[ alby prides himself on his die-hard professionalism, always and no matter what, but not even he can fight the desire to roll his eyes across newt's form, half concealed by the counter he hides behind -- and he's never been jealous of a counter before, seriously. he does bite his lip minorly, before grinning over at newt, a squinty genuine kind of smile that not many people on this planet can call them lucky enough to have seen. yet newt's presence begs for it, doesn't it? a weird sort of nostalgia he feels, the way the moon must feel when it's returned to its place in the night sky -- he feels that, he feels that when he looks at newt, like the sun itself and he just --

he barely knows this guy's name. ]

Same to you. Newt.

[ newt feels familiar, like he's spent lifetimes before whispering it into soft dryer-fresh sheets -- or older still, in the back doors of horse sheds, or the dark alleys of liverpool, or the ancient ruins of mesopotamia. lifetimes, eternities, he feels like he sees them all looking at this pretty boy -- but the memories are just out of reach, like gripping for a soap bar in a bathtub. slip slip slip, further from his grasp.

and it's a little annoying, because again. he doesn't know this man.

( but he wants to. ) ]

Sitting down is good. [ he nods. where wouldn't he follow newt? ] I'm sure you'll be a natural, huh? Ya seem friendly enough. Some characters in the city, but I think this'll go smoothly.