((I am so so sorry this is so late! I apologize if this is terrible.))
The handshake returned to Arcturus was surprisingly strong and firm for someone that appeared so delicate. No casual observer would have believed Will could hold his own in a wrestling match with his friends (or, when feeling playful, carry his much larger best friend around). He was an oddly put together sort of person--- like a sculpture of alternating gentle curves and sharp angles that shouldn’t form a pleasant cohesion yet somehow did. Case in point, his grip may have been outgoing but his demeanor was hesitant. There was nothing unwelcoming about him, however--- he seemed a little like a stray cat that wanted attention but was nervous about getting close enough to receive it. To his complete surprise he enjoyed the short contact now that it wasn’t so unexpected. He hadn’t realized how touch-starved he was until he found himself disappointed at its brevity. That required later examination.
At the offer to make himself more comfortable Will glanced down at his neon blue-red-yellow coat, clearly weighing the wisdom of shedding it against the insulation it provided. Being below his preferred temperature was no doubt more desirable than sitting like glaring signage proclaiming ‘outsider’. People had not been staring openly but the boy was all too aware of how jarring his classic 80s attire was contrasted against the old-world tavern. Not only was it awkward for himself but it could be embarrassing to his companion and that more than anything was not acceptable. He set down his sketchbook on the tabletop, stripped off his mittens, and then unzipped the coat to reveal a more sedate sweatshirt beneath. The nylon monstrosity was thrown across the seat of what would become his chair like a cushion where it would be both soft and hidden. “Better.” He decided with a little punctuating nod.
His attention was quite quickly returned to the broom where it fixed with rapt fascination. The details Arcturus explained meant nothing to him but he filed them away with the same practiced ease as Dungeons and Dragons stats. “It’s beautiful.” Will responded with such feeling that his voice cracked. The fact it was apparently a prestigious vehicle made the excitement even keener. Flying had always been appealing to him; a secondary desire to magic, perhaps. He had never done anything remotely like it in his short life and the idea was unbearably romantic and liberating.
Since the invitation had been made Will approached the glossy handle and bent to examine it. After a moment of hesitation and twitching fingers he dared to apply a feather-light touch. The compass was cold beneath his fingers and the broom handle felt rather sturdy for such a thin object. After Arcturus had finished enthusing Will peered over his shoulder with an expression that was somehow bright despite not smiling. “Is there such a thing as professional Quidditch? Seems like you’d be good at it if you’re already a talented athlete. You have lots of passion and knowledge about the subject. And the fastest broom, too.” It reminded him a little of his feelings for art though the disciplines were nearly opposite. Will was absolute rubbish at sports but could appreciate the drive in others. Not to mention a wizarding sport was interesting by virtue of its magic. “Is a broom magical on its own or is it just… your magic channeled through it?” He had a head milling with questions and plastered in answers.
A small crease of confusion appeared between Will’s brows at the mention of beer. “Alcohol? Uh... okay.” His voice was a little perplexed but he tried not to seem offensively adverse. He had noticed a mug on the table but had assumed it was some sort of juice. Taverns were not necessarily bars, after all. Yet here he was, being offered beer. Will barely passed for his own age and there was no possibility of him being mistaken for someone old enough to drink. But he wasn’t about to argue in a realm to far outside his experience. People drank it like water in the past.