"Neither," he answers flatly, his face in his hands. It squishes up one side of his cheek, but he doesn't really seem to give much of a shit. Shortly after the answer, he changes it. "Both"

His lips press together tiredly, and one hand absently plays with the sugar packets on the counter before him, flicking through the splenda. "I need food and your suffering. Maybe some booze while you're at it."

Okay, so it's really not that bad. His day might have been... weird, but he's mostly just tired. Mentally exhausted, worn out from work, fatigued, pretty much every version of tired you could possibly think of. It's like there's something asleep deep down in his bones, something he used to draw energy from that now hibernates within him, dormant and lazy.

He could probably pay her twenty bucks to sleep in one of the booths and get by with it.