Re: [Roadtrip: Patrick & Newt]
Call him oblivious—he wasn't normally, but perhaps the early hour and his dearth of sleep could be blamed—but Newt wasn't immediately aware Patrick was nervous. He, Newt, was attempting to rub a blush from his cheeks and he glanced over, over his hand on his cheek, to Patrick. "Somehow, I think I'd muck it up." But, he was feeling ever-so-slightly emboldened from the kiss on the cheek and its seeming acceptance, so he did try. With his freckles still matching the flush in his cheeks, he gave Patrick a cheeky wink with a fully feigned confidence. He covered his face just thereafter as the color deepened. "Don't say anything about it," was all he said with half a laugh, one hand up to shield him from looking at the man beside him.
Connie, yes, was easier, and slowly, Newt's blush subsided as attention was diverted from him and to the topic at hand. He let his hand drop and he watched Patrick as the man spoke of all that he used to do with his sister. It was difficult to reconcile the woman from Patrick's childhood with the one Newt himself knew, but, well, it wasn't entirely necessary he reconcile any of it, as what he thought about Connie wasn't relevant. "That sounds fun," was what he said, his tone sympathetic, as he knew there was no way Patrick could reminisce without missing his sister. "Is that what you plan on doing with us?" Newt looked to the road, then back. "The world's biggest ball of yarn?"
Once the playlist started, Newt quieted himself. He gave Patrick a smile at the compliment, such as it was, about the glasses—the glasses that were black-rimmed and glass-smudged and certainly made him look bookish, if he didn't look it before.—He did Patrick a favor and didn't look over as the song played. It was enough to sense the tension as it rose like a static charge or like heat over asphalt. He could see motion, vaguely, out of the corner of his eye, but he pretended to look out at the road that stripped by. The Call Me Maybe song was pop-fueled and cute, and Newt smiled at the smear of landscape. He was going to ask Patrick if he'd ever given his number to someone, ever felt that way—Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number. But, he didn't want to interrupt the music. He leaned back in the seat and dragged a thumb along the seam of the window and the door.
When the song changed it was to something much more somber and serious. A love song, really. And Newt cast only a furtive glance to the man beside him. "It's very pretty," he said finally, earnest and encouraging, in the hopes that Patrick wouldn't be too terribly embarrassed by it. If Patrick looked to him, of course, Newt's golden gaze was back on the road outside.