"Um...pretty good." God, real coffee. That sounded amazing right now? The stuff in the public housing was...well, it was not coffee, and Quentin was pretty sure it wasn't even caffeinated, judging by the headache he'd been nursing. It was enough to stop him, when addressed, hands shoved awkwardly in his jeans pockets as he eyed the building hungrily. But he didn't have any money.

"Um, how about you?" Quentin's hair was down, brushing the shoulders of his secondhand hoodie-and-jacket combo, the line down his throat easily visible at a glance. His dumb little brain was sluggishly trying to figure out if he could somehow scam free coffee out of this guy while having, if one pardons the nerdiness, a charisma score of about five.