Consent's boring. People here try to make everything sound like a set of terms and conditions, or a divorce settlement. I the undersigned consent to getting my back blown out three times a week, as signed and witnessed here on this day the third of whatever, somefuckingtime. Jesus. Enthusiasm's fine for me.

[He turns his head then, blinking as if the coffee is an entirely new thing, despite the room slowly starting to smell bitter and dark as Scott's been making it.

And then he removes Scott's cup.]

I'll have it black. You're not having any until after.