Another nervous look gets cast over his shoulder before John steps out of his shoes and goes inside. His hands work quickly to tie his shoelaces to his backpack instead of leaving his shoes there as if anyone would want to take those old sneakers.

The offer of any sort of decent hot food has his stomach churning.

"Whatever you've got. Do you even have steak?" he asks while he looks around. Closed doors. Nice decor. Would anyone notice if those candleholders went missing?

"This place yours? What are you, some trust fund wankbag?"