( The other teen takes Peter's hand in the sort of handshake that's reminiscent of his father's colleagues (psychiatrists, mostly, people who know Exactly How To Greet You) and Peter does find himself relaxing a bit, that outermost edge of anxiety that he wears like a layer of skin easing up. The warm smile doesn't hurt either, and Peter finds his own smile warming right back. He always acts like he has to be given permission to be a normal fucking person, and something to the other boy's mannerism seems to do that for him. )

Oh, hey— maybe I should. ( And he kind of nudges his hip out a little, like he's going to bump it against Paul's, but doesn't actually. .....Easing up he might be, but Peter will forever be #SociallyAwkward....

And he hasn't forgotten about the weed, but there is a reason he was hoping to come across him, and Peter gives a little Oh, reaching for the bag hanging languidly off his shoulder. His hand pushes past a bong or two and extracts something, pulling it out. )

It's— actually probably stupid. I uh... I mean, you might not even be a hat kind of guy. ( Setting the bag of weed down for a moment on the nearest surface, his fingers carefully smooth over the brim of the black snapback that he then hands over to Paul. )

It's one of mine from back home. ...My real home, I mean. Before here. ( Knowing nothing about Paul, he'd opted for something that felt very Teenage Boy. Finding gifts around Trench is... weird — what do you get somebody? Incense? A haunted candleholder? So he'd chosen something from his own items. )

I never actually wore it though, so it's pretty much like brand new.