Life as a runaway teen is rough. Perpetually in transit, committing petty crimes, just trying to survive - you would certainly know. But it especially was now, on what was supposed to be the coldest night of the year.

So now as you sat in some late-nite diner, drinking some on-the-house hot cocoa.

At least until a man sat in the booth in front of you, stirring his own mug of coffee and smelling of smoke.

"You alright?” he sipped his coffee, giving you a glance.