[ Newt looped his arms over Hermann's shoulders and peered up into the hood, admiring the smile. He was thirty-six years old and tripping over himself for a beautiful nerd with nice cheekbones. What the hell had his life become? (And if he had been sort of tripping over himself for said nerd for the last ten years, so what)

His smile turned into a quick frown, however, at the suggestion. ]

Hermann, please tell me you at least ate a decent breakfast. [He brushed his hands over the shoulders of the parka, straightening it and dusting off some more glitter, before taking Hermann's hand again.]

Where do you feel like eating? Because I could go for anything. Thai? Pizza? Sushi? Or you wanna be rebels and get food to go and then get ice cream cones and ruin our dinner?