at that point, he understood the desire his friends had seemingly developed: the need to get to know girls.
Obviously, he understood that the attraction he felt towards the Veela was carnal and largely inappropriate but, even so, it jolted him awake to the idea of girls. That didn’t, however, suddenly turn him into someone who played the field, so to speak. No, that was still Luke’s forte and to a degree Baird and Nathan had more luck than he did. He was sure even Daemon could wrangle a date out of more than his fair share if he let a smile go on his lips and gestured elaborately enough. Jackson, also, was probably in the figurative money. Baldric was somewhat left out on that front, too caught up in his sport.
It seemed appropriate, then, that the girl he finally got a date from was into Quidditch too. It was something that, when Baird and Nathan found out about, would make them scoff and roll their eyes, muttering their own versions of “typical” and “I should’ve known it” under their breaths. It was progress, Baldric decided, and while he liked Trish’s company, he was abjectly concerned that he wasn’t doing certain things right. He wondered idly if he’d held any doors open for her. That was polite, wasn’t it? It was something girl’s liked.
“Food?” Baldric asked dumbly, his cheeks flushing as he realised it was something he’d missed. A mistake, if you will - one of the one’s he’d feared.
Licking his lips, Baldric nodded quickly and walked over to where he’d abandoned his wallet on the sideboard. He held it up with a smile and tucked it into his trousers before slipping his hand onto the small of Trish’s back.
“Let’s go and get you fed, shall we?” He said with a smile. “No use being starving bloody hungry throughout the match. Sometimes, they can last days.”
With that, Baldric slowly led Trish out of the booth and into the wide hallway that was still bustling with activity despite the fact that most people had settled into their seats. Baldric slipped in and out of the crowd with practised ease, his hands sliding off of Trish’s back and groping instead for her hand. He curled her fingers into his palm and kept her close behind him, knowing from experience how disorientating it was to lose your way and then try and make it back to the booth. He’d spent many times wandering lost when he was younger - to the point where his mother often left him with the wives of the other Quidditch players while she went to buy refreshments or food.
Finally, they reached the little nook where food was being sold and joined the line dutifully, Baldric hastening, shyly, to drop Trish’s hand.
“What do you want in particular?” He asked. “Burger? Hot Dog? Some sort of kebab? Sweets are a given.”