The barista is chiding with him about his drink - half coffee, half cocoa, and she's inflicting whipped cream and red and green sprinkles on him - she asks him if he hates Christmas; he says no, they just don't celebrate it where he's from, they all sit very quietly at home and think about making quilts.

(It's not quippy, it's soft-spoken and a little awkward, but it's still funny in a 'What the hell are you even talking about you weirdo' sort of way.)

He's keenly aware of the other man, though he doesn't seem like it; he barely seems to register him aside from the usual politeness of personal space in a public establishment. When he finally turns away, it necessitates passing Jason, and he meets his eyes for a moment, distantly polite as he tolerates his relentlessly festive drink. There's a flicker of - don't I know you? - but then it's gone, because no, he doesn't. He looks vaguely familiar because he stared at him once across a courtyard, but the memory isn't significant enough to have stuck with him.