Re: [Climbing: Patrick & Newt]
Newt left Rufus on the porch before Patrick came out, then Apparated to his case. His own head was crowded with thoughts and feelings, all a jumble, and he'd given up on trying to straighten them out. Instead, he chose to focus on what he could do, in the present, that could help Patrick, who, it seemed, couldn't catch a break. Not only was dealing with Adrian difficult, now there was Connie and something she was trying to do with the stones that she absolutely oughtn't be doing. To Newt's mind, there was a different between curiosity and wanting to know more about something, and feeling entitled to breaking it apart and making it yours. But, perhaps that was just him. Perhaps she'd every right to them that Patrick did. He didn't know.—He wasn't as agitated as his friend was. Of course he wasn't. But, as ever, Newt was beleaguered by his own problems, interpretations, and feelings. He tried not to let them blind him.
He changed. Perhaps Patrick expected him to ignore the clothing, but he didn't. He'd no idea what one wore to something like this, and Merlin knew, wizards—at least Newt—owned nothing like athletic gear. He'd climbed before, outdoors, with the gear, but, otherwise, most of the physicality Newt engaged in was ragtag and necessary. Climbing the side of a mountain to espy a thunderbird nest, for example. No one spotted him, and he'd no rope, helmet, or shoes to protect him. So, this would be, ah, an experience for the man. But, he liked trying new things and if it helped Patrick feel better, then that was all the more reason to do it.—The clothing fit reasonably well, all things considered, though the silly t-shirt, as suspected, was a touch loose on Newt's narrower frame. He cinched the trousers with the (handily) built-in belt. The trainers didn't quite fit, but he transfigured them, shrinking them the half-size or so, until they were about right.
He fussed with the pockets on the trousers that felt loose and breathable, that sat low on his hips, and he ran his hands over the fabric, just once, before he left the house to join Patrick outside. Newt was holding his mobile as he stepped outside. Then, without so much as a pop, it disappeared from his palm, and he looked up to Patrick. Who, admittedly, filled out the clothing much better than he did. Almost like it was his size or something. Newt smiled and pushed his fringe out of the way, feeling only slightly ridiculous. He hardly ever wore anything with short sleeves, and his arms were as pale and freckled as the rest of him.
"Hello, Patrick," was his greeting, and his gaze was golden and searching as it moved over the other man. He noted the tension apparent and obvious in the lines of Patrick's shoulders, and he lifted a hand, just to pick at gray at Patrick's clavicle. He tried a smile, fleeting and flitting. "You look ready."