Erik just sat there absorbed in his thoughts. Poem after poem floating through his mind. Lingering on the edges of those words was memories he knew were not merely a dark secret but a past that he had lived. He really wasn't paying much attention to anything. The smell of cigarette smoke hit his nose and caused him to blink a bit. Focusing in on where he was sitting. Right at the exact moment he did the man who was approaching spoke to him. "No thanks. I don't smoke. If I wanted something to kill me further than I already am inside I'd have stayed in hell...where I lived." His voice distant and almost lifeless. Which is why people often were afraid of him. Or called him cold. He wasn't kidding about not smoking.<br/><br/>He leaned back on his hands. Yet his gaze never left the male. He was studying him. Trying to discern information from this man without using his psionics. This man was not an open book though like many. He was a very closed book. The only thing he could get off this man was an aura of confidence and danger. Not that it mattered. He wasn't afraid. It was one of the emotions he knew well but...he wasn't afraid. He knew fear. He knew pain. He knew sorrow. Others he had seen but never felt. Now...he was numb. Numb to those emotions. A shell of a man and yet it was through his poetry that he did live. He looked around as if listening. No one else. No other scents. His gaze went back to the man before him. "Figured everyone else was gone. Usually empty after closing time." he said without much conviction towards caring about the other's presence or not. Was this man a kindred spirit? He couldn't tell. As he had noted before the man was far from an open book.