Log, coffeeshop: Ren S & Newt P
Oh, Newt'd long been a complication. He'd been born one, really. A second son, which was all rather unnecessary given they'd already the one. Too shy, too antisocial, too interested in animals, not interested enough in proper things and proper people. That, and every relationship he had seemed bloody made of complication, from Adrian, to Patrick, to Daniel, to everyone else. Never had he been anything else, not to anyone.—He'd've felt bad about it, if it'd occurred to him, but it didn't just now. This was, after all, about a simple cup of tea.
There was Ren. Newt looked away from the menu when he noticed he wasn't alone at the counter. Ren was tall, dark-haired, and Newt's lips twitched into a finicky smile. "Hello." Ginger brows lifted into the mess of his fringe as his options were laid out. "Oh, the former, definitely." He shifted on his feet, slightly uncomfortable, if only because he was always slightly uncomfortable around people. He pushed at his fringe and his gaze, which never seemed to meet Ren's, hovered about the man's chin. "I always found the tea in St. James Park to be rather like dishwater." He glanced up, then let golden gaze drop again. His hands dropped to his side, twitching idly. "Erm, which I shouldn't say, if you rather liked it. Sorry."