Felix's brows raise high at the jacket--it's a nice little thing, nicer than the suit in a lot of ways because it looks actually loved instead of an afterthought--but he doesn't say anything. Who is he to judge fashion? Who is he to judge anyone when things like that are subjective?

Nice music taste, though. So maybe he will judge, but only in the fun way. They contrast, an older punk rocker and a relatively young looking yuppie meticulously dressed, but Felix can't help but think it's fitting.

He leads the other away, and surprises himself by actually remaining quiet for the whole trip until he heads up his own house, a colourful big-for-new-york artistic paradise. Felix closes the door, a nervous smile flicking across his face even as he gestures with one hand for the other to make himself at home.

"If you'd like, I could get you a drink, but mostly I'd just like--did you always know there were more of us? How come I've never ran into you before? "